A Journal from British-Occupied Long Island, 1776, Pt. 1
Diary entries of a female witness to the British occupation of Long Island, New York, during the American Revolutionary War.
Location: Long Island, New York, USA
From Personal Recollections of the American Revolution; A Private Journal, Prepared from Authentic Domestic Records, by Lydia Post, 1859.
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
[On August 27, 1776, British troops won a crucial early victory in the American Revolutionary War. In the Battle of Long Island, the British defeated General George Washington and seized control of the Port of New York and its surrounding areas. New York would remain under British occupation until 1783. This journal, compiled by Lydia Post, is from the personal writings of Grace Barclay, the wife of an officer of the Revolution, as she witnessed British occupation on Long Island.]
December, 1776
Thursday
General Howe has issued a proclamation offering pardon to all who will submit to royal authority. Pardon! for what? A just indignation against rights trampled upon!
It is said that many wealthy and influential persons have deserted the American cause. It is indeed a gloomy hour! But we must triumph. The descendants of those who sought here a peaceful asylum from oppression, Huguenots, Puritans, Covenanters, will not submit to oppression here. They will defend it with their lives. The ocean rolled between them and their tyrants, then, as it will again. It is God’s decree that this people shall be free. The broad lands of this new continent are destined to all time to be the asylum of the Persecuted, the Poor, the Suffering! Tyranny here shall never hold his baleful sway!
Monday
The impressments of men, horses, and wagons, to carry provender, hay, and soldiers, about the country, are unceasingly going on. When the dreadful work begins, the light-horseman is seen flying like lightning from house to house; the men take the alarm, and make every effort to get out of the way, and to hide their horses and wagons. It is very difficult. Many a noble animal is ruined, worked to death. When the farmers are once caught, and receive orders, they dare not disobey, for persecution is sure to follow. They receive less injury by complying.
Tuesday
Judith Pattison came over to Tuesday. the Parsonage to-day for the first time. She is a sweet young Quakeress; her pure, lovely, and attractive looks are indeed winning. She wore a silvery drab poplin; the sleeves came just above the elbow, a little white frill below; her arms are round and white. She wears always a neat gauze cap; it is thought unseemly in their Society that a young woman’s head should be uncovered. She is very fair, though her hair and eyes are dark; her aspect is mild, gentle, and pensive. I can describe to you the outline of Edith’s features, but not the spiritual expression of her face. She is made a perfect lady of by her eight doting brothers. They will fetch, and carry, and run for their beautiful sister, as though she were a queen. And when you look at her, you do not think it strange, her air and mien are so serene, and dignity sits enthroned upon her brow.
Doubtless when you read my Journal, penned for your eye, you will exclaim, "How could she calmly write these details in stirring times like these?" But remember, Edward, I must be occupied about something; it beguiles the attention, and keeps off sad thoughts of you, which, when I give way to them, rend my heart. My precious father’s peace is disturbed, and even the dear children appear to participate in the foreboding gloom.
Thursday
Today little Marcia found me weeping over your miniature. She took it out of my hand, and covering it with kisses, said, "Oh, that is my dear papa. He is a brave man, is he not, mamma? and the best man too that ever lived. When will he come back?"
This prattle will be sweet to your ears, for it comes from the heart.
Sunday
The church was opened for divine service to-day. It was unusually solemn; many officers and soldiers attended; they were serious and attentive.
Our beautiful clover-field is trampled upon and ruined. My dear father was so fond of its luxuriance! When the dew was on it, the air came laden with delicious odor, regaling us when we sat in the porch. The children used to make posies and wreaths of the large red and white flowers, and often expatiated fondly and gratefully on the rich feast preparing for the horse and brindle cow, by Him who "giveth the early and the latter rain." The clover-seed came from England. While in church a company of fifty horsemen rode into the field, and quite cropped and destroyed it. I have persuaded my father to make complaint to Colonel Wurms; but there is no redress.
Tuesday
Press for horses yesterday. I will relate how Charley saved our young horse. He and James Pattison were idly sitting on the fence, the other side of the pond, talking indignantly of the insults of the British, to whom the former shows no mercy, when they espied a light-horseman at the door of a farm-house. They knew the next place would be Isaac Willetts, which, though only across the pond, is completely hid from our view by a stately row of poplars, which forms a leafy screen; and they knew his errand too, that he would be here in an instant, for when "pressing," they gallop from house to house with violent speed.
"Fleetfoot shall not go," said Charles, "without an effort to save him;" and running with all his might to the barn, he jumped on his back, and made for the woods.
On the instant he was seen by the red-coat, who put spurs to his horse, and came on a full run towards the woods, where Charles had disappeared. My heart beat quick when the red-coat too was lost to sight. My dear, brave child might fall from his horse and be dashed against the trees, in the hot pursuit of the light-horseman.
My father and I sat gazing intently towards the woods, awaiting the result in breathless anxiety, astonished at the boy’s daring, and ready to reprove his rash spirit in attempting to save the young horse at the risk of his own safety.
In about an hour’s time we saw the red-coat come out of the woods below; he stopped a man in the road, and made inquiries, but getting no satisfaction, rode off, muttering curses.
At nightfall, peeping his way through the wood, Charles made his appearance, still mounted on his favorite Fleetfoot. By signs we made known to him that the danger had passed, and he rode up to the house. Overjoyed to see him, he told us his story, which Grace and Marcia drank in with greedy ears. In deed the scene in the porch was worthy of Hogarth’s pencil. On one side was his pale affrighted mother, and the little girls, with eyes open wide and full of wonder; near by, the venerable grandfather, with silver locks parted upon a peaceful brow, and Charley standing close to his steed, as he recounted his wrongs and hairbreadth escape, leaning his head occasionally against his proud neck, so that my son’s curls of gold mingled with the ebon mane of Fleetfoot.
He said that he struck deeper and deeper into the woods, going from one piece to another, until the forest became very dense and dark. He rode into a tangled, marshy place, where he stood five hours without moving!
At one time he heard his pursuer close by; heard his fearful oaths, heard him lashing the sides of his own jaded horse. Charley’s heart beat violently. But the bog was wet and gloomy, and the soldier’s ardor was dampened he durst not venture. So Charles and Fleetfoot were left to themselves in the deep wood. A brave feat for a boy of fourteen!
An officer of high rank is in winter quarters with us; resistance is out of the question; wounded and ill, we deeply sympathize with him. Foe or friend, he must be cared for compassionately.
Tuesday
Major Musgrave has two servants. They attend upon him assiduously, but we can minister to the mind of the poor gentleman, and by reading and conversing, can beguile him sometimes of the thought of his situation.
Oh, dear husband, war is a weariness! Its effects sicken the soul. Every hour some fresh account of murder, robbery, wounding, destroying, depredating!
When will this unnatural warfare be at an end?
Wednesday
Major Musgrave is very ill to-day, but yet considerate, and full of the thoughtful courtesy of the gentleman. What a blessed thing it is, that national animosity can be lost sight of, forgotten, in sorrow and compassion for a fellow-creature’s distress! It leads me constantly to bring home to my own thoughts and feelings the idea of a beloved husband, child, or brother, in such a situation, away from me and all that he loved; amid those against whom his hand had been raised in warfare; wounded, ill, in pain, and anguish of spirit. Should I not cherish, in the deep places of my heart, an everlasting gratitude? And should I not teach it religiously to my children, to those who had thus ministered unto mine own?
Friday
No public news this many a day. My womanish fears, as you name them, get the better of me. The disparity between the contending parties is so immense. The mother country, the first maritime power on the globe; her great wealth, vast resources, well disciplined armies, experienced military and naval commanders. What have the Colonies to oppose to such an array of means and power?
Inexperienced officers; raw, undisciplined troops; scant arms and munitions of war; small revenue; few armed ships!
Be still, my anxious heart! "All things are possible to them that believe." "By faith we can remove mountains." Mountains they appear when we look at human means, which seem utterly inadequate. But "the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong."
What is this struggle of the Colonies? Is it a war of aggression, of cupidity, of conquest, of fierce passion, for tyranny and despotic sway? No it is the noble endeavor, the strong purpose, founded in inalienable right, to throw off a galling yoke unjustly and perseveringly imposed. It is the cry of humanity against oppression, usurped power, insolence, and rapacity. Will it prevail, or will it be smothered? Will those evils, from which our fathers fled to this new-found country, like hydra-headed monsters, raise here their heads, nor be smitten?
Monday
The neighbors feel in Major Musgrave an involuntary interest. Sympathy forms this bond. They call often to see him, and inquire about him, and bring nice things to tempt the sick man’s appetite. Such attentions touch him sensibly. The wound is very bad; it has induced a high fever. He is patient and uncomplaining, which is ten times more touching than if he were cross and irritable.
Tuesday
I cannot but be powerfully moved by the wounded man who lies below. His heroic patience in such deep suffering is to be greatly admired; also his consideration of others in the midst of it. He seems to forget himself, in the dread of giving trouble and inconvenience. My father says it is the gift of God Grace, which enables him to triumph over the pains of the body. I asked Major Musgrave if he had always endured suffering so patiently? He replied, "I have not borne mental trials with patience or meekness; they are more difficult to endure than bodily pain." He has before made allusion to some great sorrow which he has experienced.
Dec. 30th, 1776
The year has closed disastrous, gloomy; panic and despair reign in many a breast. All the future is uncertain; none can foretell what another year may bring forth. Our great commander is still hopeful; although he prays Congress for more effort and assistance, he never speaks a discouraging word as to the result of the struggle. If Congress would appropriate more money, and men could be enlisted on longer terms, say during the war, and properly equipped, greater things could be done. Now, no sooner are they organized, and become a little drilled, than the term of enlistment expires, and raw recruits take their place.
January 15th
News of the Battle of Princeton. My husband safe, thank Heaven! General Washington victorious; General Mercer mortally wounded! How the thoughts of his loved ones rush to my heart! God have mercy upon them! The Commander-in-Chief, by his judgment, skill, and cool intrepidity, has struck the enemy with surprise. They have looked with contempt on our raw men, many of whom never saw a battle. They expected to crush us; to quell with ease, by their giant power, the rebels, as the lord of the forest crushes the insects beneath his feet. With all Major Musgrave’s politeness, this is discoverable.
They forget the deep-rooted indignation which burns in our breasts; the determination to be free, animating the whole colonies with one heart and purpose, to do and dare for liberty, or death!
Thursday
The Major is rather better; the wound appears to be healing, but he is miserably weak and ill. I went into his room to-day rather unexpectedly; he appeared to have a miniature in his hand, and put it hastily aside. I asked no questions, of course.
Friday
General Washington has completely dislodged the British along the Delaware river, and recovered almost the whole province of New Jersey. Does it not teach man to look to Him, and remember who it is that blesses the means, when to mortal view they seem totally inadequate?
Monday
Our trials in this quarter, I have no doubt, appear to you trifling, and insignificant. In comparison with the great sacrifices and noble deeds now enacting on a broader field, they are so. Nevertheless they are irritating and exasperating in the extreme, and hard to be borne. Were I to undertake to relate the injuries, insults, horrors, and sufferings our poor farmers are subject to, I should never finish the story. They take the fence rails to burn, so that the fields are all left open, and the cattle stray away and are often lost; burn fires all night on the ground, and to replenish them, go into the woods and cut down all the young saplings, thereby destroying the growth of ages. But worse than all, robbers come over from the main shore in boats, and keep us in constant alarm! They belong to no party, and spare none; freebooters, cowardly midnight assassins, incendiaries, indiscriminate, bold, and daring. "Their hand is against every man, and every man’s hand is against them."
We have been spared as yet on account of the Hessians and officer, which are quartered here, whom they fear. Thus "some strange comfort every state attends."
Wednesday
The soldiers take so much notice of the children, that I fear lest they should contract evil, especially Charles. They have taught him to speak their language; he understands nearly all their conversation. They make pretty willow baskets for Marcia and Grace, and tell them of their own little ones at home, over the stormy ocean. The children are fond of them, and they feel no enmity towards them. What is more melancholy than the trade of a hired soldier? I deeply commiserate their wretched lot. Nothing to ennoble the contest; no homes and hearths to fight for; no country to save; no freedom to bleed and die for. It may be "sweet and proper for our country to die," as saith the old Roman, but it is bitter servitude to risk life and limb for lucre; and revolting, sickening, to serve in a cause by which we have nothing to gain in victory, or to lose in defeat!
Thursday
The army in winter quarters at Morristown. Depredation and destruction going on about here.
Major Musgrave sits up an hour or two every day; he powerfully awakens my sympathy. Do not be frightened, my husband. Pity, admiration of his patient endurance, no other sentiment can animate my breast. He is our country’s foe, but circumstances have made him so; and he said to me this day, "It is a wicked war, and if it please God to raise me up, I shall never again engage in it."
Post, Lydia Minturn. Personal Recollections of the American Revolution; A Private Journal, Prepared from Authentic Domestic Records. Rudd and Carleton, 1859.
About TOTA
TOTA.world provides cultural information and sharing across the world to help you explore your Family’s Cultural History and create deep connections with the lives and cultures of your ancestors.
