Newport, September the 2d, 1778.
Once more, my dear Mr. Almy, I am permitted to write you. Great has been your disappointment, and great has been my sorrow, grievous to bear because it came from my friends, but I beg not to dispute at so great a distance. By your desire and my own inclinations, I am to give you an account of what passes during the siege; but first let me tell you, it will be done with spirit, for my dislike to the nation that you call your friends, is the same as when you knew me, knowing there is no confidence to be placed in them, and I forsee that the whole will end, as this maneuvre did, in taking this island, to the discredit of the Americans. You will not be surprised at my warmth when you will find how I suffered, nor wonder at my freedom when you find this comes sealed and wrote for your perusal alone. Now to be brief.
Sunday, August 16.
No church, no appearance of the day kept up. Still carting, still fortifying; your people encroaching nearer, throwing up new works every night. Our people beholding it every morning, with wonder and astonishment. And really, Mr. Almy, my curiosity was so great, as to wish to behold the entrenchment that I supposed you were behind; and a good young man by the name of Dr. Hussillon, took me in a chaise to the hospital, which was formerly owned by Mr. Cozzens. There we had an excellent view of Vars' orchard, and all the encampments around it. Believe me, my dear friend, never was a poor soul more to be pitied, such different agitations as by turns took hold upon me. Wishing most ardently to call home my wanderer, at the same time, filled with resentment against those he calls his friend,s so that I returned home more distressed, my spirits more sunk than when I went out. Great enquiry was made at my return, to know the reason of my distressed countenance; but others who knew I had my share of sensibility, let me enjoy my sorrow that had no remedy, till night came on, I hid myself from the world.
Once more, my dear Mr. Almy, I am permitted to write you. Great has been your disappointment, and great has been my sorrow, grievous to bear because it came from my friends, but I beg not to dispute at so great a distance. By your desire and my own inclinations, I am to give you an account of what passes during the siege; but first let me tell you, it will be done with spirit, for my dislike to the nation that you call your friends, is the same as when you knew me, knowing there is no confidence to be placed in them, and I forsee that the whole will end, as this maneuvre did, in taking this island, to the discredit of the Americans. You will not be surprised at my warmth when you will find how I suffered, nor wonder at my freedom when you find this comes sealed and wrote for your perusal alone. Now to be brief.
Sunday, August 16.
No church, no appearance of the day kept up. Still carting, still fortifying; your people encroaching nearer, throwing up new works every night. Our people beholding it every morning, with wonder and astonishment. And really, Mr. Almy, my curiosity was so great, as to wish to behold the entrenchment that I supposed you were behind; and a good young man by the name of Dr. Hussillon, took me in a chaise to the hospital, which was formerly owned by Mr. Cozzens. There we had an excellent view of Vars' orchard, and all the encampments around it. Believe me, my dear friend, never was a poor soul more to be pitied, such different agitations as by turns took hold upon me. Wishing most ardently to call home my wanderer, at the same time, filled with resentment against those he calls his friend,s so that I returned home more distressed, my spirits more sunk than when I went out. Great enquiry was made at my return, to know the reason of my distressed countenance; but others who knew I had my share of sensibility, let me enjoy my sorrow that had no remedy, till night came on, I hid myself from the world.
Source: Newport Historical Magazine 1 (1880-1), 17-36.