A Journal from British-Occupied Long Island, 1776, Pt. 3
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 It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.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 Two.]
January 10th, 1777
What extremes there are in life!
Robert Adams came last night to ask my father to unite him to Rose Wilson. It was strange to see two happy faces amid violence, gloom, and destruction. I was saddened when I thought how soon the joy beaming there would be clouded over in these stormy times. But when my father, whose heart is full of heavenly grace, pronounced his benediction upon the young, hopeful couple, mine responded a deep "Amen"
Marcia went into the other room, and picked two white rosebuds off her bush, and some geranium leaves, which she tied up and gave to the sweet bride, who in purity and grace could almost vie with the flowers.
The ceremony was performed in Major Musgrave’s room, at his request. He was much affected, and gave them each at parting a gold piece, and the blessing, he said, of a dying man.
After they departed, Major Musgrave said to me, Madam, will you do me the favor to sit with me a while? I would unburden my mind while I have strength, and make a few requests of you."
His faithful servant, Shultz, stood at the back of his chair. He is as attentive as a woman could be to the comfort and wants of his master, and a love and pity passing hers, if that could be, speaks in his face. He talked in a low tone, and walked quietly about the room.
The Major intimated to him that he would be alone with me for a little time. He disposed the pillows gently about his master, and withdrew.
"As regards the war," said Major Musgrave, after some conversation on other topics, "I will say to you, I regret having ever engaged in it, and had it pleased God to have spared my life, it was my determination to have retired from the service."
I was surprised to hear this avowal, for a more loyal subject of King George, and dearer lover of England, cannot be found. Major Musgrave proceeded to say that it was a most wicked and unnatural war. "The very idea," said he, "of shooting down men who speak the same language and own a common origin, is monstrous. My share in it hath pierced me with sorrow.
"I shall never be able," he continued, "to show the sincerity of my repentance; but, my dear madam, I speak the truth before the Searcher of hearts. You will believe this, my solemn asseveration. Time is drawing to a close. It hath pleased God to try me and sift me sorely in this life. I have grievously rebelled against his will; have murmured, have mourned, have wept, have agonized. My spirit hath beat so long and unremittingly against the bars of the prison-house, that at last it sinks weak and powerless. And it is in this passive, childlike state, that the first germs of daybreak, the first faint whispers of hope and peace, have visited me. And yet the strength is wanting now, to sing the song of praise and thanks giving."
I was awed to witness the devotional state of mind to which divine grace had brought Major Musgrave.
He continued.
"And now, my dearest lady, how can I express my overflowing gratitude to you? I who have been so burdensome, who have trespassed so long and so much on the truest, the most patient kindness?"
My heart leaped at this noble acknowledgement of the little we had done. I assured him that we should be rejoiced, and amply repaid, to feel assured that we had alleviated one pang, or beguiled one hour of his suffering mind and body. And when I remember, dear Edward, the day the poor wounded man was brought here, how troubled and willing to be rid of the charge I was, conscience smote me, and I felt that I deserved no thanks. The edifying contemplation of such patient sorrow and unselfishness is worth purchasing, at ten times the in convenience.
Major Musgrave continued.
"I have one request to make, which I trust your honored father will not be displeased with. It is, that my body may be laid in the Friends burial-place. The desire I have expressed will prove the influence which their principles have obtained upon my mind; my admiration of opinions so new to me is great. The neighboring family, the Pattison family, do so beautifully enforce and exemplify them, the head of it especially. I have, and shall ever venerate the Church of England, the church of my forefathers, of my mother. But the peaceful tenets of this simple people come home so to my state, shedding such balm and repose over a wounded spirit, that I trust the desire to find a last resting-place with them will be regarded."
He requested that the service for the burial of the dead should be read at his grave.
I assured Major Musgrave of my sympathy and appreciation of his feelings. Nor do I think this change to be wondered at in one fresh from witness ing and experiencing, in his own person, the sickening horrors and dreadful evils of War. My own wretched suspense and anxiety doubtless has its influence. I am trying to write down thought; to beguile myself a little while of miserable fears.
The Major placed in my hands a manuscript. He said he had written it for my perusal, wishing to acquaint me with his past experience; but feeling too acutely still to do so verbally. He requested me to present his watch to my father, gave a valuable ring containing a brilliant to me, and a memento to each of the children. His consideration and composure were so sweet and touching, that they affected me, and I could not refrain from tears.
I hastily quitted the room, fearing to excite my dear friend, and knowing that he required rest.
Monday Morning
Oh, dear husband, it is a mournful thing to contemplate! A man full of gentle courtesy, of sensitive and shrinking delicacy, receiving at the hands of strangers, in the attitude of their enemy, all of sympathy or earthly support that he can receive in his dying moments! It grieves me inexpressibly. In such circumstances all animosity of a public nature is completely swallowed up. It must be a heart of stone that is not moved, melted to pity!
Tuesday
Heaven be praised! We have just heard of your safety, and of the surrender, though it happened so long since.
General Arnold has gained a bright laurel in the affair; he proved himself a skilful and brave officer. The surrender excites great astonishment among the British hereabouts. "Discretion the better part of valor," thought Burgoyne, his troops worn out, and his situation becoming more and more critical.
Our letters, stained and yellow, looked indeed as though they had come from the wars. I suppose we receive only about one in six.
The American cause seems to assume a brighter aspect since this event. It will doubtless inspire confidence in its ultimate success. The cause of freedom Heaven grant it!
Monday
There is an old proverb which saith, "It is an ill wind which blows nobody good." The Hessians and soldiers billeted about here for six months past, left to-day for the mainland campaign, and the robbery, from which we have for some time been exempt, will now go on again. The villains feared the soldiery; dreadful tax as it is to keep them, it is nothing in comparison to the other evil.
Thursday
The robbers have been over already; they landed last night at the harbor. In the dead of night they surrounded the house of John Pearsall. He is called rich, and there is no doubt they counted on large booty. Their first care is generally to prevent escapes, lest the alarm should be given to the neighbors. Whenever they have reason to think that any one has escaped to inform, they invariably scamper, fearing surprise. On finding his house so hemmed in, Mr. Pearsall, who was the only man in the house, made a great noise and blustering, calling Tom, John, and Harry to load and fire, then ran to the top of the house with the gun, and fired three times in quick succession. The robbers took the alarm, jumped into the boat, and shoved off. They were fired upon, but I do not know whether injured, but trust not, for they surely are not fit to die.
Major Musgrave still lingers. I found him very weak to-day, but in no pain, for which I desire to be thankful. He appeareth very sad at times; was so to day. I tried to soothe and comfort him, assuring him again that I would attend to all his wishes; write a particular account to his mother, whom he fondly loves, of his last words, of his constant consideration and thoughtfulness of others, his patience, and of his hope of pardon and peace, vouchsafed to him in the holy calm and perfect reliance which he is often favored to experience.
I besought him to cast, all his care upon Him who careth for us. We remained for a few moments in sweet and solemn silence, and when I rose to leave the room, and remarked that I thought he was in a peaceful frame of mind, the poor man, or rather the rich man, bowed his head in assent, and said, "Bless the Lord, O my soul. All that is within me, bless his holy name."
Saturday Evening
A tale of horror has just come to our ears; we have not heard the details, nor do I wish to, they are so horrible. It seems the Runners entered the house of John Wilson, and threatened, until the wife, to save the life of her husband, revealed the hiding-place. But it was too late; he died the next morning from a sabre-cut which he then received, cleaving the skull and occasioning so great loss of blood. The villains took a large sum of money, which was in silver coin, in bags under the hearthstone. Mr. Wilson was much beloved in the neighborhood; his death produced the greatest excitement and indignation.
I went over to Henry Pattison s this evening; he, with his wife, had just returned from the scene of the dreadful catastrophe; they never witnessed anything more distressing than Mrs. Wilson’s state wringing her hands continually with grief and horror, and at times quite out of her mind. A great company is out in search of the robbers.
Monday
Two out of three were taken last evening, the other had gone off with the money. It is said that the serving girl connived with the thieves, one of whom was her cousin. How awful to contemplate! I suppose Tory influence will screen them; they were sent to New York this morning strongly guarded. The times are so disordered, that we have to keep still, and bear everything; complaint seemeth utterly useless.
Tuesday
Just received the joyful news of the Treaty of Alliance with France. My heart beats tremulously with hope and expectation, and yet I scarcely know what to hope for. Can I, a woman, wife, and mother, delight in warfare, or desire the destruction of the children of a common origin? No! May God of his merciful goodness grant a speedy termination of the war! This be my prevailing, my fervent prayer.
It is thought the news of General Burgoyne’s surrender decided the negotiations, by giving strong encouragement.
My father is very quiet about the news; he longs for peace, but cannot turn against his dear native England. He loves her with all her provocation, or in spite of it.
Nor have I spoken of the treaty to Major Musgrave, but would rather spare his feelings; he is too low to be disturbed with human affairs.
Thursday
A band of ruffians entered the house of Mr. Miller at East Hampton, at midnight, when the men folk were absent. Mrs. Miller caught up her youngest child, an infant, and ran out at the back door; the next, a little boy of four years, crept under a table to get out of sight. But one of the creatures spied him, and saying, "Here’s a little rebel," stuck his poignard into his thigh, making a severe wound. Think of the savage hardness of the heart of the man, who would inflict injury upon an innocent helpless child!
May 5th
The British Ministry begin to speak of American affairs with more moderation. It is probably the effect of the fate of their Northern Army, and the Alliance with France. Lord North laid before Parliament bills for conciliation, and commissioners are appointed to bring terms of accommodation. The day is passed for that. Two years ago perhaps reconciliation might have been effected; but we have proceeded too far, we are too sanguine of success, to admit now of listening to any terms, but acknowledgment of our independence.
Monday, June 16th
Major Musgrave is no more. His conflict is over, and he sleepeth in peace.
My father had been much with him during the day. He was distressed at times with difficulty in breathing. In an interval of quiet he read to him (my father) the beautiful Visitation of the Sick. Those comfortable words seemed like the dew to the parched herbage; his soul drank them in and was refreshed. In an hour after he fell asleep, and we thought the summons might be delayed some time longer; but at midnight I was called by Shultz. I went quickly; but when I leaned over the bedside to catch the faintest whisper, the dying man tried to speak but could not. He pressed my hand, and raised his eyes to heaven; this action, and the ineffably grateful expression of his countenance said, as plainly as words could, "God bless you!"
Major Musgrave had become so near in sympathy and interest to us all, that it seems like the loss of a dear friend.
It costs us some effort to obey his injunction as regardeth his last resting-place. It seems to my father a strange request; but it shall be held sacred.
Thursday Evening
The body was to-day laid in the green burial-ground, near the meeting-house of the Friends. It was followed to the place by three companies of soldiers, marching to the solemn music and the muffled drum.
The sublime and impressive words of the Burial Service were read by my dear father. How they appeared to awe every one!
“Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up and is cut down like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay."
These words convey a mournful lesson, but those which follow are full of hope.
"I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Write from henceforth, Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord (in faith and love to hint); Even so, saith the Spirit for they rest from their labors."
The firing over the dead, awakening thoughts of strife and battle, was in painful contrast to these life-giving words. The echoes of that peaceful spot had never before been thus awakened. Though many soldiers of the cross lie there, this is the first, and likely to be the only, instance on record, of a soldier of earthly combat and carnal weapons taking there his last rest.
There is no stone to mark the spot; but by a young tree growing near I know it, and my thoughts will often visit it.
Friday
A long, sad day; no news from my dear husband, and the house so desolate! The engrossing occupation gone, my hands hang idly, while anxiety and care reign within. Even the children’s prattle sounds discordant to a mother s ear, which is attuned only to stories of violence and outrage, which are so familiar they excite no surprise. Yet fear, and dread, and horror, never flee away.
I will strive, lest despair take entire possession of my soul; and, "faint, though pursuing," follow the rugged path my Saviour trod, that leads to peace enduring, and a crown of joy. "He is a strength to the needy in his distress; a refuge from the storm; a shadow from the heat."
Saturday
I have been employed to-day in putting up with great care everything belonging to Major Musgrave, that they may be sent, when occasion offers, to his friends in England. In a little box of spice-wood (of which he gave me the key) I found the packet of letters and papers left for my perusal, and put them away for some future time. Recollection is too fresh now.
The consciousness that my feeble efforts were made to assuage his grief (and it is my conviction that Major Musgrave’s sorrows were deeper than met the eye), to smooth his passage to the tomb, and to comfort his last hours with sympathy and care, is full of in ward peace and satisfaction.
Tuesday
I received, dearest Edward, today, your charming letter of the 15th August.
The arrival of the French fleet, twelve ships of the line and four frigates, under command of Count d’Estaigne, is joyful news.
The British troops remain inactive in New York since the battle of Monmouth. The American loss that day was small; but the great heat occasioned many deaths, and much grievous suffering in both armies.
I look forward to the day with trembling eagerness when all shall be over, and we shall be in the enjoyment of the peace earned so dearly; for though you, my dear Edward, never stopped to count the cost, when you enlisted life, limb, and fortune in the cause, I cannot help thinking sometimes, in my desponding moments, that the risk of life and limb, neglect of affairs, loss of property, of health, of ease, of comfort, is the tremendous price of liberty. You say "she is worth ten times as many sacrifices, if could be, than these even." She may be to those surviving to enjoy and reap her laurels, but patriotism in my breast, just now, is too faint a spark to glory in perspective, in a hero’s memory, though embalmed in tears!
It seemeth too dear at such a price.
Bear with me, my husband; you know I am sorely tried. I will strive for more patience and submission, and commit thy precious life to the care of Him, without whom not a sparrow falleth to the ground.
Amid all the trouble and gloom surrounding, a ludicrous incident will provoke a smile.
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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