Baltimore, 17 February, 1777.
It was this day determined to adjourn, to-morrow week, to Philadelphia.
Howe, as you know my opinion always was, will repent his mad march
through the Jerseys. The people of that Commonwealth begin to raise
their spirits exceedingly and to be firmer than ever. They are actuated
by resentment now, and resentment, coinciding with principle, is a very
powerful motive.
I have got into the old routine of war office and Congress, which takes
up my time in such a manner that I can scarce write a line. I have not
time to think nor to speak. There is a United States Lottery abroad. I
believe you had better buy a ticket and make a present of it to our four
sweet ones. Let us try their luck. I hope they will be more lucky than
their papa has ever been, or ever will be. I am as well as can be
expected. How it happens I don't know, nor how long it will last. My
disposition was naturally gay and cheerful, but the prospects I have
ever had before me and these cruel times will make me melancholy. I, who
would not hurt the hair of the head of any animal, I, who am always made
miserable by the misery of every susceptible being that comes to my
knowledge, am obliged to hear continual accounts of the barbarities, the
cruel murders in cold blood even by the most tormenting ways of starving
and freezing, committed by our enemies, and continued accounts of the
deaths and diseases contracted by their own imprudence. These accounts
harrow me beyond description. These incarnate demons say in great
composure, that "humanity is a Yankee virtue, but that they are governed
by policy." Is there any policy on this side of hell that is
inconsistent with humanity? I have no idea of it. I know of no policy,
God is my witness, but this, piety, humanity, and honesty are the best
policy. Blasphemy, cruelty, and villainy have prevailed and may again.
But they won't prevail against America in this contest, because I find
the more of them are employed the less they succeed.