Our account from the country and also from Hanover are equally melancholy, scare a house standing or any estate, and all the provisions destroyed.  It is some comfort however to understand that the violence has not extended very far and that a line may perhaps be drawn from Bluefields directly northwards. What claims us most at present is the dread of famine, which stares us in the face, and it we have not some speedy relief of bread kind, the few that have survived that unfortunate day will most probably fall victim to the more terrible fate of perishing with hunger.

 
In this distress we must look to the town of Kingston for relief – their humanity it is to be hoped will not suffer us to perish for want nor take any advantage of our misery and wretchedness which God knows is nearly as bad as it can be. For the calamity has been so general this way that no one can help his neighbour, nor have many of us shelter for our heads from the inclemency of the weather or cloaths to cover us, even fire, dreadful as it is, is nothing to what we have so lately experienced.

 
 We have likewise addressed the Admiral on this occasion, which we enclose, open to your Excellency and have no doubt you will back it with all your influence.  As one instance of the destruction of the Inhabitants, we mention that of Doctor King’s house, in which were ten whites and about forty negroes, not one of whom escaped drowning, and the sea flowed up for more than half a mile beyond its usual bounds, even to the height of ten feet.