Letters from an American Farmer

James must leave his house and abandon his farm. But where can he go? The polar regions would match his “melancholy” mood. But no matter where he goes, he cannot forget the terrible things he’s witnessed, so he can never be happy. For that matter, he doesn’t believe that the current generation will ever be happy again. The word “misery” has taken on new meaning for him. When he considers all the human miseries with which he’s now connected, he feels as if he’ll lose his reason.

James broadly describes his settlement. To the west is a chain of mountains, to the east a thinly inhabited area. Neighbors live at a considerable distance from one another. “Our dreadful enemy” can emerge from the western mountains at any time, and it now seems that they intend to destroy the whole frontier, starting from Lake Champlain. These raids usually happen in the middle of the night, though farmers fear them as they go to their fields in midday. The slightest noise frightens a family as they sit down to a meal, and their sleep is disrupted by imagined fears. James passes suspenseful hours at the door, ready to die, while his family hides in the cellar. He begs Mr. F.B. to sympathize with him.

James laments that people go so easily from loving to hating once another. As a peace-lover, he doesn’t know what to do. He respects America’s “ancient connexion” with England, yet he fears innovations that his own countrymen now embrace. He regrets “this unfortunate revolution.” If he expresses loyalty to “the mother country,” he is regarded as a traitor; yet, if he sides with his countrymen, he opposes “our ancient masters.” He is troubled by both extremes.

James doesn’t know much about the dispute that sparked the revolution. Both sides have written a lot about it, but who is wise enough to judge between the different accounts? No matter what, the innocent always suffer at the hands of a few, shedding blood for the sake of “great leaders.”

James is not a learned man, and he can only follow his sentiment and feeling. How can he do that when “Reason” has been replaced by bloodshed? He does not want to renounce the principles he was raised to believe and the nation (Britain) he has always respected. Yet he grew up in America, and how can he fight against it? The idea is horrible to him.

James sees how much suffering the aggressors have caused. Families have been ruined, children have been orphaned, and much blood has been shed. But he wonders what a man like him can really do about it, when there’s so much hostility on both sides of the conflict. Even if a man tries to act according to his principles, he will likely be punished for it, while those who act according to self-preservation won’t be blamed as harshly. Since nobody cares what happens to the people of the frontier, then, it seems best to act in self-interest.

The disinterested man who’s not in danger has the luxury of declaring who’s right and wrong in this conflict. But if such a man came and lived with James’s family for a month, and had to spend sleepless nights protecting his wife and children with his musket, then “the man will […] get the better of the citizen.” Abstract political opinions will vanish in the face of real suffering.

Indeed, if even the king were to endure what the frontiersmen endure, he would quickly be reduced to the position of a fearful father. Then his royal policies would also be influenced by “Nature, that great parent.” In light of this, does it make sense that James, to be considered a faithful subject, must impartially say that his family should suffer for the good of Britain?

James passionately asks if Mr. F.B. understands how bad his family’s situation is. If they stay here, they will ultimately die; if they decide to leave, there’s nowhere to go—everyone’s houses are filled with refugees. If they defend themselves, they’ll be regarded as rebels; yet shouldn’t passivity be regarded as rebellion against Nature? Even animals defend themselves when threatened. Why, then, should reason stifle human instinct?

When James reflects on all this, he quickly grows bitter and concludes that life is meaningless. He is only distracted from such thoughts when he remembers his wife and children. Because of them, self-preservation is the only thing that makes sense. He wishes he could ensure their wellbeing without harming anyone else. If necessary, he would “revert into a state […] nearer to that of nature” and forget about allegiance to a country.

James isn’t trained for anything besides farming his land, and he’s never wanted anything except to live quietly with his family and teach his children to provide for themselves in their turn. But now, after almost 20 years of labor, his family must abandon everything—a poor reward for virtue. The only alternative he sees is to flee to a distant Indian village, where they will subsist on very little, learn to hunt, and speak a different language. His only hesitation is that, often, young children who live among Indians refuse to leave their adoptive culture behind when they are older. Indian life must be superior to European in some respects, or it wouldn’t be attractive to so many people. So, James is determined to join the village or die trying.

James assumes that this is his final letter and that, if he flees, he won’t be able to repossess his property after the war. But F.B. shouldn’t mistake him for a stoic—he feels keen regret at the prospect of abandoning the house and lands he built with his own hands, and heartache at the thought that his children might suffer. At the same time, he trusts that the Indians will be kind; only vengeance motivates them to violence, unlike Europeans, who will shed blood “for sixpence per day.” He has communicated with a tribal chief who has promised that there will be plenty of land and food for them; however, James is afraid to share this news with his wife, in case she refuses to follow him there.

James knows that F.B. isn’t familiar with the geography, but he can reach the village by traveling overland for 23 miles and by water the rest of the way. He plans to sell most of their belongings to his father-in-law and to free the people he’s enslaved, encouraging them to go and make their own livings. He will also write a letter to an acquaintance making it clear that he isn’t leaving “to join the incendiaries on our frontiers.”

James is so familiar with Indian lifestyles and hospitality (which is greater than many Europeans’) that he’s not worried about living among them. After arriving in the village, he will build his own wigwam on the land the village allots to him. He also hopes that he and his family will be “adopted” into the village soon after their arrival and receive new names. He only worries that his youngest children will be so susceptible to the “charm of an Indian education” that they will reject their family’s customs. To keep them from becoming completely “wild,” therefore, James will teach them to farm.

James can keep himself busy with hunting, but without wool and flax, what will his wife do? He figures she will have to learn to cook Indian dishes of corn and squash, to smoke meat, and to adopt her neighbors’ customs. He nevertheless hopes that his wife and daughters won’t adopt native paint and hairstyles. His wife is experienced in giving inoculations, so James hopes her skill will win esteem for her in the village.

As for the family’s religious beliefs, they won’t change much, because their practices are already so simple. James will regularly read and explain a section of the decalogue (the Ten Commandments), just as he’s always done.

Six acres of land will be plenty for James to grow the family’s crops; he will share produce with the Indians and try to encourage them to do more farming instead of relying on hunting so much. He also hopes to influence the villagers to handle “those pests of the continent,” the Indian-traders, with greater savvy. As much as he respects Indians, though, he doesn’t want his daughter to marry one of them, since he sees intermarriage as “disagreeable […] to Nature’s intentions.”

Despite the great change in his family’s lifestyle, James thinks it is worth it for the peace they will once again enjoy. He is confident his plan can succeed. Though he still fears “Indian education,” he figures it is not more dangerous than “the education of the times,” and he trusts that hard work will prevent its excesses. He will keep a careful account of his sons’ labors so that, when peace returns, he can give them the property they’ve earned by their work. Otherwise, they might not be motivated enough. He will encourage them to hunt and fish well enough to keep up with their Indian friends, but not to count this a great accomplishment.

James’s children may not be educated in American schools, but they will learn sobriety and modesty from the Indian villagers. They will no longer have to put up with constant worry and fear. They might not be able to learn a profession, but they will learn how to support themselves on the land. If they aren’t raised in a specific church, at least James will have taught them “that primary worship which is the foundation of all others.” After all, in his opinion, God doesn’t reside in a particular church or community, and it’s most important to know God as “the Father of all men” who just wants us to make each another happy.

James grants that his dreams of this possible future might be brighter than reality. Nevertheless, he hopes that their isolation will serve to draw the family closer together; and he would rather his children learn to thrive in the woods than have to become soldiers. In the village, they will be free from politics. And James will be able to contemplate Nature to his heart’s content.

James prays that if the Supreme Being cares about the events in individual people’s lives, He will bless his family’s life and give James the strength to guide his wife and children through the coming trials. He also prays for peace in America and that the fruits of Americans’ labors won’t be lost.

James tells F.B. that the frankness of his letters must be convincing evidence of their true friendship. He’s sure that F.B. sympathizes and mourns with him in this oppression. James’s own sufferings look small when he considers what has befallen America as a whole.