92. Abigail Adams.
Braintree, 7 April, 1776.
I have received two letters from you this week. One of the 17th and the other the 19th of March. I believe I have received all your letters except one you mention writing from Framingham, which I never heard of before. I have received all the papers you have sent, the oration, and the magazines. In the small papers. I sometimes find pieces begun and continued (for instance, Johnston's speech), but am so unlucky as not to get the papers in order, and miss of seeing the whole.
The removal of the army seems to have stopped the current of news. I want to know to what part of America they are now wandering. It is reported and credited that Manly has taken a schooner belonging to the fleet, richly laden with money, plate, and English goods, with a number of Tories. The particulars I have not yet learned. Yesterday the remains of our worthy General Warren were dug up upon Bunker's Hill, and carried into town, and on Monday are to be interred with all the honors of war.
10 April.
The Dr. was buried on Monday; the Masons walking in procession from the State House, with the military in uniforms, and a large concourse of people attending. He was carried into the Chapel, and there a funeral dirge was played, an excellent prayer by Dr. Cooper, and an oration by Mr. Morton, which I hope will be printed. I think the subject must have inspired him. A young fellow could not have wished a finer opportunity to display his talents. The amiable and heroic virtues of the deceased, recent in the minds of the audience; the noble cause to which he fell a martyr; their own sufferings and unparalleled injuries, all fresh in their minds, must have given weight and energy to whatever could be delivered upon the occasion. The dead body, like that of Cæsar, before their eyes, whilst each wound,—
"Like dumb mouths, did ope their ruby lips,
To beg the voice and [utterance] of a tongue.
Woe to the hands that shed this costly blood!
A curse shall light" upon their line.
11 April.
I take my pen and write just as I can get time; my letters will be a strange mixture. I really am "cumbered about many things," and scarcely know which way to turn myself. I miss my partner, and find myself unequal to the cares which fall upon me. I find it necessary to be the directress of our husbandry. I hope in time to have the reputation of being as a good a farmeress as my partner has of being a good statesman. To ask you anything about your return would, I suppose, be asking a question which you cannot answer.
Retirement, rural quiet domestic pleasures, all, all must give place to the weighty cares of state. It would be—
"Meanly poor in solitude to hide
An honest zeal, unwarped by party rage."
"Though certain pains attend the cares of state,
A good man owes his country to be great,
Should act abroad the high distinguished part,
And show, at least, the purpose of his heart."
I hope your Prussian General[132] will answer the high character which is given of him. But we, who have been bred in a land of liberty, scarcely know how to give credit to so unjust and arbitrary a mandate of a despot. To cast off a faithful servant, only for being the unhappy bearer of ill news, degrades the man and dishonors the prince. The Congress, by employing him, have shown a liberality of sentiment not confined to colonies or continents, but, to use the words of "Common Sense," have "carried their friendship on a larger scale, by claiming brotherhood with every European Christian, and may justly triumph in the generosity of the sentiment."
Yesterday, was taken and carried into Cohasset, by three whaleboats, which went from the shore on purpose, a snow from the Grenadas, laden with three hundred and fifty-four puncheons of West India rum, forty-three barrels of sugar, twelve thousand and five hundred-weight of coffee; a valuable prize. A number of Eastern sloops have brought wood into town since the fleet sailed. We have a rumor of Admiral Hopkins being engaged with a number of ships and tenders off Rhode Island, and are anxious to know the event.
Be so good as to send me a list of the vessels which sail with Hopkins, their names, weight of metal, and number of men; all the news you know, etc.
I hear our jurors refuse to serve, because the writs are issued in the King's name. Surely they are for independence.
Write me how you do this winter. I want to say many things I must omit. It is not fit "to wake the soul by tender strokes of art," or to ruminate upon happiness we might enjoy, lest absence become intolerable. Adieu.
Yours.
I wish you would burn all my letters.