member of an artillery company from Hartford.

amusing reminiscences:

He gives some

Before leaving home my uncle "supplied me with ten dollars, a welcome addition to my light purse. After a little advice, he said, 'I have only one thing to add-if you come to a fight, don't run away until the rest do. Good-by!"

The next morning-June 7, 1813-about sunrise, the whole company, nearly sixty in number, mounted in wagons, departed. At sunset we were on the hights, two miles back of New London. No provision had been made for us, and so we went supperless to bed, in a large empty barn.

I was glad to see the daylight. The weather was fine, and as the sun came up, we saw the British fleet-some half-dozen large ships of war-lying off the mouth of the Thames. They seemed very near at hand, and for the first time I realized my situation-that of a soldier, who was likely soon to be engaged in battle. I said nothing of my emotions: indeed, words were unnecessary. I watched the countenances of my companions as they first caught a view of the black and portentous squadron, and I read in almost every bosom a reflection of my own feelings.

At ten o'clock we were mustered, and began our march, all in our best trim; cocked hats, long-tailed blue coats, with red facings, white pantaloons, and shining cutlasses at our sides. Our glittering cannon moved along with the solemnity of elephants. It was, in fact, a fine company-all young men, and many from the best families in Hartford. Our captain, Johnson, was an eminent lawyer, of martial appearance, and great taste for military affairs. He afterward rose to the rank of general. Mosely, the first lieutenant, was six feet four inches high-a young lawyer, nephew of Oliver Wolcott-and of high social and professional standing. Screamed the fife, rolled the drum-as we entered New London! The streets presented some confusion, for still the people were removing back into the country, as an attack was daily expected. A few military companies were also gathering into the town. At four o'clock in the afternoon, we were transported across the Thames, to the village of Groton, and took up our quarters in a large house, on the bank of the river, vacated for our use.

About a week after our arrival, over a thousand militia, gathered from various parts of the state, were stationed along the river, chiefly on the eastern bank. Decatur had drawn his three ships up the stream as far as possible, some twelve miles from its mouth, and near the city of Norwich. Here the river is reduced to three hundred feet in width, and flows between high rocky banks.

The officers of our company were rigid disciplinarians, and accordingly we were well drilled for about four hours each day. We soon gained much reputation for our martial exercises and our tidy appearance. After the morning drill, we were generally at leisure for the rest of the day, taking our turns, however, on guard, and in other occasional duties. I was employed by the captain to keep his journal of our proceedings, and sometimes I was dispatched to New London, or to some one of the officers along the line, with a letter or a parcel. I established a friendly acquaintance with old Mrs. Avery, who kept a supply of excellent bread and butter, milk and eggs. I visited Fort Trumbull, and the blockaded fleet up the river. Frequently I strolled into the country, and now and then went to see "Mrs. Bailey," who even at that early period was a celebrity of Groton. I have never seen such fierce democracy as in this village, fed, as it doubtless is, upon the remembrance of the British massacre at the fort; and Mrs. Bailey was filled with its most peppery essence. The story of the flannel petticoat was then recent, but had marked her for immortality. All the soldiers went to see her, and she sang Jefferson and Liberty to them with great spirit. Once a soldier talked "old federalism" to her, by way of jest: whereupon she got up, and holding out her petticoat, danced and sang Jefferson and Liberty at him, as if that were sufficient to strike him dead.

I must mention one circumstance which tried the souls of our company. Let me premise that, on a certain Saturday, a large accession to the British force arrived in the bay, the whole number of vessels, of all kinds, amounting to fourteen. This looked very much

* When Decatur took refuge in New London harbor, the inhabitants of Groton were thrown into great alarm. At this moment a messenger was sent to Fort Griswold for flannel, to be used for the cannon. Most of the portable goods had been set away, and the messenger was unsuccessful, until he met Mrs. Anna Bailey, who instantly took off her flannel petticoat, and heartily devoted it to the patriotic cause of defense. It was carried to the fortress, and displayed on a pike. The story being told, the garrison cheered, and the "martial petticoat" became almost as celebrated as Mahomet's breeches. The story went over the whole country, and when General Jackson (then President) came to New London, he visited this lady. She is said to have given him a very demonstrative reception. She died January 10, 1851, aged 92 years.

like an attack, and accordingly there was a feverish anxiety among the inhabitants of New London and the vicinity, and a general bustle in the army, from Groton Point to Allyn's Mountain. A large body of militia was set to work upon Fort Griswold. Our company was drilled in the little redoubt which we were to defend, and every preparation was made to give the enemy a warm reception. The general idea was, that a landing of British troops would be made on the eastern side, and that we should take the brunt of the first attack. The sun set in clouds, and as the evening advanced, bursts of thunder, attended by flashes of lightning, muttered along the distant horizon. Our company were admonished to sleep on their arms. Everything wore a rather ominous appearance. There were no signs of cowardice in the men, but they looked thoughtful; and when Bill W, the laureate wit of the company, let off some of his best jokes-which would ordinarily have set the whole corps in a roar-he was answered by a dead silence. It chanced that I was that night on guard. My turn came at ten o'clock. Taking my gun, I paced the bank of the river back and forth, in front of our barracks. I had received orders to let nothing pass, by land or water. It was intensely dark, but at frequent intervals, thin flashes of lightning sprang up against the distant sky, behind dark rolling masses of clouds.

Gradually the lights in the streets and windows of New London, stretching in a long line on the opposite side of the river, were extinguished one by one, a few remaining, how. ever, as sentinels, indicating anxiety and watchfulness. The sounds on all sides were at last hushed, and left the world to darkness and to me. More than half of my two hours' watch had passed, when I heard the dip of oars, and the flapping of waves against the prow of a boat. I looked in the direction of the sounds, and at last descried the dusky outline of a craft, stealing down the river. I cried out, "Boat ahoy! who goes there?" My voice echoed portentously in the silence, but no answer was given, and the low, black, raking apparition glided on its way. Again I challenged, but there was still no reply. On went the ghost! I cocked my gun. The click sounded ominously on the still night air. I began to consider the horror of shooting some fellow-being in the dark. I called a third time, and not without avail. The rudder was turned, the boat whirled on her heel, and a man came ashore. According to my orders, I marshaled him to the guard-room, and gave notice of what had happened, to the captain. The man was only a fisherman, going home, but he was detained until morning. So, you see, I can boast that I made one prisoner. My watch was soon over, and returning to my station, I laid down to sleep.

All was soon quiet, and I was buried in profound repose, when suddenly there was a cry in the main barrack-room, overhead-" Alarm! alarm!"

"Alarm! alarm!" was echoed by twenty voices, attended by quick, shuffling sounds, and followed by a hurried rush of men down the staircase. A moment after, the guard in front discharged his musket, and was answered by a long line of reports, up and down the river, from the various sentinels extending for half a dozen miles. Then came the roll of drums, and the mustering of the men. Several of our company had been out to see what was going on they came back, saying that the enemy was approaching! J. M- distinctly heard the roar of cannon, and positively saw the flashes of muskets. B. W- found out that the attack had already begun upon our southern pickets. Nobody doubted that our time had come !

In a very few minutes our company was drawn up in line, and the roll was called. It was still dark, but the faint flashes gave us now and then a glimpse of each other's faces. I think we were a ghostly-looking set, but it was perhaps owing to the bluish complexion of the light. J. S. of West Hartford, who marched at my left shoulder-usually the lightest-hearted fellow in the company-whispered to me, "Goodrich, I'd give fifty dollars to be at West Division!" For myself, I felt rather serious, and asked a certain anxious feeling in my stomach, "What's to be done?" I thought of my father's letter, and my uncle's injunctions, and having settled it in my mind that I must fight, I closed my thoughts against all consequences, and felt that I was ready for the conflict. I was, indeed, almost anxious to have it come, as the suspense was painful. I afterward found, on conversing with several members of the company, that very similar trains of thought had occurred to them. Johnson, our captain, was a man of nerve and ready speech. When the roll was finished, he said, in a clear, hearty tone, "All right, my good fellows! Every man at his post!" These few words-which were, however, more politic than true, for one fellow was taken with sudden colic, and could not be got out-were electrical. We were ready to take our places in the redoubt.

Messengers were now sent to the two neighboring posts to inquire into the state of facts. Word was brought that the first alarm came from our barracks! The matter was inquired into, and it turned out that the whole affair was originated by our Corporal T—, who, in a fit of nightmare, jumped up and cried, "Alarm! alarm!"

Our martial ardor soon reconciled itself to this rather ludicrous denouement, though several persons, who had been somewhat chapfallen, became suddenly inflated with courage, which signalized itself with outbursts of, "D-n the British!" "They're a pack

of sneaking cowards, after all !" and the like. The next morning was fresh and fair. The skirmishing thunder-gusts of the night had cleared the air, and even distant objects seemed near at hand. Before us lay the whole British fleet, still and harmless, in the glassy bay. My left-hand chum, J. S, who, in the dark hour, would have given fifty dollars to be at West Division, was now himself again. "Come on here, you black old Ramilies!" said he dashing the doubled fist of his right hand into the palm of his left: "Come on here, you black-hearted British bull-dogs, and we'll do your business for you!" etc.

The first of the two following inscriptions was copied from the original monument placed over the remains of Bishop Seabury, who was interred in the new burying ground in New London.* Bishop Seabury was born in Pequannock, a small village in Groton, 3 or 4 miles from New London. He was the first Protestant Episcopal Bishop in the United States. The second inscription is on a slab of red sand-stone, in the ancient grave-yard. Capt. Lord was the commander of the first troop of horsemen established in the

state:

Here lyeth the body of SAMUEL SEABURY, D.D. Bishop of Connecticut and Rhode Island, who departed from this transitory scene, February 25, Anno Domini 1796, in the 68th year of his age, and the 12th of his Episcopal consecration.

Ingenious without pride, learned without pedantry, good without severity, he was duly qualified to discharge the duties of the Christian and the Bishop. In the pulpit he enforced Religion; in his conduct he exemplified it. The poor he assisted with his charity; the ignorant he blessed with his instruction. The friend of men, he ever designed their good; the enemy of vice, he ever opposed it. Christian! dost thou aspire to happiness? Seabury has shown the way that leads to it.

"An Epitaph on Captaine Richard Lord, deceased May 17, 1662. Etatis sve 51.

Groton, the town opposite New London, is memorable as being the theater of the most important military transactions which have taken place in Connecticut. In its early history, the fate of the colony was decided by the sword on Pequot Hill, within the limits of this town. In a later period, another of its "high places" became an Aceldama, and the flower of her sons was sacrificed to the vengeance of an infuriated enemy. Most of the facts in the following account were related to the compiler of this work by an eyewitness and actor in the scenes described:

On the 6th of September, 1781, a body of British troops, about 800 in number, under the command of Lieut. Col. Eyre, landed on the Groton side, opposite the light-house, and having found a lame boy collecting cattle, compelled him to show them the cart-path to the fort. They landed about nine o'clock in the morning of a most delightful day, clear and still. Fort Griswold was under the command of Lieut. Col. William Ledyard, uncle to the celebrated traveler of the same name. He resided on Groton bank, opposite New London, and was much beloved and respected by his neighbors. On the advance of the enemy, Col. Ledyard, having but about one hundred and fifty men with him in the fort, sent out an officer to get assistance, as there were a number of hundreds of people collected in the vicinity; this officer, by drinking too much, became intoxicated, and no reinforcement was

The remains of Bishop Seabury were removed and interred within the new Episcopal Church, in New London, a fine Gothic structure, consecrated by Bishop Brownwell, June 11, 1850.

obtained. On the rejection of a summons to surrender, the British extended their lines, so that they were scattered over the fields, and rushed on to the attack with trailed arms, under the fire of the Americans, to the assault of the fort on three sides. Having effected a lodgment in the ditch, they cut away the pickets, and having scaling ladders, they entered the fort and knocked away the gate on the inside. While the British were in the ditch, they had cold shot thrown on them, and as they were entering the embrazures, the garrison changed their weapons and fought desperately with spears or pikes, fifteen or sixteen feet in length, which did considerable execution. Unfortunately they had lent the greater part of the pikes belonging to the fort to a privateer a few days before. Major Montgomery was hoisted up on the walls of the fort by his soldiers; as he was flourishing his sword on his entrance, he was mortally wounded by Jordan Freeman, a colored man, who

Western view of Groton Monument, Groton.

pierced him through with a spear. Another officer was killed by a musket bal while in the fort. As he fell, he exclaimed, "Put every one to death; don't spars one!" Col. Ledyard, finding further resistance useless, presented his sword to an officer, who asked him who commanded the fort. "I did," said Col. Ledyard, "but you do now." The officer, Capt. Bloomfield, took his sword and plunged it into his bosom. Col. Ledyard fell on his face and instantly expired. An indiscriminate massacre now took place, until a British officer exclaimed, "My soul can not bear such destruction!" and ordered a parley to be beat. Such had been the butchery in the fort, that it was over shoes in blood in some parts of the parade ground. Soon after the surrender, a wagon was loaded with wounded Americans and set off down the hill; it struck an apple-tree with great force, and knocked several of these bleeding men out, and caused their instant death. One of these distressed men having been thrown out of the wagon, and while crawling toward the fence on his hands and knees, was brutally knocked on the head by the butt-end of a musket, by one of the refugees who were attached to the British army. The British embarked at the foot of the hill, near the ferry, and took off a number of prisoners with them. As they left the fort, they set fire to a train, intending to blow up the magazine, in which were about one hundred barrels of powder. Fortunately it was extinguished by our people, who entered the fort soon after the enemy left it. It is stated that the enemy lost in the attack on the fort, 54 killed and 143 wounded, several of whom afterward died of their wounds. The killed of the enemy were buried by their comrades at the gate of the fort, and were so slightly covered, that many of their legs and arms remained above ground; our people who

were killed at the fort, were stripped, and so disfigured, covered with blood and dust, that, with the exception of two or three, they could not be recognized by their friends, except by some particular marks on their persons.

The engraving on the preceding page shows the appearance of Groton Monument and its vicinity, as seen from New London. Its foundation stone

is 130 feet above tide-water, and the monument itself is 127 feet in hight. It is built of granite, of which there is an abundance in the vicinity. On the south side of the pedestal, next the fort, which is but a few yards distant, are the names, of 85 men who fell at the capture of the fort. The following is on a marble tablet over the entrance of the monument:

"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 at 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."

On the south side of the pedestal, opposite the fort, is the following inscription:

"Zebulon and Napthali were a people that jeoparded their lives unto the death, in the high places of the field."-Judges, 5 Chap.

18 verse.

List of men who fell at Fort Griswold, September 6, 1781.

Here follows a list of eighty-five names, on a marble tablet.

The following inscriptions are copied from monuments in the Groton Cemetery:

"Sacred to the memory of WILLIAM LEDYARD, Esq., Col. Commandant of the garrisoned posts of New London and Groton, who, after a gallant defense, was, with part of the brave garrison, inhumanly massacred by the British troops in Fort Griswold, Sept. 6, 1781, Etatis suæ 43. By a judicious and faithful discharge of the various duties of his station, he rendered most essential service to his country; and stood confessed the unshaken Patriot, and intrepid Hero. He fell the victim of ungenerous rage and cruelty.

"ERECTED IN 1854, by the state of Connecticut, in remembrance of the painful events that took place in this neighborhood during the war of the Revolution. It commemorates the burning of New London; the storming of Groton Fort; the massacre of the garrison; the struggle of Ledyard, the brave commander of these posts, who was slain, by the conquerors, with his own sword. He fell in the service of his country, fearless of death, and prepared to die. Sons of Connecticut! Behold this moument, and learn to emulate the virtue, valor and patriotism of your ancestors.'

"Here lyeth, reunited to Parent earth, in the 46 year of her Life, ANN, for a few years the disconsolate Relict of COL. WILLIAM LEDYARD, who, in a fort, adjoining this ground, fell gallantly defending these Towns and Harbour. At her fond request, her youngest son, Charles,