"_Wednesday, Nov. 24th, 1776._—Yesterday my indignation was aroused to a high degree. I was sitting in the end of the porch, my father at my side, and little Mary, with your letter in her hands, pretending to read it, when a loud cry startled us. It seemed to come from Pattison's, our nearest neighbor. Charles went over, returned, and gave us this account of the affair. It appears that Edmund Pattison was enjoying his noon rest quietly in the barn (he is a noble-looking lad of eighteen, tall, athletic, and of a high spirit,) when a light-horseman rode up to the door. "'Youngster,' said he, 'make haste and bestir yourself. Go and assist that driver of the two yoke of oxen there to unload his cart of timber into the road.' "Now, Edmund had been hard at work with his own hired man, loading the wagon, to take the timber to a farmer three miles off, to whom it was sold by his father; the wagon and teams both belonged to the Pattisons. "'Hurry, sir,' said the light-horseman. "Edmund firmly replied: 'I shall not do it.' "'What, sirrah! we shall see who will do it,' and drawing his sword, he held it over Edmund's head, cursing, swearing, and threatening to cut him down unless he instantly unloaded his team and helped to carry in it provisions to the British army. "With unblanched cheek, Edmund Pattison reiterated his denial, telling him to do it for himself. Enraged beyond measure at such a contempt of orders, it seemed as if the man _must_ strike and kill the stubborn boy, who, firm and undaunted, said not a word. "At this time our Charles, who was on the spot, ran to the house and told Mrs. Pattison that 'the Britisher was going to kill her Edmund.' "_Her_ cry it was that we heard from the porch. She ran to the barn and begged the soldier to desist. He was more furious than ever, supposing the fears of the mother would induce compliance. She, too, expostulated with her son, imploring him to assist in unloading the wagon, and save himself from death. "'No fear of death, mother; he dare not touch a hair of my head.' "The boy grew more determined, the soldier more enraged—flourishing his saber and swearing that he would be the death of him. "'You dare not. I will report you to your master for this,' said Edmund, boldly. Upon this the light-horseman mounted, telling the boy once more that if he did not instantly begin the work he would cut him into inch pieces. Edmund coolly walked across the barn floor, armed himself with a pitchfork, and took his station in the doorway. "'You cowardly rascal,' said he, 'clear out, or I'll stab you with my pitchfork!'