INTRODUCTION. jrfii 



' ' In the autumn of 1777, 1 resided for some time in this County. The lines of 

 the British were then in the neighborhood of King's Bridge, and those of the 

 Americans at Byram River. The unhappy inhabitants were, therefore, exposed 

 to the depredations of both. Often they were actually plundered, and always 

 were liable to this calamity. They feared every body whom they saw, and loved 

 nobody. It was a curious fact to a philosopher, and a melancholy one to hear 

 their conversation. To every question they gave such an answer as would please 

 the inquirer ; or, if they despaired of pleasing, such a one as would not provoke 

 him. Fear was, apparently, the only passion by which they were animated. 

 The power of volition seemed to have deserted them. They were not civil, but 

 obsequious ; not obliging, but subservient. They yielded with a kind of apathy, 

 and very quietly, what you asked, and what they supposed it impossible for 

 them to retain. If you treated them kindly, they received it coldly ; not as a 

 kindness, but as a compensation for injuries done them by others. When you 

 spoke to them, they answered you without either good or ill nature, and without 

 any appearance of reluctance or hesitation; but they subjoined neither questions 

 nor remarks of their own; proving to your full conviction, that they felt no 

 interest either in the conversation or yourself. Both their countenances and 

 motions had lost every trace of animation and feeling. 1 ^ The features were 

 smoothed, not into serenity, but apathy ; and, instead of "being settled in the 

 attitude of quiet thinking, strongly indicated that all thought beyond what was. 

 merely instinctive, had fled their minds for ever. 



"Their houses, in the meantime, were in a great measure scenes of desolation. 

 Their furniture was extensively plundered, or broken to pieces. The walls, 

 floors, and windows were injured both by violence and decay ; and were not 

 repaired, because they had not the means to repair them, and because they were 

 exposed to the repetition of the same injuries. Their cattle were gone. Their 

 enclosures were burnt, where they were capable of becoming fuel ; and in many 

 cases thrown down, where they were not. Their fields were covered with a rank 

 growth of weeds and wild grass. 



' ' Amid all this appearance of desolation, nothing struck my eye more forci- 

 bly than the sight of the high road. Where I had heretofore seen a continual 

 succession of horses and carriages, life and bustle — lending a sprightliness to all 

 the environing objects — not a single, solitary traveller was seen, from week to 

 week, or from month to month. The world was motionless and silent, except 

 when one of these unhappy people ventured upon a rare and lonely excursion to 

 the house of a neighbor no less unhappy ; or a scouting party, traversing the 

 country in quest of enemies, alarmed the inhabitants with expectations of new 

 injuries and sufferings. The very tracks of the carriages were grown over, and 

 obliterated ; and where they were discernible, resembled the faint impressions of 

 chariot wheels said to be left on the pavements of Herculaneum. The grass was 

 of f ull height for the scythe ; and strongly realized to my own mind, for the first 

 time, the proper import of that picturesque declaration in the Song of Deborah : 

 ' In the days of Shamgar, the son of Anath, in the days of Jael, the highways 

 were unoccupied, and the travellers walked through by-paths. The inhabitants 

 of the villages ceased; they ceased in Israel.' "a 



a American Scenery, by Bartlett and Willis. 



