Dulwich, Massachusetts
May 18^th, 1775

My dear Fruition —

In my Fancy, you perch in the Cooperage & I smell the Peel of the Wood, & the Staves are around you & the white Hogsheads newly bound & the Shavings curled and looped upon the Floor, silver and gold — & you are eating a fat Mushroom.

There is little Word from Boston. What have you heard in Kedron? Some Men of this Village put out in Whaleboats for to survey Boston’s Streets from the Water — but Boats are harassed by the Fleet strung across the Harbor & they could not tarry long.

What can be seen in the City? Regiments of Redcoats parading through the Streets & still encamped upon the Common; Officers fishing off Balconies above the Water; Ladies in wide Windows, applying Lineament to each other’s Elbows; &c; the Stuff of Nothing. No News.

Here, Drills & Drills & Drills. March & turn & march & turn & affix Bayonets & present Bayonets & Charge. We want Precision; we shall meet soon with the King’s Regulars, & they shall be precise enough, I trow.

In the evening, we retire to our Fly & mess. Those among us with Whistle or Fiddle strikes up a Jig or Lilt — until Mr. Gower complains of the wretched Ungodliness of it all & the Coming of Flames & scorching Gouges & Tridents & Vats &c. at which, to preserve Harmony, we all break out in Hymnody, Prince playing like an Angel upon his wretched Fiddle. How feeble our Voices, but how glorious is our Praise of the ALMIGHTY! And then, does no one stop him, Prince plays us some piece of European Confusion, more, says I, for his own ear than ours.

Prince — your Heart (tender Being) would melt to see this curious Fellow Prince.

He must have suffered some great Wrong. I worry at what secret Ill he hides. My Vigor cools to speak of him, so girt is he in Solemnity — Helm and Hauberk — with only the Eyes peering out through the gloomy Visor. His Motions are slow with Sadness’s weight, forged Link on Link, a Vestment about his Chest.

Yesterday, at the Bidding of Capt. Draper, I took Prince to spend his small Sum for Enlistment on a new Shirt and Breeches. He wished none of it, & when I said to him that we must purchase new Clothing for him, his Looks were all of cast-down Resentment, as were I proposing to dandify him — so I remarked somewhat smartly to him that torn Satin Breeches, Silk Stockings a-bled on, and a lace Jabot smeared with Chicken-Cack whistle, “Runaway Slave — fetch me and prosper!” in a manner ill-befitting a long-time Freeman like himself. He thought my Observations on Fashion exceeding Seasonable & we retired some miles down the Road and purchased him a Shirt out of some Negro cloth & some Breeches, which we got at a very fine Price.

His Sadness is impenetrable. He speaks not.

In the Evening, we each do our Stint at cooking on the Fire. Mr. Wheeler and I have been forced to teach him how; he hath no skill in this.

Last night, we et Squab — which he left overlong on the Spit — we might as well have dined on Sandals — and I saw him cease chewing. He did not eat, though the Meat was in his Mouth.

“Prince,” says I, “it will go down the easier if you Chew.”

He did not respond; so I repeated my Instructions.

Said he, “We take in the Flesh of other Beasts. We pack ourselves full of them. We are their Burial Ground.”

The Rest of us — his Mess — gaped.

He reached into his Mouth, & removed the Gobbet; & placed the Gobbet on his Plate. He regarded the Plate balanced upon his skinny Knees; & all life left him as he beheld that Mound of Flesh.

Poor, unspeaking, tormented Creature.

As says the Psalmist, “When I kept Silence, my Bones waxed old through my Roaring all the Day long.”

From One who shall never keep Silence, would he or no,

Ev. Goring