I Would Rather Fight With My Hands

When I Shall Again Write To You, Or Where I Shall Be Tomorrow, I Cannot Tell.

I Would Rather Fight With My Hands Than My Tongue.

I Am Accordingly Ready; I Have Pressed As Many Cabinet Papers Into Trunks As To Fill One Carriage; Our Private Property Must Be Sacrificed, As It Is Impossible To Procure Wagons For Its Transportation.

And Now, Dear Sister, I Must Leave This House Or The Retreating Army Will Make Me A Prisoner In It By Filling Up The Road I Am Directed To Take.

Two Messengers Covered With Dust Come To Bid Me Fly, But I Wait For Him.