Philadelphia, 8 September, 1774.
When or where this letter will find you I know not. In what scenes of
distress and terror I cannot foresee. We have received a confused
account from Boston of a dreadful catastrophe. The particulars we have
not heard. We are waiting with the utmost anxiety and impatience for
further intelligence. The effect of the news we have, both upon the
Congress and the inhabitants of this city, was very great. Great indeed!
Every gentleman seems to consider the bombardment[46] of Boston as the
bombardment of the capital of his own province. Our deliberations are
grave and serious indeed.
It is a great affliction to me that I cannot write to you oftener than I
do. But there are so many hindrances that I cannot. It would fill
volumes to give you an idea of the scenes I behold, and the characters I
converse with. We have so much business, so much ceremony, so much
company, so many visits to receive and return, that I have not time to
write. And the times are such as to make it imprudent to write freely.
We cannot depart from this place until the business of the Congress is
completed, and it is the general disposition to proceed slowly. When I
shall be at home I can't say. If there is distress and danger in Boston,
pray invite our friends, as many as possible, to take an asylum with
you,--Mrs. Cushing and Mrs. Adams, if you can. There is in the Congress
a collection of the greatest men upon this continent in point of
abilities, virtues, and fortunes. The magnanimity and public spirit
which I see here make me blush for the sordid, venal herd which I have
seen in my own province. The addressers, and the new councillors[47] are
held in universal contempt and abhorrence from one end of the continent
to the other.
Be not under any concern for me. There is little danger from anything we
shall do at the Congress. There is such a spirit through the colonies,
and the members of the Congress are such characters, that no danger can
happen to us which will not involve the whole continent in universal
desolation; and in that case, who would wish to live? Adieu.