November 22nd, 1775
First day of service; my hands are weary with digging. We were awakened before dawn to begin a fortification of the town. This day spent in the construction of earthworks.
Our situation, I find, is thus: Williamsburg — its Palace and its House of Burgesses — lies utterly abandoned by all royal authority, and is now the haunt of rebels. As we have heard, His Lordship the Governor resides here in a ship off the shore of Norfolk, surrounded by his small fleet. He victuals himself and his little army by sending out small sail with landing parties to seize upon such provisions as are necessary — flesh and fowl — from rebel farms and plantations.
Though the rest of the countryside is, say some, a scene of riot, we are strongly placed here in Norfolk, with excellent approaches by sea and a control of all approaches by land. The Army hath raised stockades and breastworks to the south — to secure the road whereby goods are brought from the Carolinas — and to the east.
The rebels hath marched upon us here, spewing their calumnies and declaring their hatred for Lord Dunmore, our liberator, and for this Ethiopian Regiment; but they have been halted by our troops in the swamps below this place, where they remain, facing our stockades. They menace and wait to advance. Many of our number still speak with joy of our victory in the swamps securing the avenues to this town. Norfolk’s situation may be as perilous as the investment of the Army in Boston; but there is more taste of triumph here in the air of the barracks than there was in the very feasts of the decorated officers on Marlborough Street.
My own lodgings here are humble: There are thirty-five of us laid in a warehouse by the wharves. There is but one fire-pit in the room, and the draughts are troublesome. My sleep was fleeting, and my bones, when I rose, sore.
I write this at the supper hour. It has been twenty minutes writing. I find myself concealing my quill from the gaze of curiosity.
I yield to discomfort; the arm aches. I set the quill down.