'BOSTON, March 31, 1776.
'DEAR SIR,—All those who took upon themselves the style and title of Loyalists have shipped themselves off. One or two have done what a great number ought to have done long ago, committed suicide. By all accounts there never existed a more miserable set of beings than these wretched creatures now are.'
'It may be,' the old man said, as I returned the paper to him, 'that Washington was opposed to the scourging and hanging of our people, but that's his opinion of the Loyalists, anyway.'
Without further remark he rose, turned, and walked away. Though no one spoke—it had become a fixed rule among us to treat the war and those who had wronged us with silent disdain—I saw by the faces about me that there had been a violent stirring up of deep and bitter thoughts.'
We follow one current only of the times out of which the United States grew into strength and greatness. The siege of Boston was far advanced when General Gage wrote home, 'The rebels are shown not to be the disorderly rabble too many have supposed.' Not all at once did Washington bring into relief the finer qualities of his people. The struggle when it began covered a vast region, and chaos brooded over many districts. In the first division of men natural passion broke out in acts of violence. There was even a time of terror, and numbers were driven into the struggle who had little living interest in the things at stake. Gradually the true issues appeared, and the work of reconstruction went forward under different forms to the changes we now see.
It was wearing toward evening when the little schooner drew in toward shore, directly opposite a clearing in the middle of which stood a small log house. 'There is our home, mother,' I said, 'and there is David Elton waiting for us at the foot of the path by the river.'
My mother did not speak—she looked in silence. But a glance told me that she was seeing, not the little house of logs before us on the slope, but a fine, old colonial mansion with fluted Corinthian corners, with two spreading lindens in front, and wide, rich meadows about it.
In a short time all our possessions had been put ashore. Then the schooner, bearing others to their grants further up the river, swung away, and we turned to go up the path to our new but humble home.
'I did the best I could, madam,' David was explaining to my mother, a little later. 'It's hardly a place for fine ladies like you my wife was telling me, but with good lan' and plenty of lumber you needn't live here long.'
'This is all right; this is good enough for anybody to live a whole life in,' broke in Caroline, as she looked about the walls of wood, and up to the ceiling of bark. 'This is all fine. And, mother, just see the magnificent view from this door. Isn't it grand? The river, the hills, the woods!'