USA > Connecticut > New London County > A modern history of New London County, Connecticut, Volume I > Part 20
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Following the Revolutionary War, Norwich developed the West India
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Trade, but after the War of 1812 came more and more to develop its water power and went into manufacturing. For the Civil War it furnished over 1,400 men.
The following letters, sent for the 200th anniversary of the settlement of Norwich, give a vivid picture of life in Norwich in the early part of the nine- teenth century.
(From Rev. Erastus Wentworth, Missionary to China.) Foo-Chow, China, June 15th, 1859.
Gentlemen :- After looking forward with pleasurable anticipations for many years to personal participation in the celebration of the bi-centennial birthday of Norwich, the place associated with my earliest and dearest recol- lections, I find myself, on the eve of that event, sixteen thousand miles away, and effectually debarred from the intellectual treats and social festivi- ties promised by that occasion. It will be some compensation for the disap- pointment, and no slight gratification, if I may be allowed to contribute by letter a trifle to the interest of the family gathering. It will not, at such a time, be deemed egotistical in me to state that I spent the first eighteen years of my life in Norwich ; that my father was born there seventy years, and my grandfather a hundred and seven years ago; and that my family name, by no means an obscure one, in either English or American history, has stood on the town records for one hundred and eighty, out of the two hundred years you are now assembled to commemorate.
Old Norwich !- Who that has been a denizen of the place, especially in early youth, can ever forget its winding valleys and rugged hills; its stony pastures and green meadows, enameled with violets, and buttercups, and daisies, and goldened with cowslips and dandelions; its spreading elms and sycamores; its clear streams, alternating with babbling shallows and cool depths, overhung with willows and alders, and the favorite haunts of roach, trout and pickerel ; its gray precipices and romantic falls ; its striking contrasts of village quiet and country seat retirement, with commercial activity and city bustle. All these can never be forgotten. With me, neither the pellucid St. Lawrence or noble Mississippi, nor those floating seas of alluvion, mightiest of the brotherhood of rivers in the northern hemisphere, the Missouri and Yang-tse-keang, have ever served to obliterate, or even to dim the images of the Yantic, Shetucket and Thames. The mammoth tree growths of the prairie bottoms of the west, or the giant banians that greet my vision as I write, have never overshadowed the memory of Norwich sycamores and elms. The billowy seas of granitic elevations which stand, a wall of azure, about the valley of the Min, and roll away in endless undulations over the entire surface of the Fo-ke-en province, are not so charming to me as the hills of New England. Society changes, but these natural features remain, and im- press themeslves upon the minds of successive generations. My earliest recollections of Norwich antedate steamboats and railroads, canals and tele- graphs, temperance and anti-slavery. The Yantic, was Backus's iron works; the Falls, Hubbard's paper mills; Greenville, pastures on the banks of the Shetucket, in which curious antiquarians sought for the pile of stones that marked the grave of Miantinomoh. The first and second Congregational were the only edifices really worth the name of churches; and I remember a Christmas pilgrimage on foot from Bean Hill to the Landing to hear the little organ, the only one in town, in the little wooden Episcopal church, that preceded the present elegant structure. Elder Sterry, Baptist, had a little wooden chapel at the Landing, where, as one of his sons said to me in our
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schoolboy days, "He preached for nothing and furnished his own meeting house." Elder Bentley had a little church on the wharf bridge, which took a fancy to go to sea in the great freshet of 1815. Court house and jail were up town, and the stocks and whipping post still maintained their position at the corner of the old court house. I have seen a woman in jail for debt and heard my grandmother tell of the last woman who was taken to the whipping post, and how the people laughed at the sheriff for merely going through the forms of the law, actually flogging the fair culprit "with a tow string."
In my youth, Strong and Goddard were at the head of the bar, and gentle parson Paddock, earnest parson Mitchell, and the solemn parson Strong, occupied the sacred desk. Through life, I have counted it no small privilege to have received the first rudiments of education in Norwich. I mean those initial lessons which preceded colleges and schools, and the rudimental train- ing of pedagogues Smith, Bliss, and Lester, of cruel memory. A child is educated by all those with whom he comes in contact, and the personal excellences, defects and peculiarities of his earliest acquaintances become his models and measuring rods for all the rest of mankind. Bonaparte said, "The world is governed by nicknames"; and the nicknames of a community are a surer index of the character of the wearers than cognomens of illustrious descent or appellations bestowed by godfathers and godmothers. While a few of the nicknames which still cling to the memory of men long since passed from the stage of action, recall eccentricities, peculiarities, and in some instances the meannesses with which our humanity is afflicted, the great majority of them revive the memory of nobleness and excellences worthy of remembrance and worthy of imitation. It is more blessed to be surrounded by good men than great men, by examples of worth than displays of wealth. My memory retains a whole gallery of daguerreotypes of those whom I loved or hated, reverenced or despized, in the days of my youth. I would like to pay a passing tribute of respect to those who for eminent virtues commanded my most unqualified regard. I can only mention Parsons Strong and Austin, Judges Spalding, Shipman and Hude, Erastus Huntington, James Stedman, and Deacon Charles Lathrop, all of whom have gone to the land from which there is no return. It would be easy to extend the list, but my limits will not allow. I cannot refrain from a passing tribute to the memory of two of my schoolmates, recently deceased-Reverend Z. H. Mansfield and Honor- able Thomas L. Harris. I would like also to extend the compliments of the occasion to my old Norwich schoolmates, John T. Wait, J. G. Lamb, Rev. William Havens, Hon. H. P. Haven, Huntingtons, Tracys, and others whom I may not here enumerate. I was in Shanghai last year, and on a rude wooden slab at the head of a recent grave I read, "Charles Bailey, Norwich, Con- necticut," son of the old uptown jail keeper, and seaman on one of our ships of war. In what part of the world do not the bones of the sons and daughters of Norwich repose! Black-eyed "Tom Leffingwell" lies with his father at the bottom of the ocean, and curly-headed "Bob Lee," slain by Comanches on the plains of Texas, while Ceylon embalms, with the fragrance of Paradise, the remains and memories of Harriet Joanna and Charlotte H. Lathrop. How brief the space over which the life of any one individual extends in the history of our beloved town. Perhaps not a single soul survives that saw its last cen- tennial. Will any single soul live to connect this centennial with that of 1959? This occasion should not pass away without providing enduring monuments of itself for the use of coming generations. If the idea has not already occurred, as I presume it has, I would suggest the erection of a cen- tennial hall of Norwich granite, fire proof, if possible, to contain a museum of town and State relics, and mementos of the past, of our fathers, of the
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Indian tribes, and the present generation. In this way, 1859 may shake hands with 1959, especially if sealed boxes and coffers containing the sayings and doings, speeches and sentiments of this day, are secured there to be opened only on the occasion of the next centennial. Books, records, portraits, &c., would find their appropriate place there, and it would become the favorite resort of all those who reverence the past and desire to deduce from it useful lessons for the future.
With a sigh for the Norwich that was, a greeting to the Norwich that is, and a hail of welcome for the Norwich that is to be, I remain, gentlemen,
ERASTUS WENTWORTH.
(From Hon. Charles Miner, of Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.) Wilkes-Barre, July 17, 1859.
Gentlemen of the Committee :- Your invitation to be present at the com- memoration of the two hundredth anniversary of the settlement of Norwich was received by last evening's mail. You are pleased to add: "Should you, however, be unable to attend, will you favor us with a letter containing any facts of interest in your possession in relation to the town or its inhabitants?"
I beg to return my most respectful acknowledgements. I can scarcely conceive anything left in life that would afford me so much pleasure. But the feebleness of near eighty years admonishes me that, not only is the visit hopeless, but that if I have anything to say, it should not be a moment delayed.
Affection for Norwich is entwined with every fiber of my heart. Having emigrated to Pennsylvania while yet a boy, my time of observation is limited ; and my scene of observation, to little more than the old town or round the square, fitted, rather, to amuse the grandchildren, than impart instruction or pleasure to the present generation.
Born February 1, 1780; peace proclaimed 1784; consciousness of memory is first awakened to the shouts of triumph and the thundering of cannon, at the old Peck house (then, I think, doubtingly), kept by Mr. Trott (a fiery old patriot). I mention this as connecting me with the Revolutionary period, and to say, the drum, the fife, military display, was the pervading fashion. Almost all the older men had served in the French war. Ticonderoga was yet a familiar theme. Nearly the whole of the (then) present generation, moved by a common impulse, had been down to Boston. The talk was of Lexington and Bunker Hill. General Putnam is recorded as having stopped his plow in mid-furrow and started. So had it been in Norwich. An anecdote often told me shows the universal enthusiasm. My father, a house carpenter, and his journeyman, dropped their tools on the alarm. As the broad-axe rang, the journeyman said, "That is my death knell !" Breathing the common spirit, he hied away cheerfully, but returned no more.
My father was on Dorchester heights, as orderly sergeant waiting on Mr. Huntington, afterwards general Jed. He used to relate that going the rounds, or reconnoitering, the British opened fire upon them from Boston. While ever and anon the balls would scatter the earth over them, General Huntington moved as unconcernedly as if at home in his own meadow.
At the close of the war half the men on the square wore the title of cap- tain. Starting on the south side of the green going down the road east, taking them in order, there were Captain Bela Peck, Captain Carew, Captain Nevins, Captain Simeon Huntington, all in sight and nearly adjoining. The British in possession of New York; the Sound and a hundred miles of the coast of Connecticut being subject to their invasion, Norwich may be said
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to have slept on their arms, liable every minute to be called out. Horse Neck, Rye, Seabrook, New London, were familiar to every man of them. To be sure, as I listened to their war stories, always with interest, sometimes with awe, occasionally with a smile, for they remembered the jokes of the camp, I do not recollect an imputation upon a single man present or absent as want- ing in courage or patriotism. It is a pleasure to record anew the assurance that Norwich did its whole duty.
The plays of the boys were battles with the regulars. The charge-the ambuscade-the retreat-"The regulars are coming !"-"The regulars are com- ing !" Then the rally and renewed charge. Their songs:
"Don't you hear your gen'ral say, Strike your tents and march away."
But to the schools. The old brick school house at the bottom of the lane, below the spacious new jail, knew no recess. Among the earliest teach- ers within my recollection was Charles White, a young gentleman from Philadelphia, handsome and accomplished. Of his erudition I was too young to judge, but popular he certainly was among the ladies. Newcomb Kinney awakened a high degree of emulation, especially in writing. A sampler was pasted up before six or seven scholars, near the ceiling, on fine paper, on a double arch sustained by Corinthian columns, the upper corners of each sheet bearing a neatly painted quill, with the motto, "Vive la Plume." Within each half arch, near the upper part, in fine hand, a poetical quotation, as sug- gested by fancy, probably from Hannah Moore's "Search After Happiness," then highly popular. Beneath, in larger hand, successive lines in beautiful penmanship, filling the whole. The Piece painted in water colors-the pride of mothers-master and scholars.
Mr. Hunt, a graduate of Yale, followed. Mr. Macdonald succeeded, and then Mr. Baldwin became the preceptor. The obedience fair-teachers capa- ble and attentive. Discipline preserved without undue severity. Plasant were our school hours. But school is let out. Boyish sports abound,
"Some chase the rolling circle's speed, Or urge the flying ball."
In winter the plain offered a capital opportunity for a trial of skill and courage. Sides were chosen. Each party built a semi-circular fort of vast snow balls, eight or ten rods apart. When the snow was soft and would adhere, all hands were summoned to the work. A line of balls as big as could be rolled was laid in a crescent; outside that another as large. Then with skids a row on the top-then a third row large as could be raised on the submit to crown the work, making a formidable breastwork. Lockers were cut out in the inside to hold great quantities of balls made ready for action. When both sides were prepared, a proclamation was made, and then came the "tug of war." The sport was manly and exciting.
Other plays were popular-most I have seen elsewhere-"Thornuary," nowhere else. Here the uptown and downtown boys were sometimes pitted against each other. There was among us an active fellow named Choate, "Jabe Choate" we called him. Not of Norwich, he was a down-easter. From Boston, I understood. In our little circle he was a Coriolanus, for "When he moved he moved like an engine"-and like our modern crinoline-clad ladies, swept all before him, yet a favorite, for he was brave and clever. I have wondered, if not the father, was he not, probably, the uncle of Rufus, the present idol of Boston?
Mrs. Gildon kept a school a few rods below the plain for small children-
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she had a son Charles growing up to early manhood. I do not know their fate. The name is rare. The good school mistress has often been brought to mind when reading Poe :
"If hungry Gildon drew his venal quill, I wish the man a dinner and sit still."
But Pope's shaft was no dishonor. So eminent an archer stooped to no ignoble game.
Hark! The whole town is in commotion. A company of strolling play- ers have taken possession of the lower part of the court house, and it is con- verted into a commodious theater. Where slept our puritan thunder! The tragedy of George Barnwell drew many a tear, soon wiped away in smiles by the shrewd follies of Tony Lumpkin, in "The mistakes of a night." The grown-up beaux of Norwich, especially those who had visited New York and got their cue, were in high glee. I have a good mind to name seven or eight. The comic singer of the company displayed some tact-had a good voice, and sang, "Ye Bucks! have att-ye all." (Never having seen the song nor heard it since, I pretend to give only the sound.)
Instead of the pit, the critic's place, the roaring boys had taken posses- sion of seats far back and high up in the amphitheater, and when he came with all the proper accompaniments of tone and gesture to
"D-nye! I know ye --- Ye are of att ye all,"
It was a signal for a general cheer! And brought down the house with an "Encore."
Several new songs were introduced by the company, and among them the many year popular "A rose tree in full bearing," which Miss Mary Nevins, the fairest rose that ever bloomed, used so sweetly to sing. Passingly-the songs of the period were mainly the hunting songs borrowed from England-
"Bright Phoebus has mounted his chariot of day,
With hounds and horns each jovial morn when Bucks a hunting go."
But these were giving place to the more modern sailor songs of Dibdin. My intimate and ever dear friend, Gerard Carpenter, used to sing admirably-
"To England when with fav'ring gale, Our gallant ship up channel steered."
What noise is that, which makes the whole green ring again? Mr. Jones, the cooper, residing next to Captain Peck's on the south side of the plain, with his adz and double-driver, holding it in the middle and playing it rapidly on the empty barrel, as he drives the hoop, sounds a reveille to the whole neighborhood, regular as the strains of Memnon.
A truce to these trifles. The Sabbath has come. Everybody went to meeting. It was the pleasantest day of the week. Manning is ringing the bell. Let us note the carriages as they come up. The chaise drawn by that bay, so sleek, he looks as if he had been varnished for the occasion, brings Captain Thomas Fanning and (pardon me, I was then a young man) his two charming daughters. I think he was the attendant of our uptown meeting who came from the nearest landing. That stout black in a wider chaise brings Lady Lathrop, attended by Mr. Huntley and his daughter, a pretty little girl of eight or nine, whoes poetic genius and sweet moral strains have shed a ray of glory, not only on her native town (as Lydia Huntley and Mrs. Sigourney), but over her whole country, and rendered her name a praise throughout the
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republic of letters. Here drives up a double carriage, plain, yet neat. Those spanking bays are full of spirit, they move admirably. They bring the family of Mr. Thomas Lathrop, who occupies the very handsome white mansion on the southern hill bounding the square.
(Note .- Manning has ceased ringing, and is tolling the bell. Mr. Strong will be here presently. He comes with his lady, drawn in a plain chaise by a stalwart brown horse, the favorite of many years.)
Observe, as Mr. Strong ascends the steps numbers press round and hand him scraps of paper. They are received as matters of course-six-seven -- or eight, as it may happen. We shall see directly what they are. While the psalm is being sung, which precedes the morning prayer, the minister's head is inclined forward as if reading. He rises and reads the slips of paper-one after another, running in this wise: "Z. D. being about to take a voyage to sea, asks the prayers of this congregation that he may be preserved and restored in safety to his family."
Several desiring to return thanks for mercies received. I dare not allow myself to state the variety of petitions, relating to ordinary circumstances in life. It would seem to have required long habit and a retentive memory to recall them, yet Mr. Strong would touch each, briefly, but appropriately, and with such earnestness and pathos, especially when praying for the sick, as by sympathy swelling in every breast, and made the petition, the prayer indeed of the whole congregation.
Of the church music. Roberts, the famed singing master, had been among the voices, and infused his own impassioned soul into the school. The front seats of the gallery-treble-counter-tenor-bass-were all full. "O, that I could describe them to you!" In the pews below were numbers who had caught the inspiration. Nay, more, Colonel Zack was among them, himself an organ full of melody and power. Did "The Pilgrims' Song" close the worship of the day, an hundred voices attuned to perfect harmony, joining to swell the strain,
"Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings, To seats prepared above,"
The whole congregation rose to their feet-entranced.
The life of Mr. Strong, the revered, the beloved, his precepts and exam- ple, however imperfectly regarded, have been with me through life. His influ- ence for good is yet felt among hundreds of the descendants of emigrants from Norwich.
Monday has come and brings its usual busy throng and varying scenes.
Two printing presses were in full operation, that of Mr. Trumbull had been long established, and his paper was always read with pleasure. Busy memory, clinging to everything with child-like delight that relates to Nor- wich, calls up the anecdote. The fashion of the day was for advertisers to close-"Inquire of the printer." The wit of the town was dying. Mr. Trum bull bent over him with his wonted kindness and asked softly, "Do you know me, Mr. Barney?" "If I don't I'll inquire of the printer." Samuel Trumbull, the oldest son, was a young man of a good deal of reading, and of ready wit. He wrote several essays under the head of "From the desk of Beri Hesden." The hint and the name of the essays-"From the desk of poor Robert the Scribe," I am sure I owed him. William Pitt Turner was the Aesop of the press, the poet and satirist, and lashed the foibles of the Bucks of "Att ye all," with no stinted measures. Young Trumbull, following in his wake, satirized the younger brood, and I came in, fairly enough, for my share, more proud of the notice than angry at the rod.
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The recent member of the Assembly, Gurdon Trumbull, esq., it was my good fortune to form an intimate acuqaintance with, in 1839, at Hartford. (1 hope he is with you.) I cannot deny myself the pleasure of adding, that I was subsequently indebted to his partial kindness for several favors done so considerately, and performed in a manner so delicate, as to demand a renewed and more open acknowledgement; mentioned to show how naturally and kindly the heart of the Norwich boys "warm to the tartan."
The other printing office was nearly opposite that of Mr. Trumbull's, close to Collier's brass foundry. The paper published by Bushnell & Hub- bard. Mr. Bushnell was afterwards appointed a purser in the navy, and died of yellow fever at sea. I mention the fact to add, that when in the West Indies, several gentlemen were inscribing the names of wives and sweethearts in a mountain grove-Bushnell declined to do so, lest the thoughtless should desecrate the place by obscene additions, but he wrote a poem addressed to his wife, it is said, of remarkable delicacy and beauty. A man of genius and learning, few were more capable. Has Norwich preserved it?
The rival houses are at war. Small pox has broken out. There is not a moment to delay. Two establishments for inoculation start into existence on the Thames, in Mohegan. Dr. Tracy and Dr. - preside over that at famed Massapeage. Dr. Marvin and Dr. Jewett over the other, at Adgate's. These were prominent points of interest in their day.
"Friendship to every willing mind, Opens a heavenly treasure,"
From lady voices I still recollect as soothing to my feverish and restless spirits. In the main the remembrances were agreeable, redolent rather of frolic and fun than of pain.
Do you see those strange looking men hawking pictures, in broken English? They are French emigrants, thus seeking to win their bread, exiled from home by the revolution, now raging. Listen: "Louis de 16- madame Elizabet." They have pictures of the guillotine, with their execu- tioner, and the head of the king, all ghastly, streaming with blood, which he is holding up. Look again-what have they? Beautiful pictures, but so nearly immodest as to make me hesitate to bring to recollection, what was then familiar to everyone in open market. The revolutionists, to cast odium on the royal family, represented an intimacy between the infamous Duke of Orleans and the queen, Maria Antoinette. The polished verse runs thus :
"Avaunt, rash boy, while I my homage pay, Where joys are bred and nestling cupids play."
Another-a sans-cullote sailor, with a red cap and shirt- emblems of liberty and courage. A French man-of-war has captured an English frigate. The sailor sings :
"When e'er on French decks shouts of victory roar, Your crown's a red cap, and tyrants are no more."
The winter assemblys demand special notice. Managed with such scru- pulous care, every lady who might desire it was not only invited, but provided with a carriage and agreeable escort. Mr. Lathrop had built an assembly room, with a spring floor, on purpose. There was no formal supper, but tea, coffee, tongue, ham, cakes, and every suitable refreshment in abundance. Collier, with his inimitable violin-Manning with his drum. Order, the most perfect, never for a moment, that I saw or heard of, infringed. Contra dances N.L .- 1-10
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