January 13, 1781.
What shall I say, or think, of my dear friend Hamilton? Not a single
line from him since we parted. I will not, however, charge you, my dear
fellow, with not having done your duty, or, at least, of a want of
inclination to do it: you may have complied fully with your promise,
and your letters miscarried: mine probably have shared the same fate.
This is the third since I got home. The first was writ shortly after
General Greene’s arrival at Richmond, and committed to his care; the
second, telling you I was married, had not so favorable a prospect of
conveyance; and this must take its chance.
Arnold, you knew, was coming here. He has really been here, and, with
shame be it said, marched twenty-five miles, and back, without having
a single musket fired at him: but let me observe, in justice to the
people at large, that there are fewer disaffected by far, in this
State, than any other in the Union; and that the people turn out with
the utmost cheerfulness. The misfortune, on the present invasion, was,
that in the confusion the arms were sent every where, and no timely
plan laid to put them into the hands of the men who were assembling.
The Baron has, no doubt, given the General the particulars of the
whole affair. Should he not have done it, I must refer you for them to
Rivington’s paper: he can hardly be himself, and say any thing on the
subject that ought not to be credited. The damage, however, done by the
enemy is not considerable, and much less than might have been expected
from them. My friends have suffered. I have often felt much pain, my
dear Hamilton, at scenes of the kind to the northward, but never in
so great a degree as on this occasion. The nearest and dearest to me
were within reach of the enemy; wife, mother, brother, sister; and all
have shared deeply in the distress; and, indeed, many of them were in
personal danger, and my best friend of the number; myself of course
somewhat exposed. You possess a heart that can feel for me; you have a
female, too, that you love. * * * * * After placing her, with at least
twenty other females and children, at a safe distance, I immediately
returned, and joined the Baron about the time the enemy left Richmond,
in order to render him all the aid I could, being intimately acquainted
with the country for many miles in the vicinity of the enemy: and
on their return down the river, I left him to go in pursuit of a
residence for a favorite brother who was driven from his home, and
obliged to attend to his wife and a family of little children.
* * * * *
This gives me an opening to speak of my return to the army. I have been
long wishing your advice in full on the occasion. You are acquainted
with the arguments I have used in favor of my stay here. * * * * * I
have not, however, as yet, thrown off the uniform, but I am inclined to
believe it must be the case. If we meet not again, my dear Hamilton, as
brother aids, I still flatter myself that, in the course of time, we
shall meet as the sincerest of friends. If you have not already writ to
me, my dear fellow, let me entreat you, when you go about it, to fill
a sheet in close hand. Say all about yourself first, and next, what
may be most interesting and new to me, for I have not heard a syllable
from camp since I left it. I wrote to the “Old Secretary” while he was
in Virginia, but could not hear from him. Tell him that I suffered
not a little on his account, for I conceived, for a long time, that
his cousin’s unlucky fall from his horse had happened to him: such an
opinion had like to have carried me to Alexandria.
I am under the necessity of concluding, but first let me present my
respects to the General and Mrs. Washington, my sincerest esteem to
the lads of the family, and every officer of the army whom you know I
regard.
* * * * *
Your sincere friend,
R. R. Meade.