Sister Rain Note:
A few years ago, I spent a day in Tappan, New York, the location where, upon General George Washington’s orders, Major John Andre was hanged as a spy, a result of his involvement with Benedict Arnold in the plot to surrender West Point to the British. (Click here for “I Spy John Andre.”)
Several sites remained in the area I had not yet seen. Recently I returned to Tappan, New York to visit these locations.
The Baylor Massacre burial site is located in River Vale, New Jersey, though the historic event itself took place in the broader historic area known as Old Tappan.
My love of American history, particularly the Revolutionary War, has taken me to places not usually on one’s bucket list. I have been to many a grave, as well as the spot where a British officer was hanged.
Recently added to this uncommon roster is the Baylor Massacre Site, located in Tappan, New York. On September 28, 1778, Lieutenant Colonel George Baylor’s 3rd Regiment of Continental Dragoons took quarters for the evening on several nearby farms. British General Charles Grey learned of their location when Loyalists betrayed the Americans. Approximately 650 British troops surrounded the 116 Dragoons during the night, attacking them while they slept, primarily with bayonets.
Fifteen American Dragoons were killed, 54 wounded or captured. Colonel Baylor was severely maimed by bayonet thrusts, captured and later exchanged. Only one British soldier died. Six of the American Dragoons killed were buried here in three abandoned tan vats which pre-dated the war. The gravesite was discovered in 1967 and the soldiers were re-interred here in 1972.
The word “massacre” is defined as “an indiscriminate and brutal slaughter of human beings during conflicts, war, or targeted attacks.” While this is the accurate description of what occurred here, today, the Baylor Massacre Memorial, located in a small grove of trees, is beautiful. A busy road runs by, yet it is reverently peaceful. In the quiet, it is not difficult to imagine sleeping American soldiers before they were savagely raided by the British.
Sitting on a wall while my husband took photos, as is always my practice, I thanked the men who had died here, as well as those who had survived.
At a park across the street, faint laughter and playful screams emanated from a children’s day camp. Most likely local, I wondered if they are being brought up knowing what occurred here, in the same way that I was taught from a very young age about Philadelphia’s role in the birth of our nation. The kids’ sounds were pure joy on this pretty summer day. In my opinion, there is no greater reason for the American Revolution than what I was hearing.
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