December 16, 1773 Dear Diary, I have always felt safe living near this old smelly wharf, but for some reason there is a feeling of uncertainty in the air tonight. I cannot explain this uneasiness, dear diary, but I saw it in Mother's eyes and heard it in her voice as she was setting the dinner table this evening. And when I asked where Father was, she was short with me and gave me some strange excuse for his whereabouts. It is not like Father to miss our evening meal. So what am I to think? And if Mother's odd behavior was not enough, no sooner than I had sat down to enjoy my favorite plate of dumplings did she abruptly send me upstairs to get ready for bed. I can feel it in my bones. Something...do wait, dear diary. I hear noises from outside. My hand quivers as I write so soon after seeing the sight below my window. I'm still wandering if I really saw what I thought I saw in the dim light of twinkling lanterns. But as God is my witness, there seems to be "Indians," milling about on the dark side of my house near the water's edge. This brew of savages almost caused me to scream aloud for Father, and then I heard voices, voices I am certain, beyond any doubt, that I know dearly. Oh, diary, I cannot even begin to wonder about what is about to happen so close to me.