University of Virginia Library

Suffolk contains about a hundred houses, and carries on a pretty brisk trade, having
a considerable share of the commerce of the northern counties of North Carolina. Suffolk
stands on a soil so very sandy, that in every step in the street the sand comes above
your ankles, which renders it extremely disagreeable. To remedy this inconvenience in
some small degree, near their doors they have emptied barrels of tar or pitch, which
spreads wide—the sand incorporating with it, and forming a hard, solid consistence,
some kind of apology for pavement, and thereby renders walking much more tolerable.
The houses in Suffolk are low, being generally not more than one story high, which is
indeed the ground story only. The trade of this place consists chiefly of turpentine, tar,
pitch, tobacco, and pork, which is killed, salted, and barrelled up here; also lumber, Indian
corn, and some wheat.

No sooner was intelligence received of the arrival of the British in Hampton Roads,
than the militia of Nansemond county were called to arms. Suffolk was the place of
general rendezvous. About two hundred men assembled there, with such weapons as
they could procure from their own homes. Few of them had muskets, and still fewer
ammunition. This, however, they obtained from Capt. Bright, who commanded the
letter of marque, the brig Mars. Bright also furnished two pieces of ordnance, which
were immediately mounted upon the carriages of carts. The whole of this little army,
headed by Col. Willis Riddick, proceeded about eight miles on the Norfolk road, and, on
the evening of the 11th of May, encamped in a large uncultivated field, in front of Capt.
James Murdaugh's house. Before this movement, three well-mounted young Virginians,
Josiah Riddick, Thomas Granbury, and Thomas Brittle, had been dispatched to reconnoitre
the enemy. They were surprised and made prisoners, just below Hall's mills, in
Norfolk county—conveyed to New York, where they remained for eighteen months in a
state of captivity. Thus did the party under Col. Riddick continue in entire ignorance
of the numbers and motions of the enemy.

To a tavern, about a mile below the encampment of the militia, Captains King and
Davis had repaired for the night. In front of this tavern was a lane with draw-bars at
its extremity. These were soon heard to rattle; alarmed at this noise, King and Davis
seized their muskets, and flew to the door. King leaped out, and fired to give the alarm.
The British platoon discharged, and shot Davis through the heart. King, well acquainted
with the country, soon reached the Virginian camp, and informed his comrades
of approaching hostility. The violence of the wind, blowing in an unfavorable direction,
had prevented them from hearing the report even of the British musketry, discharged
so near them. Col. Willis Riddick, not suspecting the approach of the foe, had retired
to his own house. The command, therefore, devolved upon Col. Edward Riddick. The
militia retraced their steps to Suffolk, which they reached before the dawn. Two officers,
mounted on fleet horses, were then dispatched to ascertain the situation and force
of the enemy. Four miles below Suffolk they halted, and immediately after sunrise, in
the entrance of a lane, about one quarter of a mile long, had a full view of the advancing
foe, and distinctly counted 600 infantry. They rode back in full speed, and, upon
calling the militia to arms, about one hundred only obeyed the call. The others had dispersed.
A retreat became unavoidable—every man was admonished to take care of
himself. Most of the inhabitants had already left their homes. Few could save their
effects. Such as delayed their flight, in attempting to secure their property, were taken
prisoners. Ruthless devastation attended the British. They set fire to the town, and
nearly the whole was consumed. Several hundred barrels of tar, pitch, turpentine, and
rum, had been deposited on lots contiguous to the wharves. The heads of the barrels
being knocked out, and their contents, which flowed in a commingled mass, catching the

blaze, descended to the river, like torrents of burning lava. As the wind blew from the
wharves with great violence, these substances, with difficulty soluble in water, rapidly
floated to the opposite shore in a splendid state of conflagration, which they communicated
to the thick and decaying herbage of an extensive marsh, the growth of the preceding
year. This immense sheet of fire, added to the vast columns of undulating
flames which ascended from the burning houses in the town—the explosion, at intervals,
of the gunpowder in the magazines—the consequent projection through the air of large
pieces of ignited timber, which flew, like meteors, to an astonishing distance—all contributed
to form a collective scene of horror, and sublimity, and desolation, such as could
not be viewed without emotions not to be described.