A Journal from British-Occupied Long Island, 1776, Pt. 2
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 It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.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. Click here to read Part One.]
March 6th, 1776
Spring is again opening, and the war seems just begun!
A young French nobleman has arrived, having embraced voluntarily the American cause; the love of freedom, and a desire to succor the oppressed, were his only incentives. The Marquis de la Fayette has been appointed a Major-General. He is not twenty years of age. A man of wealth, and used to the luxury of a court.
Our cause assumes consequence in the eyes of foreign powers. Even poor Major Musgrave speaks with greater moderation of probable success in quelling "the revolt."
Monday
James Parker, a farmer near by, was driving home late last evening, from the town; the night was uncommonly dark; he passed a large tree; behind it stood a man with a loaded gun. A voice called out to the traveller to stop; it was unheeded. The robber fired and hit him; he fell off his seat and expired!
The horses took fright, and running three miles, came to a noted tavern kept by Increase Carpenter, where they stopped under a shed, and stood still un til morning, when they were discovered with their sad burthen, the dead man! The goods in the wagon were of course untouched, owing to the horses running away. The indignation of the people is without bounds, and very active measures of defence are talked of.
Thursday
Today took Edith into Major Musgrave’s room, he having expressed a wish to see the kind lady who had sent him so many delicacies made by her own hand. She has many admirers; soldiers and ploughmen, lettered and unlearned, the peaceful disciple of her own quiet sect, and the officer with epauletted shoulder and sword on side. She is lovely and captivating, but
"Securely she smiles on the forward and bold,
They feel what they owe her, and feel it untold."
Yesterday I saw her pass the window with a gallant at her side. The contrast between them—she in her little close bonnet, grey dress, and sober mien, and the gay officer in scarlet regimentals—was very striking. Edith’s eyes were cast down to the ground, while his were fixed upon her sweet face pleadingly.
I heard him say, in a low tone, "Oh, Edith, how shall I win your favor?"
I can tell him; he will not win it unless he relinquish the warrior’s craft. To Edith, all "the pomp and circumstance of glorious war" is shrouded in gloom. "The shrill fife and spirit-stirring drum" drowneth not in her ear the groan of the wounded, the cry of the dying. Amid the din of arms, she listeneth to the widow’s wail; and when the shout of victory rises, she sees the orphan’s tears!
Do you know, dear husband, that papa and I are much of her way of thinking of late? although it needed not Edith’s eloquent defence of peace to convince us. I long for the hastening of the day when "the nations shall not learn war any more, nor lift up sword against nation; but the sword shall be turned into the ploughshare, and the spear into the pruning hook." I suppose you will say, "So be it"—after our independence is secured!
Tuesday, May 1
Our vines are putting forth; the grass is springing; all nature has put on her lovely garb of green. The children are full of joy; it is difficult to keep them to their tasks; but through the long winter they have been more industrious. Charles is quite a proficient in study, his grandpa thinks. I hope you may not have reason to be ashamed of him. This weary absence maketh sick the heart; but I will not dwell upon the sad subject; it pains you to hear me repine. I trust God in his providence will so order the course of events, that all will work together for good. I will try to bear without murmuring whatever He in his wisdom may send.
"They also serve who only stand and wait."
Thursday
Major Musgrave’s wound is quite healed, but he is still low and feeble. Nature appears to have struggled hard with some deep inward grief, which is striving for the mastery; he has great fortitude, but may, notwithstanding, sink under it. I fear so. I would not for worlds intrude on his private sorrows; but oh, that I could share and alleviate them!
Friday
The farmers have devised a scheme to make known through the neighborhood the presence of the "Runners." They are generally seen lurking about at twilight, spying the points most favorable for attack; if observed, they walk on in an unconcerned manner, whistling or singing. Sometimes they will stop, and inquire the way to some place; suddenly disappearing, they are unexpectedly seen again in the edge of the wood, or from behind a hay-stack in the field, peering about, terrifying every body, above all women and children.
These signs are not to be mistaken. We are on our guard; the "great gun" with which all are provided; is loaded and fired off. Pop! Pop! go the answering guns for five miles round; each house takes up the alarming tale, and thus it spreads, warning of impending danger, and frightens away the enemy, for that time at any rate.
August 14th
Neighbor Pattison, of his peace-loving spirit, and horror of the "murderous weapon," hath made a large conch-shell do the office of a gun; it makes a noble sound, and being close in our vicinity, is a well-known signal. Charles no sooner hears it, than he is on the alert; out comes papa’s rusty great gun, whose loud report is soon responded to by the whole neighborhood.
Tuesday
Congress has passed important resolutions, and increased General Washington’s power, investing him with unlimited command. They are endeavoring to rouse the people by an impressive Address. Benjamin Franklin, Silas Deane, and Arthur Lee, are sent to solicit aid of foreign powers.
Wednesday
Major Musgrave seems very feeble; it is doubtful whether he survives the winter. It is affecting to see him, he is so weak and helpless, yet patient and uncomplaining. On going into his room to-day, he appeared to be reading old letters, and was evidently much moved. I assured him of my hearty sympathy; he said with emotion, "Oh, dear madam, why do you pity me? you, who know nought of the past."
"I do commiserate your present condition; is it not enough to call it forth?"
"It may be," replied Major Musgrave. "But there are sufferings so deep, that the lassitude and decay of the body, although wrought by them, are unheeded, swallowed up by their intensity; even the pang of death is subdued by the peace which it heralds."
As the Major did not offer to unburden his mind to me, I took up Bishop Jeremy Taylor’s "Holy Living and Dying," which my father so delighteth in, and asked whether I should read to him. He assented gratefully, and I read an appropriate comforting passage.
September
News of the battle of Brandywine. The troops mostly fought bravely, but the day was against us. The young French marquis is wounded; my husband, I trust, is safe. Let me continue to put my trust in the Almighty arm. He only can deliver.
My father frequently sits an hour or two with the Major, whose mind is enriched to a degree that makes him an instructive, as well as a delightful, companion. Even religious subjects my dear father does not avoid (he could not if he would); he tells me that he finds in the Major an understanding listener, appreciating states of mind and points of faith, which he scarcely expected from one in his walk of life.
November 10th
We were awakened in the dead of night by the sound of the conch-shell! Oh, dear husband, I cannot describe to you our consternation. Our turn, I thought, had at length come! My first thought was my precious father, old and feeble; the second of the poor Major. They have both rooms on the first floor. The children clung to me with terror. I felt so powerless! Not so Charles, he was bold as a lion your true son! He promptly got out the great gun, and loaded and fired it, which more than all frightened poor Marcia, and Grace. In vain I bade them be pacified; they hid their faces in my gown; the little things trembled with fear.
Major Musgrave ordered his two men to their points of defence. I persuaded papa to go up stairs; he appeared calm and self-possessed amid our agitation. We now listened intently; not a sound did we hear, but the ticking of the great clock, and our own beating hearts. Again and again we listened; all was still. We remained almost motionless until the dawn of day. The first ray of light was hailed with joy. Charles stole over to neighbor Pattison’s, expecting, yet dreading to hear a tale of horror, when lo! they greeted him with a great burst of laughter! Now, what think you was the cause, the innocent cause of all this fear and consternation? Little Joseph Pattison! This is the story of it:
At noon the elder boys, while standing around the porch, one after the other had been trying the strength of their lungs on the great conch-shell, calling the hired men to their dinner. Joseph was eagerly waiting his turn, but it never came at all. The meal was ready, the shell was put away on the high shelf over the door, and dinner over they all went to work again.
Now little Joseph s imagination that night, strongly impressed with his disappointment, ran upon robbers, and the urgent necessity of sounding the shell. Up he sprang, ran down stairs, through two rooms, still asleep, took a chair, reached the conch, and blew it most lustily outside the back door, which roused the household. Down they come, and their astonishment is great to behold the little boy with the sea-shell in his hand, and, though undressed and barefooted, perspiration standing in beads on his forehead from the violent exertion! Would that our frights might always prove as groundless!
Monday
On every Monday exercising is practised opposite our house. To-day, when the manoeuvring was over, a man who had been found intoxicated the night before, was stripped and whipped severely, with a rattan, till the blood streamed down his back. Oh, it is dreadful to witness such horrors! I fled from the sight, but the heart-piercing cries of the poor creature followed me. I could no longer refrain from running out of the house, and begging them to desist. They paid no attention, and closed the gate upon me. The rattan struck his cheek, perhaps by accident, cut it open, and it bled terribly! I screamed out "MURDER!" They were startled, and stopped. The appealing look of gratitude I received from the poor maimed soldier was sweet reward.
Mary Pattison, whose sympathy for the suffering never failed, took the poor creature in; commiserating his pitiful condition, she dressed his wounds, which were frightfully deep, and like the good Samaritan, poured in the oil of consolation.
The principles of this peace-loving Society are destined one day to cover the earth as the waters cover the sea. They are the same which our blessed Redeemer came to reveal, and sealed with his blood. They are Eternal Truth. "Love to God, and good will to man," He proclaimed; and Love is written on the white ensign of the Prince of Peace!
Friday
Days of agony and nights of tears Friday. are my experience; the agony of suspense, the tears of widowhood! In imagination I have no longer a husband! He is slain on the field of battle, of which no tidings have come; or the victim of neglected wounds and disease, he is in the hands of the enemy.
If alive and at liberty, we surely should long ago have heard from him. How can I endure it? Oh, God, endue me with patience, or I sink! Thy protection is for those who trust in thee. Do I? Oh, Lord, help me, I pray thee!
My father meekly reproves my impatience, and so does Major Musgrave. The long-suffering of the Quakers is also a loud rebuke. The words of our blessed Saviour seem to be held by them in sacred remembrance: "I was sick, and ye ministered unto me; naked, and ye clothed me; hungry, and ye fed me; in prison, and ye visited me."
Post, Lydia Minturn. Personal Recollections of the American Revolution; A Private Journal, Prepared from Authentic Domestic Records. Rudd and Carleton, 1859.
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