The Other Daughters of the Revolution: The Narrative of K. White (1809) and the Memoirs of Elizabeth Fisher (1810)

MEMOIRS of MRS. ELIZABETH FISHER (1810)

MEMOIRS of MRS. ELIZABETH FISHER of the CITY OF NEW YORK Daughter of the Rev. Harry Munro, who was a Chaplain in the British Army, during the American Revolution. – Giving a particular account of a variety of domestic misfortunes , and also of her trial, and cruel condemnation to the state’s prison for six years, at the instance of her brother PETER JAY MUNRO WRITTEN BY HERSELF Neither the perfidy of private friendship, nor the persecution of relatives , nor the frowns of the world, nor domestic calamity, nor time, nor circumstance, can shake the mind that is armed with conscious virtue. New York PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR THE REV. HARRY MUNRO, my father, was a native of Scotland.1 After receiving his education, he was appointed Chaplain to the 77th regiment of foot,2 commanded by General Montgomery,3 and was sent to America at the conclusion of the war in the year ’59. My father became acquainted with the widow of an officer who belonged to the same regiment; this widow became wife to my father and mother to me. I was born in Philadelphia, the second day of December, 1759; my mother died three days after my birth and left me to the care of my father, who soon procured a wet nurse for me in Burlington,4 a quaker lady, with whom I remained until my father married a second time, and took up his residence in Princeton, NewJersey . I was then taken home to my step-mother; I became very found of her, as she was fond of me, and soon forgot my nurse. Eleven months after her marriage she was delivered of a son. Some 75 time after her recovery, my father took it into his head to go home to England to be ordained for the church of England, profering that to the church of Scotland. He took his leave, with intention of taking passage from New-York; but a few days after his departure from home, my stepmother was taken with a fit, and expired in a few minutes. A servant was sent off in haste to New-York to inform my father of what had happened; when the servant came to the ferry the wind was so high that the boat could not cross that night; the next day my father heard the melancholy news—the death of a woman whom he loved; it was customary in those days to bury the dead after candlelight; when my father came home, my mother’s corpse was gone to the place of internment—I remember my father wept bitterly. The next day my nurse was sent for from Burlington, and my little brother and myself were given into her care. My father took his departure for England. A few months after my father’s absence the nurse was alarmed by seeing the child in a fit; the doctor was sent for, but in vain, the child was soon a corpse. When my father arrived from London , and the nurse informed him of the death of his son, his feelings were deeply wounded. He left me in the care of the nurse and came to NewYork , having letters of recommendation to Doctor Auchmuty,5 then minister of the old Trinity Church;6 he insisted on my father’s making his home with him till some place should become vacant. Accordingly my father did so, and he frequently by invitation preached for the doctor, in several of the protestant churches in New-York. Preaching one Sunday in the old Trinity Church, by request of Doctor Auchmuty, a widow by the name of Chambers,7 being one of the doctor’s congregation, came to hear my father preach; she brought with her Miss Jay,8 who was her niece; my father, being a handsome man, soon commanded the attention of that lady; he was often invited to dine at the widow Chambers, where Miss Jay first got acquainted with my father; she became very fond of him, although he was a stranger, and I have heard my father say that she was very unhappy when he was out of her sight. My father, being informed that Miss Jay was a lady of respectability and fortune, was advised by his friend, the doctor, to pay his addresses to her; which he did, and the marriage day was soon fixed on. They became man and wife; and...