USA > Connecticut > New London County > A modern history of New London County, Connecticut, Volume I > Part 11
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Reader, but little can be described, while much is felt. There were still remaining, near the fort, a great number of the British who were getting ready to leave. They loaded up our large ammunition wagon that belonged to the fort with the wounded men that could not walk, and about twenty of the enemy drew it from the fort to the brow of the hill which leads down to the river. The declivity is very steep for the distance of thirty rods to the river. As soon as the wagon began to move down the hill, it pressed so hard against them that they found they were unable to hold it back, and jumped away from it as quickly as possible, leaving it to thrash along down the hill with great speed, till the shafts struck a large apple tree stump, with a most violent crash, hurting the poor dying, and wounded men in it, in a most inhuman manner. Some of the wounded fell out and fainted away; then a part of the company where I sat, ran and brought the men and the wagon along. They by some means got the prisoners who were wounded badly into a house nearby belonging to Ensign Ebenezer Avery, who was one of the wounded in the wagon. Before the prisoners were brought to the house the soldiers had set fire to it, but others put it out, and made use of it for this purpose. Captain Bloomfield paroled, to be left at home here, these wounded prisoners, and took Ebenezer Ledyard, Esq., as hostage for them, to see them forthcoming when called for.
Now the boats had come for us who could go on board the fleet. The officer spoke with a doleful and menacing tone, "Come, you rebels, go on board." This was a consummation of all I had seen or endured through the day. This wounded my feelings in a thrilling manner. After all my suffer- ings and toil, to add the pang of leaving my native land, my wife, my good neighbors, and probably to suffer still more with cold and hunger, for already I had learned that I was with a cruel enemy. But I was in the hands of a
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higher power-over which no human being could hold superior control- and by God's preservation I am still alive, through all the hardships and dangers of the war, while almost every one about me, who shared the same, has met either a natural or an unnatural death. When we, the prisoners, went down to the shore to the boats, they would not bring them near, but kept them off where the water was knee deep to us, obliging us, weak and worn as we were, to wade to them. We were marched down in two ranks, one on each side of the boat. The officer spoke very harshly to us, to "get aboard immediately." They rowed us down to an armed sloop, commanded by one Captain Thomas, as they called him, a refugee tory, and he lay with his vessel within the fleet. As soon as we were on board, they hurried us down into the hold of the sloop, where were their fires for cooking, and besides being very hot, it was filled with smoke. The hatch-way was closed tight, so that we were near suffocating for want of air to breathe. We begged them to spare our lives, so they gave us some relief, by opening the hatch-way and permitting us to come up on deck, by two or three at a time, but not without sentries watching us with gun and bayonet. We were now extremely exhausted and faint for want of food; when after being on board twenty-four hours, they gave us a mess of hogs brains; the hogs which they took on Groton banks when they plundered there.
After being on board Thomas's sloop nearly three days, with nothing to eat or drink that we could swallow, we began to feel as if a struggle must be made, in some way, to prolong our existence, which, after all our escapes seemed still to be depending. In such a time, we can know, for a reality, how strong is the love of life. In the room where we were confined were a great many weapons of war, and some of the prisoners whispered that we might make a prize of the sloop. This in some way was overheard, and got to the officer's ears, and now we were immediately put in a stronger place in the hold of the vessel; and they appeared so enraged that I was almost sure we should share a decisive fate, or suffer severely. Soon they commenced calling us, one by one, on deck. As I went up they seized me, tied my hands behind me with a strong rope-yarn, and drew it so tight that my shoulder-bones cracked and almost touched each other. Then a boat came from a fourteen- gun brig, commanded by one Steelc. Into this boat I was ordered to get, without the use of my hands, over the sloop's bulwarks, which were all of three feet high, and then from these I had to fall, or throw myself into the boat. My distress of body and agitated feelings I cannot describe; and no relief could be anticipated, but only forebodings of a more severe fate. A prisoner with an enemy, an enraged and revengeful enemy, is a place where I pray my reader may never come. They made us all lie down under the seats on which the man sat to row, and so we were conveyed to the brig; going on board, we were ordered to stand in one rank by the gunwale, and in front of us was placed a spar, within about a foot of each man. Here we stood, with a sentry to each of us, having orders to shoot or bayonet us if we attempted to stir out of our place. All this time we had nothing to eat or drink, and it rained and was very cold. We were detained in this position about two hours, when we had liberty to go about the main deck. Night approached, and we had no supper, nor anything to lie upon but the wet deck. We were on board this brig about four days, and then were removed on board a ship commanded by Capt. Scott, who was very kind to the prisoners. He took me on to the quarter deck with him, and appeared to have the heart of a man. I should think he was about sixty years of age. I remained with him until I was exchanged. Capt. Nathaniel Shaw came down to N. York with the American flag, after me and four others, who were prisoners with
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me, and belonged to Fort Griswold, and who were brave, and fine young men. Gen. Mifflin went with the British flag to meet this American flag. I sailed with him about twenty miles. He asked me many questions, all of which I took caution how I answered, and gave him no information. I told him I was very sorry that he should come to destroy so many, many brave men, burn their property, distress so many families, and make such desolation. I did not think they could be said to be honorable in so doing. He said "we might thank our own countrymen for it." I told him I had no thanks for him. I then asked the Gen. if I might ask him a few questions. "As many as you please." I asked him how many of the army who made the attack upon New London and Groton were missing? As you, sir, are the commissary of the British army, I suppose you can tell. He replied "that by the returns, there were two hundred and twenty odd missing, but what had become of them he knew not." We advanced, and the flags met and I was exchanged and per- mitted to return home. Here I close my narrative; for, as I was requested I have given a particular and unexaggerated account of that which I saw with mine own eyes.
The author of the following narrative of events, Stephen Hempstead, entered the service of his country in 1775, and arrived in Boston on the day of the battle of Bunker Hill. He was at Dorchester Point; was on Long Island at the time of the retreat of the American army ; and was also a volun- teer in the first ships that were to destroy the "Asia," 84-gun ship, and a frigate lying above Fort Washington. In this attempt they were unsuccessful, although grappled to the enemy's vessel twenty minutes. For the bravery displayed by them they received the particular thanks of the commanding officer in person and in general orders, and forty dollars were ordered to be paid to each person engaged. He was afterwards wounded by a grapeshot while defending the lines at Harlem Heights, which broke two of his ribs. He continued in the service, and was again wounded on the 6th of September, 1781. He formerly resided in New London. He enjoyed the reception of General LaFayette in that place during his last visit to this country, and within a few years wrote this account in full, for publication :
On the morning of the 6th of September, 1781, twenty-four sail of the enemy's shipping appeared to the westward of New London harbor. The enemy landed in two divisions, of about 800 men each, commanded by that infamous traitor to his country, Benedict Arnold, who headed the division that landed on the New London side, near Brown's farms; the other division, commanded by Col. Ayres, landed on Groton Point, nearly opposite. I was first sergeant of Capt. Adam Shapley's company of State troops, and was stationed with him at the time, with about 23 men, at Fort Trumbull, on the New London side. This was a mere breastwork or water battery, open from behind, and the enemy coming on us from that quarter, we spiked our cannon, and commenced a retreat across the river to Fort Griswold in three boats. The enemy was so near that they overshot us with their muskets, and succeeded in capturing one boat with six men commanded by Josiah Smith, a private. They afterwards proceeded to New London and burnt the town. We were received by the garrison with enthusiasm, being considered experi- enced artillerists, whom they much needed ; and we were immediately assigned to our stations. The Fort was an oblong square, with bastions at opposite angles, its longest side fronting the river in a N. W. and S. E. direction. Its
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walls were of stone, and were 10 or 12 feet high on the lower side and sur- rounded by a ditch. On the wall were pickets, projecting over 12 feet ; above this was a parapet with embrasures, and within a platform for the cannon, and a step to mount upon, to shoot over the parapet with small arms. In the S. W. bastion was a flag-staff, and in the side near the opposite angle was the gate, in front of which was a triangular breastwork to protect the gate; and to the right of this was a redoubt with a three-pounder in it, which was about 120 yards from the gate. Between the Fort and the river was another battery, with a covered way, but which could not be used in this attack, as the enemy appeared in a different quarter. The garrison with the volunteers consisted of about 160 men. Soon after our arrival, the enemy appeared in force in some woods about half a mile S. E. of the Fort, from whence they sent a flag of truce, which was met by Capt. Shapley, demanding an uncon- ditional surrender, threatening at the same time to storm the Fort instantly if the terms were not accepted. A council of war was held, and it was the unanimous voice that the garrison were unable to defend themselves against so superior a force. But a militia Colonel who was then in the Fort and had a body of men in the immediate vicinity said he would reinforce them with 2 or 300 men in fifteen minutes, if they would hold out; Col. Ledyard agreed to send back a defiance, upon the most solemn assurance of immediate succor. For this purpose, Col. --- started, his men being then in sight; but he was no more seen, nor did he even attempt a diversion in our favor. When the answer to their demand had been returned by Capt. Shapley, the enemy were soon in motion, and marched with great rapidity, in a solid column, to within a short distance of the Fort, where, dividing the column, they rushed furiously and simultaneously to the assault of the S. W. bastion and the opposite sides. They were, however, repulsed with great slaughter, their commander mortally wounded, and Major Montgomery, next in rank, killed, having been thrust through the body whilst in the act of scaling the walls at the S. W. bastion, by Capt. Shapley. The command then devolved on Col. Beckwith, a refugee from New Jersey, who commanded a corps of that description. The enemy rallied and returned the attack with great vigor, but were received and repulsed with equal firmness. During the attack a shot cut the halyards of the flag, and it fell to the ground, but was instantly remounted on a pike pole. This accident proved fatal to us, as the enemy supposed it had been struck by its defenders, rallied again, and rushing with redoubled impetuosity, carried the S. W. bastion by storm. Until this mo- ment, our loss was trifling in number, being 6 or 7 killed, and 18 or 20 wounded. Never was a post more bravely defended, nor a garrison more barbarously butchered. We fought with all kinds of weapons, and at all places with a courage that deserved a better fate. Many of the enemy were killed under the walls by throwing simple shot over them, and never would we have relinquished our arms, had we had the least idea that such a catas- trophe would have followed. To describe this scene I must be permitted to go back a little in my narrative. I commanded an 18-pounder on the south side of the gate, and while in the act of sighting my gun, a ball passed through the embrasure, struck me a little above the right ear, grazing the skull, and cutting off the veins, which bled profusely. A handkerchief was tied around it and I continued at my duty. Discovering some little time after that a British soldier had broken a picket at the bastion on my left, and was forcing himself through the hole, whilst the men stationed there were gazing at the battle which raged opposite to them, cried, "my brave fellows," the enemy are breaking in behind you," and raised my pike to despatch the intruder, when a ball struck my left arm at the elbow, and my pike fell to the ground.
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Nevertheless I grasped it with my right hand, and with the men, who turned and fought manfully, cleared the breach. The enemy, however, soon after forced the S. W. bastion, where Capt. Shapely, Capt. Peter Richards, Lieut. Richard Chapman and several other men of distinction, and volunteers, had fought with unconquerable courage, and were all either killed or mortally wounded, and which had sustained the brunt of every attack. Capt. P. Rich- ards, Lieut. Chapman and several others were killed in the bastion; Capt. Shapely and others wounded. He died of his wounds in January following.
Col. Ledyard, seeing the enemy within the fort, gave orders to cease firing, and to throw down our arms as the Fort had surrendered. We did so, but they continued firing upon us, crossed the fort and opened the gate, when they marched in, firing in platoons upon those who were retreating to the magazine and barrack rooms for safety. At this moment the renegade Colonel B. commanding, cried out, who commands this garrison? Col. Led- yard, who was standing near me, answered, "I did sir, but you do now," at the same time stepping forward, handed him his sword with the point towards himself. At this instant I perceived a soldier in the act of bayoneting me from behind. I turned suddenly round and grasped his bayonet, endeavoring to unship it, and knock off the thrust-but in vain. Having but one hand, he succeeded in forcing it into my right hip, above the joint, and just below the abdomen, and crushed me to the ground. The first person I saw after- wards was my brave commander, a corpse by my side, having been run through the body with his own sword by the savage renegade. Never was a scene of more brutal wanton carnage witnessed than now took place. The enemy were still firing upon us in platoons, and in the barrack rooms, which were continued for some minutes, when they discovered they were in danger of being blown up, by communicating fire to the powder scattered at the mouth of the magazine, while delivering our cartridges; nor did it then cease in the rooms for some minutes longer. All this time the bayonet was "freely used," even on those who were helplessly wounded and in the agonies of death. I recollect Capt. Wm. Seymour, a volunteer from Hartford, had 13 bayonet wounds, although his knee had previously been shattered by a ball. so much so that it was obliged to be amputated the next day. But I need not mention particular cases. I have already said that we had 6 killed and 18 wounded previous to their storming our lines ; 85 were killed in all, 35 mortally and dangerously wounded, and 40 taken prisoners to New York, most of them slightly hurt.
After the massacre, they plundered us of everything we had, and left us literally naked. When they commenced gathering us up together with their own wounded, they put theirs under the shade of the platform, and exposed us to the sun, in front of the barracks, where we remained over an hour. Those that could stand were then paraded, and ordered to the landing, while those that could not (of which number I was one) were put in one of our ammunition wagons, and taken to the brow of the hill (which was very steep, and at least 100 rods in descent), from whence it was permitted to run down by itself, but was arrested in its course, near the river, by an apple tree. The pain and anguish we all endured in this rapid descent, as the wagon jumped and jostled over rocks and holes is inconceivable; and the jar in its arrest was like bursting the cords of life asunder, and caused us to shriek with almost supernatural force. Our cries were distinctly heard and noticed on the opposite side of the river (which is a mile wide), amidst all the con- fusion which raged in burning and sacking the town. We remained in the wagon more than an hour, before our humane conquerers hunted us up, when we were again paraded and laid on the beach, preparatory to embarkation.
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But by the interposition of Ebenezer Ledyard (brother to Col. L.), who humanely represent our deplorable situation, and the impossibility of our being able to reach New York, 35 of us were paroled in the usual form, being near the house of Ebenezer Avery, who was also one of our number, we were taken into it. Here we had not long remained before a marauding party set fire to every room, evidently intending to burn us up with the house. The party soon left it, when it was with difficulty extinguished and we were thus saved from the flames. Ebenezer Ledyard again interfered and obtained a sentinel to remain and guard us until the last of the enemy embarked, about II o'clock at night. None of our own people came to us till near daylight the next morning, not knowing previous to that time that the enemy had departed.
Such a night of distress and anguish was scarcely ever passed by mortal. Thirty-five of us were lying on the bare floor-stiff, mangled, and wounded in every manner, exhausted with pain, fatigue and loss of blood, without clothes or anything to cover us, trembling with cold and spasms of extreme anguish, without fire or light, parched with excruciating thirst, not a wound dressed nor a soul to administer to one of our wants, nor an assisting hand to turn us during these long tedious hours of the night; nothing but groans and unavailing sighs were heard, and two of our number did not live to see the light of the morning, which brought with it some ministering angels to our relief. The first was in the person of Miss Fanny Ledyard, of Southold, L. I., then on a visit to her uncle, our murdered commander, who held to my lips a cup of warm chocolate, and soon after returned with wine and other refreshments, which revived us a little. For these kindnesses she has never ceased to receive my most grateful thanks and fervent prayers for her felicity.
The cruelty of our enemy cannot be conceived ; and our renegade country- men surpassed in this respect, if possible, our British foes. We were at least an hour after the battle, within a few steps of a pump in the garrison, well supplied with water, and, although we were suffering with thirst, they would not permit us to take one drop of it, nor give us any themselves. Some of our number, who were not disabled from going to the pump, were repulsed with the bayonet, and not one drop did I taste after the action commenced, although begging for it after I was wounded, of all who came near me, until relieved by Miss Ledyard. We were a horrible sight at this time. Our own friends did not know us-even my own wife came in the room in search of me, and did not recognize me, and as I did not see her, she left the room to seek for me among the slain, who had been collected under a large elm tree near the house. It was with the utmost difficulty that many of them could be identified, and we were frequently called upon to assist their friends in distinguishing them, by remembering particular wounds, &c. Being myself taken out by two men for this purpose, I met my wife and brother, who, after my wounds were dressed by Dr. Downer, from Preston, took me-not to my own home, for that was in ashes, as also every article of my property, fur- niture and clothing-but to my brother's where I lay eleven months as help- less as a child, and to this day I feel the effects of it severely.
Such was the battle of Groton Heights; and such, as far as my imperfect manner and language can describe, a part of the sufferings which we endured. Never, for a moment, have I regretted the share I had in it; I would for an equal degree of honor, and the prosperity which has resulted to my country from the Revolution, be willing, if possible, to suffer it again.
STEPHEN HEMPSTEAD.
The following note in Allen's history of the "Battle of Groton Heights"
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shows that even today there is considerable doubt as to just how Colonel Ledyard was killed. Mr. Allyn's subscript to the note of Harris indicates again the lack of conclusive evidence on this point:
Since this transaction there has ever existed in the public mind great uncertainty as to who was the murderer of Colonel Ledyard, the odium being divided between Major Bromfield, who succeeded Major Montgomery in command of the British troops on that occasion, and Captain Beckwith, of the 54th regiment. No person who actually witnessed the deed survived the battle,* or if any did they left no account of it behind them; and therefore the version of the manner of Ledyard's death commonly received as the cor- rect one is but merely a conjecture, at the most. By this, the deed is ascribed to the officer who received Ledyard's surrender of the fort, supposed by the greater number to have been Major Bromfield; others at the time, and for a long time subsequent, laid the infamous transaction to the charge of Captain Beckwith, supposing him to have been the officer who met Ledyard and demanded the surrender.
Let us consider the matter a little, and see if we be able to reconcile the known facts and strong probabilities in the case, with this generally received opinion. Upon the entry of the British officer to the fort, and at his demand of who commanded it, Colonel Ledyard advanced to answer, "I did," etc., at the same time tendering him the hilt of his sword in token of submission. It is obvious that in this action Colonel Ledyard must have presented the front of his person to that officer. Now, had the latter, in taking the sur- rendered sword, instantly (as all accounts charge him with having done) plunged it into him, is it not also evident that it must have entered in front and passed out of the back of his person? The vest and shirt worn that day by Colonel Ledyard, preserved in the Wadsworth Athenaeum at Hartford, upon examination reveal two rough, jagged openings, one on either side, a little before and in a line with the lower edge of the arm-holes of the vest. The larger of these apertures is upon the left side; the difference in size between it and that on the right corresponds with the taper of a sabre blade from hilt to point, showing conclusively that the weapon entered from the left and passed out at the right, and that the person by whom the wound was inflicted must have stood upon the left side of the wearer when the plunge was made. These holes are marked: that on the left as "where the sword entered," and that on the right as "where the sword came out"-so marked, doubtless, by the person who presented these memorials to the society, a near relative of Colonel Ledyard, and who considered them as the marks of the fatal wound. These are the only marks visible upon the garment. It is a reasonable supposition that when the British officer entered and thundered his demand he carried his drawn sword in his right hand ; for we can scarcely imagine an officer rushing unarmed into a place of such danger and demand- ing a surrender. Now. in case he did so carry his sword, he must necessarily
* Mr. Harris is in error here, I believe, as I myself have heard this action described by three people whose fathers saw the murder, and often told of it to their children (see notes on Andrew Gallup and Caleb Avery). This being the case, most of the ground for Mr. Harris's argument is taken away. The argument, though ingenious. is not conclusive, since no one can by reasoning be certain what positions would be taken in moments of such excitement. The most natural positions are those which agree with the popularly received account, as men of military experience and educa- tion. I think, will agree .- A.
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