William Stephens Smith to Abigail Adams Smith, April 26, 1787

York House, Dover, April 26th, 1787. 1

I dare say, my friend, when you receive this, you will think I have moved with great
rapidity.

There have but two things occurred on the road which are worth mentioning; the one is
my having met Mr. Rucker; we stopped, jumped out of our carriages, I into the dust, and
he out of it; he had a great coat on, and his beard he brought from Paris with him; I
wonder how it passed the custom-house officers at this place, for they are as sharp as
need be. As to the other, it happened between this and Canterbury; but I must insist in
the first place that you do not receive it as a Canterbury story. Well, silence gives,
or at least in this instance must pass for, consent, which being granted, I proceed to
this ignus fatuus, or Jack-o-lanthorn story.

Curioni was perched, bolt upright, in front of the postillions, who were lashing their
nags and clattering away, as if ten thousand musquetoes were after them, when behold, we
found ourselves upon an extended plain, and the sable curtains of the night falling
apace: what was to be done in this case? Some would attempt an answer here, but I, like
Will-o-the-Wisp, am above this, and proceed to tell you what I did—I took out my little
tin case, and with a match lighted the lamps.
The horses stopped, Curioni rose perpendicular and cried: “Sir, I begged them not to be
alarmed, but the one to set down, and the other to drive on, that no one would hurt
them.” “Oh,” said the postillion, “what’s this?” “Phosphor,” said I; crack went the
whip, and they moved with such rapidity, it struck me they were anxious to arrive at
some inhabited place, and wished themselves safe home again. I must not practise this in
Spain or Portugal, or I may be detained.

Yours,

W. S. S.