Cambridge
June 12^th, 1775

My dear Fruition —

I much appreciate the Lines you sent me.

Here, we simply await Calamity. No Action; simply Preparation. We hear of Foraging Raids on the Islands — Deer Island, Pettick’s Island, a Mansion burned, Cattle conducted to Shore — but no more than that. The Army sits yet in the Town, waiting & biding for we know not what.

We drill & drill & drill. I long ardently for Activity for my Hands is Commissioned to Build & to wet & to warp & to bind. Friend Prince has been requisitioned for a Work Detail of Negroes & Irishmen which is much relied upon to dig Ditches & hoist Abatis. We have, in full Sight of the Parliamentary Army, strengthened our Fortifications at Roxbury with Ditches & Breastworks & other such Devices; & as we scurry like so many Ants, Parliament’s fine Army hath cut through Boston Neck & entrenched there within scant Distance of our Fort at Roxbury. How thrives a City when its Neck is slit?

I see Friend Prince upon occasion, at the Earthworks or sometimes in the Evening, when we conduct him to our Camp to mess; which me or Shem must do with him as he cannot without Difficulties seek out our Fly, some Officers looking with the Eye of Suspicion upon a Negro who wanders the Camp without Orders & Errand. I find his Company delightful, as must your Brother find Anyone who listens to his Sermonizing & Raving without speaking, fleeing, slapping, or feigning Fits. I find I may speak to Prince as I can speak to no Other because he listeneth. Our Converse at these Times is exceeding Diverting; him relating curious Stories of Animals or Roman Iniquity, & me relating Tales of the Village, the Cooperage, & the Mill.

Prince sees more Activity than the Rest of us, his Detail being frequently employed. He is much changed, now that he has Purpose.

The Lord hath given to Each his especial Gift & Work; & I reckon that when that mysterious Work is taken up, we finding it at long last, then do we most fulfill what we Need Be. I have my Volubility, which is enflamed; Others have their Drinking songs or their Sops regarding the Sweet Lisp of their Children or their Spouse; others whisper to their Livestock; or hold Meetings for the Public Roads; or swell as Demagogues. These things Illuminate them.

Prince seemed to Desire Nothing. He sunk from one Sadness into Another.

What then does his Joylessness become, when Active? I have learned: It is Anger.

Now he has this new Anger & he spends his Days fiercely Digging & felling Trees & splicing them as Hazards to Infantry & sluicing Mud off his Hands &, with his Detail, building up the Bulwarks & Glacis.

He builds for Freedom — & this is his grim & unsmiling Joy.

So ’tis that we spend our Days. The City sits in the Bay upon its Piers like a Spider. I observe it from the Rushes but there is no Activity & nothing conduces to Change. Such is being a Soldier.

Your Valiant,         

Private Goring