I have received a good deal of paper from you. I wish it had been more
covered; the writing is very scant, yet I must not grumble. I know your
time is not yours nor mine. Your labors must be great and your mouth
closed; but all you may communicate, I beg you would. There is a
pleasure, I know not whence it arises, nor can I stop now to find it
out, but I say there is a degree of pleasure in being able to tell news,
especially any that so nearly concerns us, as all your proceedings do.
I should have been more particular, but I thought you knew everything
that passed here. The present state of the inhabitants of Boston is that
of the most abject slaves, under the most cruel and despotic of tyrants.
Among many instances I could mention, let me relate one. Upon the 17th
of June, printed handbills were posted up at the corners of the streets,
and upon houses, forbidding any inhabitants to go upon their houses, or
upon any eminence, on pain of death; the inhabitants dared not to look
out of their houses, nor to be heard or seen to ask a question. Our
prisoners were brought over to the Long Wharf, and there lay all night,
without any care of their wounds, or any resting-place but the
pavements, until the next day, when they exchanged it for the jail,
since which we hear they are civilly treated. Their living cannot be
good, as they can have no fresh provisions; their beef, we hear, is all
gone, and their wounded men die very fast, so that they have a report
that the bullets were poisoned. Fish they cannot have, they have
rendered it so difficult to procure; and the admiral is such a villain
as to oblige every fishing schooner to pay a dollar every time it goes
out. The money that has been paid for passes is incredible. Some have
given ten, twenty, thirty, and forty dollars, to get out with a small
proportion of their things. It is reported and believed that they have
taken up a number of persons and committed them to jail, we know not for
what in particular. Master Lovell is confined in the dungeon; a son of
Mr. Edes is in jail, and one Wiburt, a ship-carpenter, is now upon trial
for his life. God alone knows to what length these wretches will go, and
will, I hope, restrain their malice.
I would not have you be distressed about me. Danger, they say, makes
people valiant. Hitherto I have been distressed, but not dismayed. I
have felt for my country and her sons. I have bled with them and for
them. Not all the havoc and devastation they have made has wounded me
like the death of Warren. We want him in the Senate; we want him in his
profession; we want him in the field. We mourn for the citizen, the
senator, the physician, and the warrior. May we have others raised up in
his room.
I have had a very kind and friendly visit from our dear friends Colonel
Warren, lady, and son. Mrs. Warren spent almost a week with me, and he
came and met her here, and kept Sabbath with me. I suppose she will
write to you, though she says you are in her debt.
You scarcely make mention of Dr. Franklin. Surely he must be a valuable
member. Pray what is become of your Judas? I see he is not with you upon
the list of delegates. I wish I could come and see you. I never suffer
myself to think you are about returning soon. Can it, will it be? May I
ask, may I wish for it? When once I expect you, the time will crawl till
I see you. But hush! Do you know it is eleven o'clock at night? We have
had some very fine rains since I wrote you last. I hope we shall not now
have famine added to war. Grain, grain is what we want here. Meat we
have enough, and to spare. Pray don't let Bass forget my pins. Hardwick
has applied to me for Mr. Bass to get him a hundred of needles, number
six, to carry on his stocking weaving. We shall very soon have no
coffee, nor sugar, nor pepper, here; but whortleberries and milk we are
not obliged to commerce for. I saw a letter of yours to Colonel Palmer,
by General Washington. I hope I have one too. Good night. With thoughts
of thee do I close my eyes. Angels guard and protect thee; and may a
safe return erelong bless thy