It is going on a Year since I have writ a Letter to you, but you know
I have not forgot the man that saved my Life at Monmouth, and I hope
you have not forgot Yr old Sargeant of Co A. I hear you are growing
prosperous, and I am glad to hear it. I take my pen in hand to tell
you of the Visit w’ch our old General has made to Springfield. I thank
the Lord that these old Eyes has seen him once more before I die. I
knew he w’ld not stop in our Town, & so I harnessed up the old horse
and took my ten year old boy & started to Springf’ld. After I had
bought some Codfish & molases, I tied up my horse in the First Meeting
House Sheds & waited by Zenas Parsonses Tavern. The General was late,
it having rained hard in the Morning, and he did not reach town till
nearly Four. There was a crowd around the Tavern Steps, but no great
Cheers when the General stepped out of his Handsome Coach. There was
several Prominent Gentlemen to meet him, and Zenas, he was a-rubbing
his hands and a-bowing, with all the servants behind him. The boys
took the Horses around to the stables, & the General, he started to go
in, when he sees me standing by the door. What do you suppose he did?
There come over his face one of them smiles of his, like the sun
breaking through the clouds on a wintry day, & he steps up and shakes
my hand & he says, Why here’s my old Sargeant. And is this your Boy? a
Fine lad, says he, what is his Name? George Washington Colton, says I
as proud as a Peacock. He laughs, and pulls out a Silver Dollar, and
gives it to the Boy & it will be handed down to his Great grand
children, if he has any. Then the General says, Come up in the
Evening, says he, & sit with me and the other Gentlemen. Thank you
Sir, says I, saluting, I will, as soon as milking, and then he went
into the Tavern, for some of the fine Gentlemen was getting quite
impatient, seeing him stand talking so long with a plain farmer like
me. And yet there is some Sneaks who ought to be on the gallows, that
says that George Washington is cold and haughtey, and has no heed for
the common People. My paper is used up, so no more at present from.
Yr faithful friend,
PETER COLTON.
The second letter is from Enoch Day, proprietor of a general store in
West Springfield, to Joseph Mugridge, merchant, of Medford.
WEST SPRINGFIELD, _Oct. 22, 1789_.
COUSIN JOSEPH:—It is some time since I have seen you, & I hope that
your business is florishing, and that you & Cousin Elizabeth, and
little Betty are well. I would be getting on prety well if these
blustering returned Soldiers had any thing but their filthy
Continental Money to pay with. I had one put in Jail the other day,
old Job Smith, up on the Northampton Road. He came down from his High
Horse, after I got the Sheriff on his back & began to sniffle & whine,
and talk about a sick Wife, & how he had been wounded at Trenton. I
tell you, Joseph, it is our turn now, & we have gott these bare
footted heros on the Hip. That white livered Sneak & Coward, G.
Washington, was in Springfield, yesterday. A lot of Fools dressed up
in their best, and went over the river to see him. I hear he stopped
at Zene Parsons’ Tavern, and rode in a fine Coach, with four Horses,
and a whole company of Lackeys to bend & crouch & lick his Boots. He
is more like a King than a president, and they say he grows wors every
day. I hear he has already overdrawed his salary, & has stole $4,000,
and I can well believe it. What any one can see to worship in that
man, I cannot understand. He is treacherous in private Friendship, a
hypocrite in public life, and the World will be puzzled to know
whether he is an Apostate or an Imposter, whether he has abandoned his
principles or whether he ever had any. Posterity will say that the
Mask of political hypocricy has been worn by Caesar, by Cromwell, and
by Washington. This journey he is taking is to make political Capital.
He wants a second Term in Office, & he is catering to the vote of New
England. He is an aristocrat, a Monocrat, an Anglomaniac, & an
American Caesar. He ought to be the Servant of the People, but he
wants them to bow & treat him like a little King. We had one odious
King George, & now we are burdened with another. He is not the father,
but the Stepfather of the Country. A friend of mine in New York, tells
me for a fact, that this man comitted murder in his youth, & you have
doubtless heard of those letters of his which have been found, that
prove beyond the shadow of a Doubt, that this man, who is hailed as
the Saviour of the Country, was really a Coward, that he was at heart
as much of a Traitor as Benedict Arnold, only he lacked Arnold’s
Boldness & Courage to carry it out. I have just received a Pamphlet
written by one Valerius, which ought to be scattered abroad as a
patriotic Document. I will copy one particularly good paragraph for
you.
“With the Constitution in one hand, and the Word of God in
the other, George Washington swore to defend a republican
form of government, which abhors the insidious machinery of
royal imposture. Has he done so? What have been the fruits
of this solemn oath? The seclusion of a monk, and the
supercilious distance of a tyrant. Old habits have been on a
sudden thrown away. Time was, when he more than any other,
indulged the manly walk and rode the generous steed. Now to
behold him afoot or on horseback, is the subject of remark.
The concealing carriage drawn by supernumerary horses,
expresses the will of the President, and defies the will of
the people. He receives visits. He returns none. Are these
Republican virtues? Do they command our esteem?”
These words, dear cousin, filled with virtuous indignation, yet so
elegantly expressed, are no doubt your sentiments as well as mine.
Some of our West Springfield people, I am glad to say, have shown much
spirit in this matter. The last time an attempt was made to celebrate
the birthday of this odious tyrant, the swabs were stolen from the
cannon, so that no salute could be fired. It will be a happy day for
the Country, when G. Washington, Charlatan, political Trickster,
Apostate, and Coward, is removed from our midst.
Yr Cousin & ob’d’t Servant,
ENOCH DAY.
P. S. The last Rum you sent was of Prime quality. If you get any more
bargains in those slightly damaged Blankets from England, wch can be
sold for new, remember yr loving Cousin.
The next letter is from John Adams, to his friend and former playmate,
Dorothy Coolidge of Boston.
SPRINGFIELD, MASS., _October 22, 1789_.