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actual rebellion, attempting to render themselves independent of Great Britain. We rely, with the fullest confidence, on the wisdom and prudence of your Majesty's councils, and must the most effectual measures will be taken, for restoring peace and tranquillity, upon the most permanent foundation, to all your Majesty's dominions. And we fervently pray for the preservation of your Majesty's Royal person and family, that your reign over us may be long and happy, and that you may ever triumph over the enemies of our most excellent Constitution. THOMAS EWING TO COLONEL WILLIAM SMALLWOOD. Baltimore, January 10, 1776. DEAR SIR: With pleasure have I heard of your being much better of your late illness. I hope the bearer, Mr. Joseph Baxter, my Lieutenant, will find you thoroughly recovered. He now waits on you and the Convention, to get the commissions for our company, with orders for inlisting troops. As I suppose it will be found necessary to advance the soldiers a month's pay, or some advance money, you will please procure for him what you think necessary; and I do here engage, to be accountable to you, or the Convention, for any money you give him, on ac-count of our company. I am in hopes I shall have a very respectable company of farmers' sons, as I am determined I will take very few, if any, out of this town. If any troops are to be kept in this town, I am in hopes you will indulge me and my company by staying here. FREDERICKTOWN (MARYLAND) COMMITTEE TO PRESIDENT OF CONGRESS. Frederick, January 10, 1776. SIR: By order of the Committee for the Upper District of Frederick County, I have sent you (under guard) one Doctor Smith; he was taken sometime in November last in company with Doctor Connolly, and confined in Fredericktown, from where he made his escape; since which he has been taken at the Little-Meadows, with the enclosed letters. The Committee has thought proper to send him to the Congress. P.S. The guard will expect something for their trouble. Fredericktown, Maryland, November 24, 1775. DEAR SIR: Little did I expect, when I last wrote you, that our next correspondence would be from this place, or so soon; but my unaccountable fate, still delights in leading me through numerous and perplexing labyrinths, and in adventures particularly singular and strange. 1 sit down to unbosom myself to my friend, as a relief to an anxiety of mind caused by confinement under a guard for several nights and days, and the painful suspense of as yet not knowing my doom from the Committee of this place; but I find myself very unfit for the task, occasioned by the depression of spirits to which I am often so subject, and the number and confusion of disagreeable ideas that depression raises in my mind, I endeavour to banish them, but in vain. Confinement is death and torture to me; and, to refine on the barbarity of my fate, my guard consists of Germans, whose dissonant jargon of corrupt high Dutch, is not only unintelligible to me, but also so extremely disagreeable, by its cursed noise and harshness, that it distracts my very soul. I often consider that I am in a place where you have enjoyed much satisfaction and agreeable society; but that reflection brings me no comfort, as I am deprived of every benefit of that nature. My two fellow-travellers, my only acquaintance and friends in this place, are, unhappily, in the same, circumstances, and we are separated one form the other, so that, as yet, we are not permitted to see or converse with each other, a circumstance which greatly adds to my pain. However, I shall endeavour to fortify my mind, so as to be able to bear whatever may be my doom. Pain, affliction, losses, misfortunes, and defamation, I am habituated to; they are become familiar; but confinement, which, to me, is more dreadful than death, I am but little able to endure; it is the last, and heaviest of all; but, as it is now my destiny, 1 shall make use of my best efforts to submit to it with patience, and make a virtue of necessity. But it is, indeed, a mortifying reflection, that when, through a crowd of misfortunes, I saw a prospect rise before me, of still doing well, and of attaining all my favourite wishes, it is, I say, a most mortifying reflection, to be then thrown down from this, and to lose every ray of hope—"a long dependance in an hour is lost."*
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