The Diary of Alden Warner-Entry IV

July 7, 1776

     It is the most glorious of things that begs me to put pen to paper this day. Independence is the word flooding the streets of the colonies. July 4th of 1176 marked the unanimous declaration, by the thirteen colonies represented at the Continental Congress, of independence from the grasp of British tyranny. The self-evident truths of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness that are written of in this Declaration gracefully materialise the sentiments and convictions of the American people. Listed for the world to see are the continued and varied usurpations and injuries inflicted upon these colonies by the despotic King George.The suspension of legislatures, the denial of trials by jury, revolutions of charters, and in our time of peace establishing a military presence meant to subjugate and eviscerate the free society on which we stand.

     With this Declaration we have, in one preeminent move, grabbed the reins and made ourselves masters of our own destiny. This, however, is only the beginning. The beginning of a battle that will be fought in both the mental and physical realms. If we are to prevail and drive out the British forces that pervade our home, then what comes next? The future of this nation rests in the hands of those bold enough to seize it. The framework must be laid, countless hours of debate and deliberation will be spent, and many lives will be lost before we can stand as a true Nation. So, I ask, who is ready to work towards that brighter tomorrow?


The Diary of Alden Warner-Entry III

June 26, 1776

     “The sacred rights of mankind are not to be rummaged for among old parchments or musty records. They are written, as with a sunbeam, in the whole volume of human nature, by the hand of the divinity itself; and can never be erased or obscured by mortal power.” In the days since being introduced to the work, I have found it fabulously hard to put down The Farmer Refuted. It is lines like the one written above that send the chills throughout my body. The power infused within his each word it truly breathtaking. This Alexander Hamilton is a man I must meet, his conviction and passion with which he writes on America are an inspiration to all who read him. The future of my education has only been made sweeter by the prospect of sharing a campus with someone with whom I have the utmost respect and admiration.

     My mother and sister went out this morning for church, I was not much up for it and decided it more prudent to stay in. The Anglican faith is something I do not dislike necessarily, it is rather that I have never seen the reasoning behind any religion’s practices. While I do see how it can comfort and guide those in need, religion has never appealed to me the way it has to my family and fellow countrymen.

     While surveying my family’s home, a towering Dutch styled manor of red and gray stone, I came upon a reminder of years gone by. Carved into a post along the back porch was “Alden” and beneath that the number seven was scratched in. Ten years, an entire decade has passed since I had put that there. It is strange how in the monotony of our day to day lives, the seemingly perpetual cycle of daily agendas, we somehow lose sight of the march of time. As we toil away at our work, whether it be in the city or the countryside, we turn a blind eye to the progression of time and become lost in that infernal mindset of normalcy and complacency that has so plagued the people of this world for generations. In the ten years that have elapsed since I took my penknife to that post, have I truly changed? Have I grown from a blithe child to a conscious man that understands the importance of the time he lives in? I ask these questions because I fear that the same must be asked of these thirteen colonies of America. Are we grown and autarkic, or are we an ignorant child unaware of the echo that our actions will send through time?

The Diary of Alden Warner-Entry II

June 17, 1776

     I took a trip into the city today with Cyrus and, as could be expected, we did not leave without exchanging words with a group of Tories. Cyrus, more impassioned and contentious than I could ever be, found it fit to educate those poor ignorant gentlemen on the nuances of political theory.

     The shouting didn’t start until one of our royalist companions saw fit to, in the most austere of manner, condemn the “savagery” of Colonial opposition to England’s, as they called them, “sufficiently just and deserved disciplinary actions taken to curb the obstreperous children of her colonies.” Cyrus has followed the flow of political thought through writings and resolutions far longer than I, and bespoke this knowledge in his fervid response. He started with a lesson in the importance of governmental responsibility: “The right of parliament to legislate for us cannot be accounted for upon any reasonable grounds. The constitution of Great Britain is very properly called a limited monarchy, the people having reserved to themselves a share in the legislature, as a check upon the regal authority, to prevent its degenerating into despotism and tyranny.” The right of Britain’s citizens to protect their inherent freedoms, their liberty, by partaking in their own governance should be a privilege awarded to all of His Majesty’s subjects. So, why is it, he asked, these American colonies should be left impuissant in all matters concerning the laws and acts that govern the lives and welfare of those that reside here?  Cyrus’s sermon lasted well-nigh an hour before those insolent fops scuttled away to whatever dank pit they hauled themselves from.

     Our excursion eventually brought us to City Hall Park, the center of yet another British attempt at pulling down the colonies’ calls for liberty. The battle that took place, the Battle of Golden Hill, over the erection of these “Liberty Poles” should have given pause to any man or woman that cherishes their freedom from a despotic regime. Golden Hill and Boston evince the iron fist with which Britain intends to beat the spirit of egalitarianism out of these colonies.

     We spoke of various topics on our trip through the city; my intentions of King’s College, my father’s presence at the Congress, and our favorite writers. He revealed to me that, much to my surprise, much of his argument from earlier in the day had been comprised of another man’s words. Hamilton, he told me, a perspicacious student of my intended school had published a pamphlet entitled The Farmer Refuted in early 1775. Hamilton’s polished and imperious prose, his galvanizing disputation, is what drove Cyrus to hold him in such high approbation. The words that Cyrus spoke, that Hamilton wrote, bid me turn towards the future and wonder if all of this vociferation of liberty and freedom will ever yield any fruits, or will this American garden be forever marred by the poisons of its British begetter?

The Diary of Alden Warner- Entry I

June 15, 1776   

     Father left today. Philadelphia, the heart of the colonies, is abuzz with political fervor. The most influential men of North America have left their homes in search of answers to this quandary Parliament has confined us to. I have been reading Thomas Paine greatly since his publication. “A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right, and raises at first a formidable outcry in defense of custom. But the tumult soon subsides. Time makes more converts than reason.” Years of subordination and mute submission have rendered these colonies meek and deferential to the Crown of a distant realm. Is it the divine and natural order of the world for us to be divided into such archaic conventions as Lords and Subjects?   His Common Sense, as it is so fittingly named, has created such a turmoil in me I have no way to quell it.

     Father has set off for Pennsylvania with intentions to denounce the dissentious cries of the colonies. For all the good work my father does here in New York, he is still an obstinate and unequivocal Tory. When I speak to him it is as if my very words are lost to the wind; he will hear nothing of reason let alone independence.

     With nothing but frustration to have from my family and our irresolute colonies, I can still find absolute reassurance in my own future. I will be off to King’s College soon enough, and with the erudition of my studies, I will begin work on my true desire; law. My family has always been one of tradesmen and merchants, not one of men of letters. I know my ambitions are silently deplored by my family. My father especially views the pursuit of justice as one of no consequence. He is a man of numbers, profit, and cares little for the “ trivial crimes and punishments that perforate His Majesty’s dependency”.

    I must sleep now, it must be now or I will never quiet my mind. But I will be hard at work at Sun’s rise. Mayhaps one day men like my father will see the truth. People were never meant to be subjugated, and no King or Parliament shall supersede those freedoms of which we are ordained at birth. Mayhaps one day we can be free.