[Draft] May 8th, 1777 My dear Harry I did not expect to have wrote you again from this place, but Heaven ordained it be. I write you, by the past post, that we had got thro the worst of this terrible distemper and in a day or two could return home -- but how greatly was I mistaken. My little innocence was suddenly taken very ill -- she lay two days -- without noticing any one and I may say without life or motion -- and on the third broke out with the small pox. as the Doctors tell me, in the natural way -- She poor little soul is covered from head to foot with it -- She has upwards of eighty in her sweet face -- but it is a fine sort and the Doctors say will not leave a mark -- tis now upon the turn -- my Harry shed one tear -- at thinking what an anxious mother feels at such a crisis -- the partner of my Soul is gone -- he who would share and sooth my cares is far far away -- and when I again shall see him, not I but heaven and he can tell, Billy has returned from Providence -- but in such a condition that he has not been to see me -- his hands and arms are continued sore -- so bad that he cannot use them -- he is at the place where he used to board -- As I shut up the house when I left it -- I am very desirous to get to town upon his account -- but must wait the recovery of my little darling. Col. Jackson has got his affair thro the court -- and means to begin recruiting immediately -- but General Heath tells me there is an order for his and Lees regiments to remain in Boston. If so I believe tis but a finese -- to take in the men to inlist -- the people in Boston are all mad moving out as fast as possible, for fear of Genl Burgoine. for my part I shall not stop short when I go -- which will not be till there is real danger they say he is now at Nashua, with ten thousand men -- means to land at Braintree and march to us -- I do not doubt but half the number might march thro the country -- but all my hopes are, that they will not try -- after the affair of Danbury, I think we have nothing to hope from militia -- are we not excellent politicians to place our stores in the midst of our enemys I remember to have heard frequently (when I was in Connecticut) that there was scarce a whig in the place. poor Uncle Winslow, my Harry -- What an unhappy step was his going away for his poor family -- now he is dead what will become of them I cannot think what they will do -- I expect a long letter from you tonight -- oh that you may tell me to come to Springfield -- that I may once more see you -- I have ten thousand things to say to you -- tis very hard -- but I will not complain -- I would write more but my spirits are agitated and my heart heavy -- God bless, my dearest life, think of me and pray for me -- yours entirely Lucy Knox