I was infinitely surprised to hear from you in the army. I can hardly tell you what sensations I did not feel at the time. Shall not attempt to describe them, though they deprived me of a night's sleep. But that was not spent altogether unhappily. My busybody, Fancy, led me a most romantic chase; in which, you may be sure, I visited your tent; beheld you (unnoticed) musing on your present circumstances, apparently agitated by every emotion which would naturally fill the heart of one who has come to the resolution to risk his life for his country's freedom. You will excuse my mentioning, that from a deep, absent meditation, partly expressed by half-pronounced soliloquies, I beheld you start up, clap your hand upon your sword, and look so fiercely, that it almost frightened me. The scene, on your discovering me, immediately changed to something more tender; but I won't waste paper.
If you should happen to find Dr. James Cogswell, who is in Colonel Spencer's regiment, please to give my best love to him, and tell him he is a lazy scoundrel.
It rains, my boy, excessively. Does it not drop through your tent?
Write often to
JONA. BELLAMY.
To A. BURR.
As soon as the guardian and relatives of young Burr heard of his determination to accompany Arnold in his expedition against Quebec, they not only remonstrated, but they induced others, who were friendly to him, to adopt a similar course. While he remained at Cambridge, he received numerous letters on the subject. The two following are selected:—
FROM DR. JAMES COGSWELL.
Camp in Roxbury, 9th September, 1775.
I am extremely sorry to hear that you are determined on the new expedition to Quebec. I am sorry on my own account, as I promised myself much satisfaction and pleasure in your company: but I am not altogether selfish; I am right-justified sorry on yours. The expedition in which you are engaged is a very arduous one; and those who are engaged in it must unavoidably undergo great hardships. Your constitution (if I am not much mistaken) is very delicate, and not formed for the fatigues of the camp. The expedition, I am sensible, is a glorious one, and nothing but a persuasion of my inability to endure the hardships of it would have deterred me from engaging in it. If this excuse was sufficient for me, I am persuaded it is for you, and ought to influence you to abandon all thoughts of undertaking it. I have no friend so dear to me (and I love my friends) but that I am willing to sacrifice for the good of the grand—the important cause, in which we are engaged; but, to think of a friend's sacrificing himself, without any valuable end being answered by it, is painful beyond expression. You will die; I know you will die in the undertaking; it is impossible for you to endure the fatigue. I am so exercised about your going, that I should come and see you if I had not got the Scriptural excuse,—a wife, and cannot come.
My dear friend, you must not go: I cannot bear the thoughts of it.
'Tis little less melancholy than following you to your grave.