NEW LONDON AND NORWICH.
"It seems that you take pleasure in these walks,
sir."--MASSINGER.
New London is a city hiding within a river, three miles from its meeting
with the waters of Long Island Sound. On the farthest seaward point of
the western shore is a light-house. Before, and yet a little eastward of
the river's mouth, is an island about nine miles long screening it from
the full power of Atlantic storms, and forming, with Watch Hill,[308]
the prolongation of the broken line of land stretching out into the
Sound from the northern limb of the Long Island shore. Through this
barrier, thrown across the entrance to the Sound, all vessels must pass.
The island is Fisher's Island. It seems placed on purpose to turn into
the Thames all commerce winging its way eastward. Across the western
extremity of Fisher's Island, on a fair night, New London and Montauk
lights exchange burning glances. From Watch Hill the low and distant
shore of Long Island is easily distinguished by day, and by night its
beacon-light flashes an answer to its twin-brother of Montauk. These two
towers are the Pillars of Hercules of the Sound, on which are hung the
long and radiant gleams that bridge its gate-way.
South-west of Fisher's Island are the two Gull Islets, on the smallest
of which is a light-house. The swift tide which washes them is called
the Horse-race. Next comes Plum Island, separated from the Long Island
shore by a narrow and swift channel known as Plum Gut, through which
cunning yachtsmen sometimes steer. In 1667, Samuel Wyllys, of Hartford,
bought Plum Island for a barrel of biscuit and a hundred awls and
fish-hooks.
Any one who looks at the long ellipse of water embraced within Long
Island and the Connecticut shore, and remarks the narrow and obstructed
channel through which it communicates with the Hudson, the chain of
islands at its meeting with the ocean on the east, must be impressed
with the belief that he is beholding one of the greatest physical
changes that have occurred on the New England coast. As it is, Long
Island Sound lacks little of being an inland sea. The absence of any
certain indications of the channels of the rivers emptying into the
Sound west of the Connecticut favors the theory of the union, at some
former time, of Long Island at its western end with the main-land.
To resume our survey of the coast, we see on the map, about midway
between Point Judith and Montauk, the pear-shaped spot of land
protruding above the ocean called Block Island.[309] It is about eight
miles long, diversified with abrupt hills and narrow dales, but
destitute of trees. A chain of ponds extending from the north and nearly
to the centre, with several separate and smaller ones, constitutes about
one-seventh of the island. There is no ship harbor, and in bad weather
fishing-boats are obliged to be hauled on shore, though the sea-mole in
process of construction by Government will afford both haven and
safeguard against the surges of the Atlantic; for the island, having no
rock foundation, is constantly wasting away. Cottages of wood,
whitewashed every spring, are scattered promiscuously over the island,
with wretched roads or lanes to accommodate every dwelling. The total
disappearance of the island has often been predicted, and I recollect
when the impression prevailed to some extent on the main-land that the
islanders had only an eye apiece.
[Illustration: NEW LONDON HARBOR, NORTH VIEW.]
Ascending now the river toward New London, wind, tide, or steam shall
sweep us under the granite battlements of Fort Trumbull, on the one
side, and the grassy mounds of Fort Griswold on the other.[310] Near the
latter is standing a monument commemorating the infamy of Benedict
Arnold and the heroism of a handful of brave men sacrificed to what is
called the chances of war.
[Illustration: NEW LONDON LIGHT.]
New London is seen straggling up the side of a steep and rocky hill,
dominated by three pointed steeples. Descending from the crest, its
principal street opens like the mouth of a tunnel at the water-side into
a broad space, always its market-place and chief landing. Other avenues
follow the natural shelf above the shore, or find their way deviously as
streams might down the hill-side. The glory of New London is in its
trees, though in some streets they stand so thick as to exclude the
sunlight, and oppress the wayfarer with the feeling of walking in a
church-yard.
[Illustration]
The destruction of New London by Arnold's command, in 1781, has left
little that is suggestive of its beginning. Its English settlement goes
no farther back than 1646. In that year and the next a band of pioneers
from the Massachusetts colony, among whom was John Winthrop, Jun.,[311]
built their cottages, and made these wilds echo with the sounds of their
industry.
Old London and Father Thames are repeated in New England, because, as
these honest settlers avow, they loved the old names as much as they
disliked the barbaric sounds of the aboriginal ones, though the latter
were always typical of some salient characteristic. They settled upon
the fair Mohegan, in the country of the Pequots, a race fierce and
warlike, who in 1637 had made a death-grapple of it with the pale-faces,
and had been blotted out from among the red nations. Pequot was the name
of the harbor, changed in 1658 to New London.
[Illustration: OLD BLOCK HOUSE, FORT TRUMBULL.]
I first visited New London in 1845. It was then a bustling place--a
little too bustling, perhaps, when rival crews of whalemen in port
joined battle in the market-place, unpaving the street of its
oyster-shells, and shouting war-cries never before heard except at
Otaheite or Juan Fernandez. A large fleet of vessels, engaged in whaling
and sealing voyages, then sailed out of the Thames. The few old hulks
laid up at the wharves, the rusty-looking oil-butts and discarded
paraphernalia pertaining to the fishery, yet reminded me of the hunters
who lassoed the wild coursers of sea-prairies.[312]
I have already confessed to a weakness for the wharves. There is one in
New London, appropriated to the use of the Light-house Board, on which
are piled hollow iron cylinders, spare anchors, chain cables, spars and
spindles, buoys and beacons. A "relief" light-ship, and a tug-boat with
steam up, lay beside it. The danger and privation of life in a
light-house is not to be compared with that on board the light-ship,
which is towed to its station on some dangerous shoal or near some reef,
and there anchored. It not unfrequently happens in violent storms that
the light-ship breaks from its moorings, and meets the fate it was
intended to signal to other craft.[313] The sight of a raging sea as
high as the decks of the vessel is one familiar to these hardy mariners.
When I expressed surprise that men were willing to hazard their lives on
these cockle-shells, a veteran sea-dog glanced at the scanty sail his
vessel carried as he replied, "We can get somewhere."
On the light-ship the lanterns are protected by little houses, built
around each mast, until lighted, when they are hoisted to the mast-head.
A fog-bell is carried on the forecastle to be tolled in thick weather. A
more funereal sound than its monotone, deep and heavy, vibrating across
a sea shrouded in mist, can scarcely be imagined.
[Illustration: A LIGHT-SHIP ON HER STATION.]
Old sailors are considered to make the best keepers of either floating
or stationary beacons. Their long habit of keeping watches on shipboard
renders them more reliable than landsmen to turn out in all kinds of
weather, or on a sudden call. They are also far more observant of
changes of the weather, of tides, or the position of passing vessels. I
have found many persons in charge of our sea-coast lights who had been
ship-masters, and were men of more than ordinary intelligence. When the
Fresnel lenticular light was being considered, it was objected by those
having our system in charge that it would be difficult to procure
keepers of sufficient intelligence to manage the lens apparatus. M.
Fresnel replied that this difficulty had been most singularly
exaggerated, as in France the country keepers belonged almost
always to the class of ordinary mechanics or laborers, who, with
eight or ten days' instruction, were able to perform their duties
satisfactorily.[314]
All visitors to New London find their way, sooner or later, to the Old
Hempstead House, a venerable roof dotted with moss-tufts, situated on
Jay Street, not far west of the court-house. It is one of the few
antiques which time and the flames have spared. As one of the old
garrison-houses standing in the midst of a populous city, it is an
eloquent reminder of the race it has outlived. It was built and occupied
by Sir Robert Hempstead, descending as entailed property to the seventh
generation, who continued to inhabit it. The Hempstead House is near the
cove around which the first settlement of the town appears to have
clustered. The last remaining house built by the first settlers stood
about half a mile west of the court-house, on what was called Cape Ann
Street: it was taken down about 1824. Governor Winthrop lived at the
head of the cove bearing his name at the north end of the city.
[Illustration: COURT-HOUSE, NEW LONDON.]
The court-house standing at the head of State (formerly Court) Street
has the date of 1784 on the pediment, having been rebuilt after the
burning of the town by Arnold.[315] At the other end of the street was
the jail. The court-house, which formerly had an exterior gallery, has a
certain family resemblance to the State-house at Newport. It is built of
wood, with some attempt at ornamentation. Freshened up with white paint
and green blinds, it looked remarkably unlike a seat of justice, which
is usually dirty enough in all its courts to be blind indeed.
[Illustration: BISHOP SEABURY'S MONUMENT.]
In the chancel of St. James's repose the ashes of Samuel Seabury, the
first Anglican bishop in the United States. He took orders in 1753 in
London, and on returning to his native country entered upon the work of
his ministry. In 1775, having subscribed to a royalist protest,
declaring his "abhorrence of all unlawful congresses and committees," he
was seized by the Whigs, and confined in New Haven jail. Later in the
war, he became chaplain of Colonel Fanning's regiment of American
loyalists. After the war, Mr. Seabury went to England in order to obtain
consecration as bishop, but, meeting with obstacles there, he was
consecrated in Scotland by three non-juring bishops. The monument
reproduced is from the old burying-ground of New London.[316]
The ancient burial-place of New London is in the northern part of the
city, on elevated ground, not far from the river. An old fractured slab
of red sandstone once bore the now illegible inscription:
"An epitaph on Captaine Richard Lord, deceased May 17, 1662, Aetatis
svae 51.
... Bright starre of ovr chivallrie lies here
To the state a covnsellorr fvll deare
And to ye trvth a friend of sweete content
To Hartford towne a silver ornament
Who can deny to poore he was releife
And in composing paroxyies he was cheife
To Marchantes as a patterne he might stand
Adventring dangers new by sea and land."
The harbor of New London being considered one of the best in New
England, its claim to be a naval station has been urged from time to
time upon the General Government. It is spacious, safe, and deep. During
the past winter, which has so severely tested the capabilities of our
coast harbors, closing many of them with an ice-blockade of long
continuance, that of New London has remained open. In 1835, when the
navigation of the harbor of New York was suspended, by being solidly
frozen, New London harbor remained unobstructed, vessels entering and
departing as in summer.[317]
Among other observations made among the shipping, I may mention the
operations of the destructive worm that perforates a ship's bottom or a
thick stick of timber with equal ease. I now had an opportunity of
confirming what I had often been told, yet scarcely credited, that the
worm could be distinctly heard while boring. The sound made by the borer
exactly resembled that of an auger. It is not a little surprising to
reflect that so insignificant a worm--not longer than a cambric needle
when it first attacks the wood--is able to penetrate solid oak. I
noticed evidences where these dreaded workmen were still busy, in little
dust-heaps lying on the timber not yet removed from a vessel.
With the aid of a wheezy ferry-boat that landed me on Groton side, I
still pursued my questionings or communings under the inspiration of a
sunny afternoon, a transparent air, and a breeze brisk and bracing,
bringing with it the full flavor of the sea. A climb up the steep ascent
leading to the old fort was rewarded by the most captivating views, and
by gales that are above blowing in the super-heated streets of a city.
[Illustration: GROTON MONUMENT.]
The granite monument, which is our guide to the events these heights
have witnessed, was built with the aid of a lottery. A marble tablet
placed above its entrance is inscribed:
This Monument
was erected under the patronage of the State of Connecticut,
A.D. 1830,
and in the 55th year of the Independence of the U. S. A.,
In Memory of the Brave Patriots
who fell in the massacre of Fort Griswold, near this spot,
on the 6th of September, A.D. 1781,
When the British, under the command of the Traitor,
BENEDICT ARNOLD,
burnt the towns of New London and Groton, and spread
desolation and woe throughout this region.
[Illustration: BENEDICT ARNOLD.]
Westminster Abbey could not blot out that arraignment. Dr. Johnson did
not know Benedict Arnold when he said, "Patriotism is the last refuge of
a scoundrel." An American school-boy, if asked to name the greatest
villain the world has produced, would unhesitatingly reply, "The
traitor, Benedict Arnold." The sentence which history has passed upon
him is eternal. Some voice is always repeating it.
Shortly after the peace of '83 Arnold was presented at court. While the
king was conversing with him, Earl Balcarras, who had fought with
Burgoyne in America, was announced. The king introduced them.
"What, sire," exclaimed the haughty old earl, refusing his hand, "the
traitor Arnold!"
The consequence was a challenge from Arnold. The parties met, and it was
arranged they should fire together. Arnold fired at the signal, but the
earl, flinging down his pistol, turned on his heel, and was walking
away, when his adversary called out,
"Why don't you fire, my lord?"
"Sir," said the earl, looking over his shoulder, "I leave you to the
executioner."
The British attack on New London was not a blind stroke of premeditated
cruelty, but a part of the only real grand strategy developed since the
campaign of Trenton. Sir Henry Clinton had been completely deceived by
Washington's movement upon Yorktown, and now launched his expedition
upon Connecticut, with the hope of arresting his greater adversary's
progress. Arnold was the suitable instrument for such work.
The expedition of 1781 landed on both sides of the harbor, one
detachment under command of the traitor himself, near the light-house,
the other at Groton Point. Fort Trumbull, being untenable, was
evacuated, its little garrison crossing the river to Fort Griswold.
Encountering nothing on his march except a desultory fire from scattered
parties, Arnold entered New London, and proceeded to burn the shipping
and warehouses near the river. In his official dispatch he disavows the
general destruction of the town which ensued, but the testimony is
conclusive that dwellings were fired and plundered in every direction by
his troops, and under his eye.[318]
The force that landed upon Groton side was led by Lieutenant-colonel
Eyre against Fort Griswold, which then contained one hundred and fifty
men, under Lieutenant-colonel William Ledyard, cousin of the celebrated
traveler. The surrender of the fort being demanded and refused, the
British assaulted it on three sides. They were resisted with determined
courage, but at length effected an entrance into the work. Eyre had been
wounded, and his successor, Montgomery, killed in the assault. Finding
himself overpowered, Ledyard advanced and offered his sword to Major
Bromfield, now in command of the enemy, who asked, "Who commands this
fort?"
"I did," courteously replied Ledyard; "but you do now."
Bromfield immediately stabbed Ledyard with his own sword, and the hero
fell dead at the feet of the coward and assassin.[319] This revolting
deed was reserved for a Tory officer, of whom Arnold officially writes
Sir H. Clinton, his "behavior on this occasion does him great honor."
The survivors of the garrison were nearly all put to the sword, and even
the wounded treated with incredible cruelty.[320]
Fort Griswold is a parallelogram, having a foundation of rough stone, on
which very thick and solid embankments have been raised. It is the best
preserved of any of the old earth-works I have seen since Fort George,
at Castine. The position is naturally very strong, far stronger than
Bunker Hill, which cost so many lives to carry. On all sides except the
east the hill is precipitous; here the ascent is gradual, and having
surmounted it, an attacking force would find itself on an almost level
area of sufficient extent to form two thousand men. In consequence of
the knowledge that this was their weak point of defense, the Americans
constructed a small redoubt, the remains of which may still be seen
about three hundred yards distant from the main work.
Groton was the seat of the Pequot power, the royal residence of Sassacus
being situated on a commanding eminence called Fort Hill, four miles
east of New London. This was his principal fortress, though there was
another about eight miles distant from New London, near Mystic, which
was the scene of the memorable encounter which all our historians from
Cotton Mather to Dr. Palfrey have related with such minuteness. The
conquest of the Pequots, with whom, man against man, no other of the red
nations near their frontiers dared to contend, was heroic in the little
band of Englishmen by whom it was effected. The reduction to a handful
of outcasts of a nation that counted a thousand warriors was a stroke of
fortune the English owed to the assistance of Uncas, a rebel against his
lawful chieftain, Sassacus, and of Miantonimo, whose alliance had been
secured by Roger Williams.[321]
[Illustration: STORMING OF THE INDIAN FORTRESS.]
Captain John Mason, who had served under Fairfax in the Netherlands, is
the ideal Puritan soldier. Before leading his men on to storm the Pequot
stronghold, they knelt together in the moonlight, which shone brightly
on that May morning, and commended themselves and their enterprise to
God. Report says that the accompanying Narragansets and Mohegans were
much astounded and troubled at the sight. Satisfied that he could not
conquer the Pequots hand to hand with his little force, Mason himself
applied a fire-brand to the wigwams. His own account of the Pequot war,
reprinted by Prince in 1736, is the best and fullest narrative of its
varying fortunes.
Mason relates that he had but one pint of strong liquors in his army
during its whole march. Like a prudent commander, he carried the bottle
in his hand, and ingenuously says, when it was empty the very smelling
of it would presently recover such as had fainted away from the
extremity of the heat. Among the special providences of the day he
mentions that Lieutenant Bull had an arrow shot into a hard piece of
cheese he carried, that probably saved his life; "which may verify the
old saying," adds the narrator, that "a little armor would serve, if a
man knew where to place it."[322] Fuller, in one of his sermons, has
another and a similar proverb: "It is better to fight naked than with
bad armor, for the rags of a bad corselet make a deeper wound, and worse
to be healed, than the bullet itself." Mason ultimately settled in
Norwich, and died there.
[Illustration: SILAS DEANE.]
Silas Deane was a native of Groton. Of the three men to whom Congress
intrusted its secret negotiations with European powers, Franklin was the
only one whose character did not permanently suffer, although he did not
escape the malignity and envy of Arthur Lee. The Virginian's enmity and
jealousy, aided by the influence of his brothers, were more successful
in sullying the name and fame of Silas Deane. Yet Arthur Lee was a
patriot and an honest man, whose public life was corroded by a morbid
envy and distrust of his associates. A more disastrous appointment than
his could hardly have been made, as his temperament especially unfitted
him for a near approach to men who, with all the world's polish, were,
in diplomatic phrase, able to cut an adversary's throat with a hair.
John Quincy Adams, who may perhaps have inherited his father's dislike
of Deane, once said, in the course of a conversation with some friends:
"A son of Silas Deane was one of my school-fellows.[323] I never saw him
again until last autumn, when I recognized him on board a steamboat, and
introduced him to Lafayette, who said, 'Do you and Deane agree?' I said,
'Yes.' 'That's more than your fathers did before you,' replied the
general.
"Silas Deane," continued Mr. Adams, "was a man of fine talents, but,
like General Arnold, he was not true to his country. After he was
dismissed from the service of the United States he went to England,
lived for a long time on Lord Sheffield's patronage, and wrote a book
which did more to widen the breach between England and America, and
produce unpleasant feelings between the two countries, than any work
that had been published. Finally he determined to return to America,
but, in a fit of remorse and despair, committed suicide before the
vessel left the Thames. His character and fate affected those of his
son, who has lived in obscurity."[324]
It is possible that Silas Deane's patriotism was not proof against the
ingratitude he had experienced, and that he became soured and
disaffected; but it is scarcely just to his memory to call him traitor,
or compare him with such an ignoble character as Arnold. Deane was the
friend of Beaumarchais; he was also his confidant. He was the means of
securing the services of Lafayette for America. There is little doubt
that he exceeded his powers as commissioner, involving Congress in
embarrassments, of which his recall was the solution. The malevolence of
Lee and the crookedness of French diplomacy did what was wanting to
consign him to obscurity and poverty. The controversy over Deane's case
produced a pamphlet from Thomas Paine, and caused John Jay to take the
place resigned by Mr. Laurens as president of Congress. Deane and
Beaumarchais were the scape-goats of the French alliance.[325]
John Ledyard was another monument of Groton. His first essay as a
traveler exhibits his courage and resource. He entered Dartmouth as a
divinity student; but poverty obliging him to withdraw from the college,
and not having a shilling in his pocket, he made a canoe fifty feet
long, with which he floated down the river one hundred and forty miles
to Hartford. He then embarked for England as a common sailor, and while
there, under the impulse of his passion for travel, enlisted with
Captain Cook as a corporal of marines. He witnessed the tragical death
of his captain. In 1771, after eight years' absence, Ledyard revisited
his native country. His mother was then keeping a boarding-house at
Southhold. Her son took lodgings with her without being recognized, as
had once happened to Franklin in similar circumstances.
Ledyard's subsequent exploits in Europe, Asia, and Africa bear the
impress of a daring and adventurous spirit. At last he offered himself
for the more perilous enterprise of penetrating into the unknown regions
of Central Africa. A letter from Sir Joseph Banks introduced him to the
projectors of the expedition. "Before I had learned," says the gentleman
to whom Sir Joseph's letter was addressed, "the name and business of my
visitor, I was struck with the manliness of his person, the breadth of
his chest, the openness of his countenance, and the inquietude of his
eye. Spreading the map of Africa before him, and tracing a line from
Cairo to Sennaar, and thence westward in the latitude and supposed
direction of the Niger, I told him that was the route by which I was
anxious that Africa might, if possible, be explored. He said he should
consider himself singularly fortunate to be intrusted with the
adventure. I asked him when he would set out. His answer was, 'To-morrow
morning.'"[326]
New London's annals afford a passing glimpse of two men who, though
enemies, were worthy of each other. During the war with England of 1812,
Decatur, with the _United States_, _Macedonian_, and _Hornet_, was
blockaded in New London by Sir T. M. Hardy with a squadron of superior
force. The presence of the British fleet was a constant menace to the
inhabitants, disquieted as they also were by the recollections of
Arnold's descent. In vain Decatur tried to escape the iron grip of his
adversary. Hardy's vigilance never relaxed, and the American vessels
remained as uselessly idle to the end of the war, as if laid up in
ordinary. Once Decatur had prepared to slip away unperceived to sea, but
signals made to the hostile fleet from the shore compelled him to
abandon the attempt. He then proposed to Hardy a duel between his own
and an equal force of British ships, which, though he did not absolutely
decline the challenge,[327] it is pretty evident Sir Thomas never meant
should happen.
[Illustration: STEPHEN DECATUR.]
Decatur was brave, fearless, and chivalric. He was the handsomest
officer in the navy. Coleridge, who knew him well at Malta, always spoke
of him in the highest terms. Our history does not afford a more
impressive example of a useful life uselessly thrown away. Of his duel
with Barron the following is probably a correct account of the closing
scene: The combatants approached within sixteen feet of each other,
because one was near-sighted, and the rule was that both should take
deliberate aim before the word was given. They both fired, and fell with
their heads not ten feet apart. Each believed himself mortally hurt.
Before their removal from the ground they were reconciled, and blessed
each other, declaring there was nothing between them. All that was
necessary to have prevented the meeting was a personal explanation.
Sir T. Hardy is well known as the captain of Nelson's famous flag-ship,
the _Victory_, and as having received these last utterances of the dying
hero: "Anchor, Hardy, anchor!" When the captain replied, "I suppose, my
lord, Admiral Collingwood will now take upon himself the direction of
affairs?" "Not while I live, I hope, Hardy!" cried the dying chief,
endeavoring ineffectually to raise himself from the bed. "No," he added,
"do _you_ anchor, Hardy." "Shall _we_ make the signal, sir?" "Yes,"
replied his lordship, "for if I live, I'll anchor. Take care of my dear
Lady Hamilton, Hardy; take care of poor Lady Hamilton. Kiss me,
Hardy."[328]
With whatever local preferences the traveler may have come, he will
think the approach to Norwich charming. Through banks high and green,
crested with groves, or decked with white villages, the river slips
quietly away to mingle in the noisy world of waters beyond. In deeper
shadows of the hills the pictures along the banks are reproduced with
marvelous fidelity of form and coloring; and even the blue of the sky
and white drifting clouds are mirrored there. All terrestrial things,
however, appear, as in the camera, inverted--roofs or steeples pointing
downward, men or animals walking with feet upward, along the banks, like
flies on a ceiling. When autumn tints are on, the effects seen in the
water are heightened by the confused masses of sumptuous foliage hung
like garlands along the shores.
[Illustration: RUSTIC BRIDGE, NORWICH.]
Norwich is ranged about a hill overlooking the Thames. It is on a point
of rock-land infolded by two streams, the Yantic and Shetucket, that
come tumbling and hurrying down from the higher northern ranges to meet
and kiss each other in the Thames. Rising, terrace above terrace, the
appearance of Norwich, as viewed from the river, is more striking in its
_ensemble_ than by reason of particular features. The water-side is the
familiar dull red, above which glancing roofs and steeples among trees
are seen retreating up the ascent. By night a ridged and chimneyed
blackness bestrewed with lights rewards the curious gazer from the deck
of a Sound steamboat. I admired in Norwich the broad avenues, the wealth
of old trees, the luxurious spaciousness of the private grounds.
Washington Street is one of the finest I have walked in. There is
breathing-room everywhere, town and country seeming to meet and clasp
hands, each giving to the other of the best it had to offer. I do not
mean that Norwich is countrified; but its mid-city is so easily escaped
as to do away with the feeling of imprisonment in a wilderness of brick,
stone, and plate-glass. The suburban homes of Norwich have an air of
substantial comfort and delicious seclusion. In brief, wherever one has
made up his mind to be buried, he would like to live in Norwich.
[Illustration: OLD MILL, NORWICH.]
There are not a few picturesque objects about Norwich, especially by the
shores of the Yantic, which, since being robbed of the falls, once its
pride and glory, has become a prosaic mill-stream.[329] The water is of
the blackness of Acheron, streaked with amber where it falls over rocks,
and of a rusty brown in shallows, as if partaking of the color of bits
of decayed wood or dead leaves which one sees at the bottom. The stream,
after having been vexed by dams and tossed about by mill-wheels, bounds
joyously, and with some touch of savage freedom, to strike hands with
the Shetucket.
The practical reader should be told that the city of Norwich is the
outgrowth and was of yore the landing of Norwich town, two miles above
it. The city was then known as Chelsea and Norwich Landing. The Mohegans
were lawful owners of the soil. Subsequent to the Pequot war hostilities
broke out between Uncas, chief of the Mohegans, and Miantonimo, the
Narraganset sachem. The Narragansets invaded the territory of the
Mohegans, and a battle occurred on the Great Plains, near Greenville, a
mile and a half below Norwich. The Narragansets suffered defeat, and
their chief became a prisoner. He was delivered by Uncas to the English,
who condemned him to death, and devolved upon Uncas the execution of the
sentence. The captive chief was led to the spot where he had been made
prisoner, and, while stalking with Indian stoicism in the midst of his
enemies, was killed by one blow from a tomahawk at the signal of Uncas.
Miantonimo was buried where he fell, and from him the spot takes its
name of Sachem's Plain.[330]
[Illustration: SIGNATURES OF UNCAS AND HIS SONS.]
War continued between the Narragansets and Mohegans, the former, led by
a brother of Miantonimo, being again the assailants. Uncas was at length
compelled to throw himself within his strong fortress, where he was
closely besieged, and in danger of being overpowered. He found means to
send intelligence to Saybrook, where Captain Mason commanded, that his
supply of food was exhausted. Mason immediately sent Thomas Leffingwell
with a boat-load of provision, which enabled Uncas to hold out until his
enemy withdrew. For this act, which he performed single-handed,
Leffingwell received from Uncas the greater part of Norwich; and in
1659, by a formal deed, signed by Uncas and his two sons, Owaneko and
Attawanhood, he, with Mason, Rev. James Fitch, and others, became
proprietors of the whole of Norwich.[331]
[Illustration: UNCAS'S MONUMENT.]
I did not omit a visit to the ground where the "buried majesty" of
Mohegan is lying. It is on the bank of the Yantic, in a secluded though
populous neighborhood. A granite obelisk, with the name of Uncas in
relief at its base, erected by citizens of Norwich, stands within the
inclosure. The foundation was laid by President Jackson in 1833. Around
are clustered a few mossy stones chiseled by English hands, with the
brief record of the hereditary chieftains of a once powerful race.[332]
In its native state the spot must have been singularly romantic and well
chosen. A wooded height overhangs the river in full view of the falls,
where their turbulence subsides into a placid onward flow, and where the
chiefs, ere their departure for the happy hunting-grounds, might look
their last on the villages of their people. It was the Indian custom to
bury by the margin of river, lake, or ocean. Here, doubtless, repose the
bones of many grim warriors, seated in royal state, with their weapons
and a pot of succotash beside them. The last interment here was of
Ezekiel Mazeon, a descendant of Uncas, in 1826. The feeble remnant of
the Mohegans followed him to the grave.[333]
Mr. Sparks remarks that the history of the Indians, like that of the
Carthaginians, has been written by their enemies. As the faithful,
unwavering ally of the English, Uncas has received the encomiums of
their historians. His statesmanship has been justified by time and
history. By alliance with the English he preserved his people for many
generations after the more numerous and powerful Pequots, Narragansets,
and Wampanoags had ceased to exist. In 1638 he came with his present of
wampum to Boston, and having convinced the English of his loyalty, thus
addressed them: "This heart" (laying his hand upon his breast) "is not
mine, but yours. Command me any difficult service, and I will do it. I
have no men, but they are all yours. I will never believe any Indian
against the English any more." It is this invincible fidelity, approved
by important services, that should make his name and character respected
by every descendant of the fathers of New England.
[Illustration: ARNOLD'S BIRTHPLACE.]
About midway of the pleasant avenue that unites old Norwich with new is
the birthplace of Benedict Arnold.[334] Somewhat farther on, and when
within half a mile of the town, you also see at the right the homely
little building which was the apothecary's in which Arnold worked as a
boy with pestle and mortar to the acceptance of his master, Dr. Lathrop,
who lived in the adjoining mansion. One can better imagine Arnold
dealing out musket-bullets than pills, and mixing brimstone with
saltpetre rather than harmless drugs. As a boy he was bold,
high-spirited, and cruel.
[Illustration: ELM-TREES BY THE WAYSIDE.]
In this neighborhood I saw a group of elms unmatched for beauty in New
England. One of them is a king among trees. They are on a grassy slope,
before an inviting mansion, and are in the full glory of maturity. It
was a feast to stand under their branching arms, and be fanned and
soothed by the play of the breeze among their green tresses, that fell
in fountains of rustling foliage from their crowned heads. A benison on
those old trees! May they never fall into the clutches of that class who
have a real and active hatred of every thing beautiful, or that appeals
to more than their habitual perception is able to discover!
[Illustration: GENERAL HUNTINGTON'S HOUSE.]
I made a brief visit at the mansion built by General Jedediah Huntington
before he removed to New London after the Old War.[335]
In the dining-room was a full-length of General Eben Huntington, painted
by Trumbull at the age of eighteen. On seeing it some years afterward,
Trumbull took out his penknife and said to his host and friend, "Eb,
let me put my knife through this." Another portrait by the same hand,
representing the general at the siege of Yorktown, is in a far different
manner. The three daughters of General Huntington, then living in the
old family mansion, in referring to the warm friendship between their
father and the painter, mentioned that the first and last portraits
painted by Colonel Trumbull were of members of their family.
[Illustration: MANSION OF GOVERNOR HUNTINGTON.]
Near General Huntington's, where many of the choicest spirits of the
Revolution have been entertained, is the handsome mansion of Governor
Huntington, a remote connection of his military neighbor. Without the
advantages of a liberal education, he became a member of the old
Congress, and its president, chief-justice, and governor of Connecticut.
President Dwight, who knew him well, extols his character and abilities
warmly and highly.
I had frequent opportunities of seeing, in my rambles about the environs
of New London and Norwich, the beautiful dwarf flowering laurel (_Kalmia
augustifolia_) that is almost unknown farther north. In the woods, where
it was growing in wild luxuriance, it appeared like a gigantic azelia,
ablaze with fragrant bloom of white and pink. It used to be said that
honey collected by the bee from this flower was poisonous. The
broad-leaved laurel, or calico-tree (_Kalmia latifolia_) was believed to
be even more injurious, instances being mentioned where death had
occurred from eating the flesh of pheasants that had fed on its leaves.
Norwich town represents the kernel from which the city has sprung, and
retains also no little of the savor incident to a population that has
held innovations at arms-length. It has quiet, freshness, and a certain
rural comeliness. A broad green, or common, planted with trees, is
skirted by houses, many of them a century or more old, among which I
thought I now and then detected the no longer familiar well-sweep, with
the "old oaken bucket" standing by the curb. On one side of the common
the old court-house is still seen.
Take the path beside the meeting-house, ascending the overhanging rocks
by some natural steps, and you will be richly repaid for the trifling
exertion. The view embraces a charming little valley watered by the
Yantic, which here flows through rich meadow-lands and productive farms.
Encompassing the settlement is another elevated range of the rocky hills
common to this region, making a sort of amphitheatre in which the town
is naturally placed.
[Illustration: CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH.]
The old church of Norwich town formerly stood in the hollow between two
high hills above its present site. The pound, now its next neighbor, is
still a lawful inclosure in most of the New England States. Not many
years ago, I knew of a town in Massachusetts that was presented by a
grand jury for not having one. I visited the old grave-yard, remarkable
for its near return to a state of nature. Many stones had fallen, and
sometimes two were kept upright by leaning one against the other. Weeds,
brambles, and vines impeded my footsteps or concealed the grave-stones.
I must often repeat the story of the shameful neglect which involves
most of our older cemeteries. One is not quite sure, in leaving them,
that he does not carry away on his feet the dust of former generations.
Some of the stones are the most curious in form and design I have met
with. The family tombs of Governor and General Huntington are here.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[308] Watch Hill, in the town of Westerly and near Stonington, is the
south-western extremity of Rhode Island.
[309] Named from Captain Adrian Blok, a Dutch navigator. Its Indian name
was Manisses. There are about twelve hundred inhabitants on this island,
all native-born, of whom two hundred and seventy-five are voters. There
are also six schools, two Baptist churches, and two windmills, a hotel,
and several summer boarding-houses. Two hundred fishing-boats are owned
by the islanders. In 1636 John Oldham, mentioned in our ramble in
Plymouth, was murdered here by the Pequots. Block Island in 1672 was
made a township, by the name of New Shoreham.
[310] The two forts, Trumbull and Griswold, are named from governors of
Connecticut. They date from the Revolution. Fort Trumbull in its present
form was completed in 1849, under the supervision of General G. W.
Cullum, U. S. A. In passing through New London in April, 1776, General
Knox, by Washington's direction, examined the harbor with the view of
erecting fortifications, and reported, by letter, that it would, in
connection with Newport, afford a safe retreat to the American navy or
its prizes in any wind that blew.
[311] Son of Governor Winthrop, of Massachusetts. He passed his first
winter on Fisher's Island, which remained in his family through six
generations. The valuable manuscript collection known as the Winthrop
papers was found some years ago on the island, which belongs to New York
in consequence of the grants to the Earl of Sterling and the Duke of
York. The origin of its present name is uncertain, though so called as
early as 1636. Governor Winthrop relates to Cotton Mather a singular
incident which happened on Fisher's Island the previous winter. During
the severe snow-storms hundreds of sheep, besides cattle and horses,
were buried in the snow. Even the wild beasts came into the settlements
for shelter. Twenty-eight days after the storm alluded to, the tenants
of Fisher's Island, in extricating the bodies of a hundred sheep from
one bank of snow in the valley, found two alive in the drift, where they
had subsisted by eating the fleeces of those lying dead near them.
[312] In 1834 New London employed thirty-six vessels in whaling and
sealing. A few are still engaged in the latter fishery, in the extreme
navigable waters of the Arctic and Antarctic seas.
[313] During the unexampled cold of the past winter (1874-'75), the
light-boat off New London was, in fact, carried away from her moorings
by an ice-field, and many others all along the coast were stranded.
[314] At the light-houses I have visited in cold weather, the unvarying
complaint is made of the poor quality of the oil furnished by the
Light-house Board. One keeper told me he was obliged to shovel the
congealed lard-oil out of the tank in the oil-room, and carry it into
the dwelling, some rods distant, to heat it on his stove; sometimes
repeating the operation frequently during the night, in order to keep
his light burning.
[315] It is shown in the view of New London in 1813, at the head of this
chapter.
[316] Bishop Seabury was born in 1728, and died in 1796, aged 68. In
person he was large, robust, and vigorous; dignified and commanding in
appearance, and loved by his parishioners of low estate. After
consecration he discharged the functions of bishop of the diocese of
Connecticut and Rhode Island.
[317] The months of January and February, 1875, will be long remembered
in New England for the intense and long-continued cold weather. Long
Island Sound was a vast ice-field, which sealed up its harbors. For a
time navigation was entirely suspended, the boats usually plying between
Newport, Stonington, New London, and New York being obliged to
discontinue their voyages. Gardiner's Bay was completely closed. The
shore of Long Island, on its ocean side, was strewed with great blocks
of ice. An unusual number of disasters signalized the ice embargo
throughout the whole extent of the New England coast.
[318] In all, the British destroyed one hundred and forty-three
buildings, sixty-five of which were dwellings, and including the
court-house, jail, and church.
[319] In the Wadsworth Museum, Hartford, the vest and shirt worn by
Ledyard on the day of his death, are still shown to the visitor.
Lafayette, when attacking the British redoubt at Yorktown, ordered his
men, it is said with Washington's consent, to "remember New London." The
continental soldiers could not or would not execute the command on
prisoners who begged their lives on their knees.
[320] Soon after the surrender a wagon loaded with wounded Americans was
set in motion down the hill. In its descent it struck with great force
against a tree, causing the instant death of several of its
occupants.--"Gordon's Revolution," vol. iv., p. 179.
[321] Captain Mason, with the Connecticut and Massachusetts forces,
numbering in all only ninety men, together with about four hundred
Narragansets and Mohegans, attacked the Pequot fortress on the morning
of May 26th, 1637. His Indian allies skulked in the rear. Mason's onset
was a complete surprise; but he would not have succeeded had he not
fired the fort, which created a panic among the enemy, and rendered them
an easy prey to the English and friendly Indians surrounding it. Between
six and seven hundred Pequots perished.
[322] The English in these early wars fought in armor, that is to say, a
steel cap and corselet, with a back and breast piece, over buff coats,
the common equipment everywhere of that day for a horse or foot soldier.
[323] Mr. John Quincy Adams accompanied his father to France, and was
placed at school near Paris.
[324] Miss E. S. Quincy's "Memoir."
[325] In 1835, when President Jackson demanded twenty-five millions of
France on account of French spoliations, the claim of Beaumarchais was
allowed, after deducting a million livres which had been advanced by
Vergennes. Deane's heirs did not obtain an adjustment of his claims by
Congress until 1842.
[326] Ledyard proceeded no farther than Cairo, where he died, in 1788,
of a bilious fever.
[327] Decatur offered to match the _United States_ and _Macedonian_ with
the _Endymion_ and _Statira_. Sir Thomas declined the proposal as made,
but consented to a meeting between the _Statira_ and _Macedonian_ alone.
[328] Nelson commended almost with his latest breath Lady Hamilton and
his daughter as a legacy to his country. Lady Hamilton, however, died in
exile, sickness, and actual want at Calais, France, in 1815.
[329] The falls were very beautiful, and have been celebrated by
Trumbull's pencil and Mrs. Sigourney's verse. There still remain some
curious cavities, worn in the rock by the prolonged rotary motion of
loose stones. Lydia Huntley Sigourney, the most celebrated writer in
prose or poetry of her day in New England, was a native of Norwich.
[330] Before the battle with the Narragansets, Uncas is said to have
challenged Miantonimo to single combat, promising for himself and his
nation to abide the result. Miantonimo refused. This chief, in his
flight from the field, was overtaken by Mohegan warriors, who impeded
him until Uncas could come up. When Uncas laid his hand on Miantonimo's
shoulder, the latter sat down in token of submission, maintaining a
sullen silence. Uncas is said to have eaten a piece of his flesh.
[331] The proprietors numbered thirty-five. Uncas received about seventy
pounds for nine square miles. The settlement of Norwich is considered to
have begun in 1660, when Rev. James Fitch removed from Saybrook to
Norwich (town).
[332] The following inscriptions are from the royal burial-ground of the
Mohegans:
"Here lies ye body of Pompi Uncas, son of Benjamin and Ann Uncas, and of
ye royal blood, who died May ye first, 1740, in ye 21st year of his
age."
"Here lies Sam Uncas, the 2d and beloved son of his father, John Uncas,
who was the grandson of Uncas, grand sachem of Mohegan, the darling of
his mother, being daughter of said Uncas, grand sachem. He died July
31st, 1741, in the 28th year of his age."
"In memory of Elizabeth Joquib, the daughter of Mahomet,
great-grandchild to ye first Uncas, great sachem of Mohegan, who died
July ye 5th, 1750, aged 33 years."
[333] The hereditary chieftainship was extinct as long ago as the
beginning of the century. The Mohegans occupied a strip of land
containing two thousand seven hundred acres, lying on the Thames between
Norwich and New London, above the mouth of Stony Brook, and between the
river and Montville. In 1633 the Indian population of Connecticut was
computed at eight persons to the square mile; the earliest enumeration
of the Mohegans made their number one thousand six hundred and
sixty-three souls; in 1797 only four hundred remained. By 1825 the
nation was reduced to a score or two, a portion having emigrated to
Stockbridge, Massachusetts. The Mohegan reserve was divided in 1790
among the remaining families of the nation. The Mohegans were probably a
distinct nation, though Uncas was a vassal of the Pequots.
[334] On the Colchester road, or Town Street, near the junction of a
street leading toward the Falls. The estate is now locally known as the
Ripley Place.
[335] The general was appointed collector of New London by Washington.
His first wife was a daughter of Governor Trumbull.
[Illustration: PETER STUYVESANT.]