Well, we are here in the Highlands, my sweetheart-wife and I.... I who now wear the regimentals of a Continental Colonel, and have a regiment as pretty as ever I see—though it be not over-strong in numbers. But, oh, the powder toughened line o' them in their patched blue-and-buff! And their bright bayonets! Sir, I would not boast; and ask I pardon if it seems so....
Below us His Excellency, calm, imperturbable, holds in his hand our destinies, juggling now with Sir Henry Clinton, now with my Lord Cornwallis, as suits his temper and his purpose.
The traitor, Arnold, ravages where he may; the traitor, Lee, sulks in retreat; and Conway has confessed his shame; and the unhappy braggart, Gates, now mourns his laurels, wears his willows, and sits alone, a broken and preposterous man.
I think no day passes but I thank God for my Lord Stirling, for our wise Generals Greene and Knox and Wayne, for the gallant young Marquis, so loved and trusted by His Excellency.
But war is long—oh, long and wearying!—and a dismal and vexing business for the most.
I, being in garrison at this fortress, which is the keystone of our very liberties, find that, in barracks as in the field, every hour brings its anxieties and its harassing duties.
Yet, thank God, I have some hours of leisure.... And we have leased a pretty cottage within our works—and our two children seem wondrous healthy and content.... Both have yellow hair. I wish they had their mother's lovely eyes!... But, for the rest, they have her beauty and her health.
And shall, no doubt, inherit all the beauty of her mind and heart.
Comes a soldier servant where I sit writing: