November 23rd, 1775
Morning — occupied in digging earthworks.
I have received a note from Dr. Trefusis, who is settled at a tavern in town. At the next available opportunity, he will seek me out — as I am not permitted to roam the streets.
This day, received my firelock. Our Regiment is armed from rebel stores seized in raids earlier this month. Mine is an old Charleville musket. Curious to consider that, were it not seized, this very musket had been used against us. The stock hath been polished by the enemy’s hands.
Afternoon, drilled without powder. Corporal Craigie, the Scotsman with his forehead branded, called out the commands, saying we maun needs listen well or we shall surrender in confusion. I listen, but succumb to anxiety — lose all distinction between left hand and right — fumble the musket — find myself marching into my companions.
The gun makes not the soldier.