USA > Connecticut > Fairfield County > Fairfield > Centennial commemoration of the burning of Fairfield, Connecticut, by the British troops under Governor Tryon, July 8th, 1779 > Part 3
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There were burned a court house and jail, three churches, two school houses, ninety-seven dwellings, sixty-seven barns, forty-eight stores and shops, in all two hundred and eighteen buildings. The gathered labors of the field, the books, papers, pictures, the well-preserved products of the spinning wheel and needle, the precious heirlooms, tokens of love and memorials of friendship, how were these brought into destruction as in a moment !
The sparks, cinders and half burned feathers floating in the summer air-what sickness must they have brought to many hearts !
Some things had been removed to safe places be- yond the reach of the fire. Isaac Burr, the jeweler, hid the watches left for repair at his shop within the stone fissures of his well and placed his Bible and some of his own precious goods with them.
Prudent Phillis, servant of Judge Sturges, took the wet linen from the wash tub and hid it among the currant bushes. Pewter dishes, kept bright by con- stant scouring, were thrown into the bottom of wells, to be recovered when the danger was past. One looking glass is still as reflecting as ever. It was
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hidden in an uncradled rye field, and when, a few days later a black man cut the swath that revealed it standing there upright, he saw his own figure in the sunshine, and mistaking it for Satan, whom he feared, he threw down his sickle in terror and ran away.
The sadness had by that time been mollified, the people had begun again to provide means for living. They made new homes, some in warehouses or out- buildings that had been spared, some rearing them again upon the old foundations. The large grant of State lands (on this account called the burnt lands), in Ohio, tempted a few to find new homes in the West. Some of our own people thus changed their place of residence, and their descendants are there abiding to this day, adorning their ancestral teach- ings by lives of honor and usefulness ; and of the stock transplanted in this manner from our neighboring town of Norwalk, sprung the two brothers Sherman, one presiding to-day over our nation's treasury, and the other commanding its army.
The life of Fairfield was not extinguished in its burning, nor did the energy of the town expire. Its source of strength was too deep to be reached by the kindled brands, too high to be fatally affected by the ascending flames. The town rose from its ashes, and has had an honorable history down to the present day. From the fire that consumed Mr. Eliot's dwelling one book was rescued, the Church record, running back to 1694. In his clear handwriting, he inscribed within it a brief account of the events
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which, after the lapse of a century, we now recall.
As in concluding this address I repeat his words, they may convey to us the spirit of submission unto God and trust in Him which strengthened this peo- ple to pass through the furnace of calamity. In subsequent times of prosperity and safety, these sen- timents have not been wholly lost. May they always prevail, and may the intelligence, soberness and in- dustry of our people render them fit dwellers in those pleasant places chosen more than two hundred and forty years ago by the founders of our beautiful town. By maintaining these principles in peace and purity, and through a wise and constant exercise of that public spirit which characterized our fathers, we will show how greatly we prize this rich inheritance, made more precious by the refining fire.
Copy of historical note of Rev. Andrew Eliot, V.D.M. :
-1779 .-
July 7th .- A part of the British army, consisting of Britons, Germans, and American refugees, under the command of Major-General Tryon, and Briga- dier-General Garth, landed in this town from a fleet commanded by Sir George Collier.
In the evening and night of the same day, a great part of the buildings in the town plot were consumed by said troops.
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July 8th .- In the morning, the meeting-house, to- gether with the Church of England building, the court house, prison, and almost all the principal buildings in the society, were laid in ashes.
Our holy and our beautiful house, where our fathers praised Thee, is burnt up with fire, and all our pleasant things are laid waste.
The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
All things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.
ALLELUIA !
The Lord, God, Omnipotent, reigneth. Amen.
٠
POEM
BY REV. JAMES K. LOMBARD.
UNQUOWA.
"Farewell to the Old !" was the mariner's song As he gave his adventurous sail to the breeze ; " Behind lies the bondage of falsehood and wrong, Before floats the vision that beckons and frees. Are there tears for the old ? they are profitless tears, It hath shown neither pity nor care for to-day ; Lay the corpse, dumb and cold, in the grave of the years, Mutter "ashes to ashes," then up and away ! All hail to the New ! to the land of our quest, Though its welcome be bleak and its hillsides be bare, "Tis the home of the true, the broad realm of the West, Humanity's promise and future are there."
"T'was the watchword that lured them, faint echoed from far And they bowed to its spell of resistless command, " Unquowa ! Go further ! your beckoning star At last o'er the cradle of freedom shall stand. Press onward, fresh conquests and glories to find, New homes and long vistas are opening to view, Fairer fields are before you than aught left behind, "Behold !" said the voice, " I make all things anew."
With hearts that were tender and brows that were stern Our sires to the edge of the wilderness came, And read, as discouragement whispered " Return !" " Unquowa !" writ over in letters of flame. They followed to where 'twixt the hills and the sea These plains in their vesture of emerald lie ; " No further !" they cried, "this our haven shall be, No lovelier field is o'erarched by the sky."
NOTE .- Unquowa is the Indian name of Fairfield, meaning "go further.
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Yet but for a moment,-the wave of unrest With scarce a surcease rolled impatient along, And still as it swept from the east to the west, " Go further !" the endless refrain to its song. " Out-do all the deeds by humanity done, Confound the old world with dismay and surprise As it witnesses something new under the sun, New morals, discoveries, isms and-lies. Where others have climbed write your name above theirs, Crowd all sail to the breeze, though for ballast you lack, The favors of Fortune he merits who dares, And the motto of progress is " Never look back !"
Some good he has wrought, to no region confined, Freedom's heir, of a century, here in the west, Some blessing has brought to himself and mankind, Some glories achieved, be it freely confessed. Some wisdom moreover, has won, dearly earned At the price of disaster and costly delays, And this not the least from experience learned, True progress is Janus-faced, looking two ways. One front shining fair with the beauty of youth, Peering forward to pierce through futurity's vail, Decks the day-dreams of Hope with the mantle of Truth And listens entranced to the flatterer's tale ; The other looks backward with calm level gaze, Adown the long track by the centuries trod, Traces out the great plan mid the devious maze, And hears through the ages the voices of God.
Strange tissue of gold and of sable we weave As we rest 'neath the broad leafy spaces to-day ! Old legends with tales of the hour interleave And dream a long century quickly away.
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Is it well from the glare of the noontide to turn And awhile in some black, frowning shadow to dwell, The lesson sublime of endurance to learn, The cost of our heritage,-say, is it well ? If patience no less than achievement is grand, If the soil bearing heroes is watered by tears, Time itself but a speck by eternity spanned, Is not this a proud day in the cycle of years ?
What wait ye, dear friends, as in silence ye sit With the light and the shade interwoven around, O'er your vision what phantoms of memory flit, What voice from the fire, speaks of blood-hallowed ground ? There's a guest whom ye see not, among you to-day, His hand is in yours as he stands at your door, With the dead generations he wandered away, And now he returns to your hearth-stones once more. For him ye have gathered with welcome and cheer, For him thus your bountiful table have spread, His soul-stirring words ye are waiting to hear, To-day ye converse and commune with the dead. With the dead ! nay, the living, they walk here again
As they wandered of yore through the ghost-haunted streets,
Awakened the dust which in slumber had lain, Sire to son still the sorrowful story repeats. Men may die to the thought of their kindred and age, Their names be forgot by their wonted abode, But they who the fight for humanity wage Ever live to a generous fame and to God.
For him ye are waiting, the soul of the past, The spirit who dwelt in the woods and the waves, Gently sighed in the breeze, wildly sobbed in the blast, And knelt by our forefathers' cradles and graves ;
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Who led them to where in his desperate flight A merciless foe in the swamp stood at bay, Nerved their hearts for the onset, their arms for the fight, And swept the last hope of the Pequod away. Who first on that day to their wondering eyes This glorious vision of beauty revealed, Where the plain and the sea meet and blend with the skies, And our sires hailed in rapture their new-found Fairfield.
Theirs the spirit that tyranny fearlessly braves,
In the might of Omnipotence battles with wrong, Spurns the peace that is won by the trappings of slaves, By disaster grows great, and by suffering, strong. That spirit they drank in the breath of the bay As with fragrance and healing it passed on the breeze, Its coolness they caught from the dash of the spray, Its statue erect from the hills and the trees ; Its rhythmical tones in the wavelets they heard That crept up enamored to fondle the shore, With its dauntless defiance their spirits were stirred, In the growl of the surf and the breakers' dull roar. That dim Presence is here ; Time returns on its track, Our hearts feel the spell of a mystical power, On the dial of years the grim shadow, turned back, Points again to the pitiful day and the hour ; Day whose cloud-curtained morn broke with ominous light As the sun faintly streamed through the fog-laden air, When the pillar of flame lit the blackness of night, And the dawning of doubt brought the eve of despair On the errand of demons with torch and with brand,
Do ye spread your white wings, O ye birds of the sea ? Fair as angels of light in the offing ye stand,
Speed away with the breezes that blow for the free !
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They have passed ! hid from sight by the trend of the shore,- Breathe a sigh of relief, lips with fear that were dumb, Lift the voice of thanksgiving, the peril is o'er !-
Hush ! a sound in the distance ! 'tis the beat of the drum ! Faint and fitful, then louder it falls on the ear,
To the hills ! for your lives, if your lives ye would save ! The fiend of destruction and carnage is near, Of a pitiless foe vainly mercy ye crave. Leave your hearth-stones and roofs to the conqueror's ire, The sacrifice yield to fair Freedom's demand, To-day ye pass through the baptism of fire And leave to your children a heritage grand.
Up the lane from the beach comes the trampling of feet, With the rattle of drums and with bayonets' sheen, Red-coated marauders are thronging the street And crowding, with insolent menace, the green.
" Halt !" the order is heard and the uproar is still ;
" Break your ranks !" then in groups the invaders disperse Of lust and of plunder to gather their fill,
While the heavens grow black with a low-muttered curse.
Draw the curtain of night, thou kind angel of doom O'er the deeds that men dare but that lips may not tell, Yet with flashes of light half disclose through the gloom To the awe-stricken gazer, the image of hell. The flames streaming wildly from roof and from spire, The cinders whirled upward, the storm-spirit's wail, The jubilant dance of the demon of fire Mid the thunder's long roll and the roar of the gale.
Yet not unresisting the patriots fly,-
Ere the foe's haughty challenge submission to yield, From the fort on the hill comes an iron reply,
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And the shot of the skirmisher rattles afield. Pursuer uplifting the murderous hand
Follows close on the fugitive's hurried retreat, Then his riderless steed at the captor's command Comes to halt, as the trooper falls dead at his feet.
They are scores against thousands,-the contest is vain, Yet hereafter the visitor, gazing around,
Shall say, "On this sod ran the blood of the slain, Here the battle of freedom with triumph was crowned."
The black deed is done ; view your work with delight, Who have written in ashes your passport to fame, In the red, lurid glare of that horrible night Emblazoning Tryon's illustrious name.
These desolate homes, these dull embers that lie Where the temples of God once were fair to the sight, Like the blood of the martyr for justice shall cry, And the Power ye have slighted shall hear and requite.
But lo ! the dark vision dissolves from the view ! The current of years rolling swiftly away In the room of the old brings the beautiful new That greets us with smiling contentment to-day. A benison thine, hallowed shrine of the past, On the cloud of thy morn rest the rainbow of peace ! To far generations thy memories last, And age bring of honors an endless increase.
Gaze not on the present with idle content,
Thine the watchword of Progress, "Go further! soar higher !"
Dwell not in the pride of a noble descent,
True nobleness blazons its legend, " Aspire !"
Old mansions that stand as ye stood in that day
When scathless ye passed through the midst of the flame,
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This hour ye hold court in your stately array
While we wreathe your gray fronts with the laurel of fame.
Ruthless hand of the spoiler preserve their renown,
From restless improvement these monuments spare,
Let them pass the old tales to posterity down And Time make the trust his perpetual care.
Sacred dust of our forefathers, slumber in peace ! Your graves be the shrine to which patriots wend And swear tireless vigilance never to cease Till freedom's long struggle with tyranny end. The triumph they won be it ours to maintain, Lest from dreams of security mockingly torn, The captive, too late, strive to rend off his chain, The giant awake, of his manliness shorn.
The old feud is ended ! embracing once more, The sons of one mother, in amity true, With a cable of steel binding shore unto shore, Hail as one, and forever, Old England and New ! Run up the twin flags with the cross and the stars, One in race, one in speech, one in faith, one in heart, Wed the crimson and azure, the stripes and the bars,
Whom God hath thus joined let not man rend apart. In glorious rivalry lead the oppressed,
Flags of union and liberty proudly unfurled, Together float on o'er the East and the West
And march with the drum-beat that circles the world !
II .- NOON .- INTERMISSION.
At the close of the morning proceedings, the President announced that luncheon had been pro- vided for the guests, and it was probable that although the people were so many, all would find themselves provided for. The intention had been to have all the tables set in the grove in rear of the Congregationalist Church, but the rain had led the Committee to begin the task of removing them under cover, a task in which they had only in part suc- ceeded. Accordingly the Governor, the Officers, the Clergy, the Press, the Mayor and Common Council of Bridgeport, were asked to go to the upper hall of the Town House ; other invited guests would find accommodation in the lower hall; mothers with children would be welcome by Miss Hobart in her old historical mansion, and ample room would be found for all beside in the fine grove behind the church, where the whole company were to have been entertained.
The arrangements were carried out successfully. The Governor was introduced by Dr. Osgood to the ladies in charge of the tables at the Town House. Rev. Edward H. Wells said grace, and the scene was as pleasing to the eyes as whole- some to the inner man.
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III .- AFTERNOON.
ADDRESS BY DR. SAMUEL OSGOOD, PRESIDENT OF THE DAY.
THE TOWN-ITS SCENERY-ITS HISTORY AND HOPES.
FELLOW-CITIZENS, NEIGHBORS AND FRIENDS :
The exercises of this morning have set before you the grave historical and literary aspects of this day, and it is not for me to dispute with your orator and poet the honors which they have so well won and now so modestly wear. This is a social meeting, and we come together now to talk over in a sympa- thetic way the topics of this place and this day. It is delightful to be assured that we are all as one here now-all Americans, with one heart for the nation and the flag, and ready to welcome all of our coun- trymen to our hospitality, and to wish all men God speed in their striving for justice, liberty and human- ity.
Let us begin at the beginning and allow the fair face of this charming old town, so old, yet ever young and lovely, to win us all to itself and to each other. There is no influence that does away differences and
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assimilates various minds and tempers more than beauty. We dispute about truth, but we feel the charm of beauty and here this speaks to us in a master-piece of God's own handiwork as it spoke to our fathers who came here a quarter of a thousand years ago. Look for yourselves and the look will move you all with love and gratitude. Around us see this pleasant plain with its fair and thrifty homes, its bright gardens and broad meadows, its refreshing groves and its soaring spires. In front there is the great Sound with the variety and flow of a river and the stately majesty of the sea, bearing sprightly boats and stout vessels upon its bosom, sweeping afar to Long Island, itself a little empire, and swelling here towards us against our lovely crescent shore as full of attraction as of health, and at the ends of the crescent beach beyond goodly hills, filling welcome harbors with its tide. Turn from all this rich land- scape and the back ground is no less pleasing and remarkably suited to the foreground. There are no grand mountains, but sightly hills, rising in memora- ble gradations, invite the eye and the footsteps, and offer from their various points of view as delightful prospects as those that have made the name and the fortune of many of the famous places on earth. This is our town, our Fairfield, and as we look, we feel one pulse beating along the two and a half centuries, and uniting us with the stout men and devoted women who first called this land by its present name. and declared it fair to all time as we do now.
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May we not call this a bridal day for our lovely village, not a first wedding, nor a silver, nor a golden, nor a diamond wedding. What shall we call it, this commemoration, not after twenty-five, or fifty, or seventy-five years ; but after a hundred years ? Why not call it the celestial wedding, now that this town renewed in beauty and with forgiveness of her ene- mies, stands forth again in her family and asks heav- en's blessing. A hundred years ago she was wedded to Freedom in sorrow and tears with a veil of dark- ness. These clouds in the morning seemed to put that veil again upon her brow, but here the darkness is vanishing under the touch of God's own sunshine. See her face now in the full light of day, never fairer than now. This is the celestial wedding of the dear old town.
Turn now from the face of nature to the field of history, and there, too, there is much to command our respect, and to win our sympathy. This town has been memorable for its learned and patriotic men from the beginning, and we may judge well of what the people at large were from the character of the persons whom they produced or sought out and honored. Bancroft speaks of Fairfield when it was burned, as a model New England village, and certainly before and since that time her citizens have made their mark, not only upon this neigh- borhood, but upon the country and the world. It is worth remembering that five scholars who have been connected with Fairfield parishes have been
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called to be presidents of distinguished American colleges, and others have been appointed to im- portant professorships, where they have won high honors and done good and even great work. We have had our share of soldiers, statesmen and jurists, and in the late war for the nation, our people have proved their patriotism by sending their pro- portion of money and men to stand by the flag against its assailants. We have had merchants, too, who have done us honor, by making wealth the means of beneficence instead of the measure of pride, and who have raised at Yale, Princeton and New York institutions of learning, taste, piety and charity that not only bless those communities, but consecrate the soil, home and blood that bore them. Good teachers we have had who have won worthy scholars to their instruction, and here and elsewhere given good proof that the schoolmaster is still abroad. Honor to those of them who filially remember this mother town, and whose faces and good works we see to day. The churches have not been backward in their work, and here to-day the pastor of the Prime Ancient Parish unites with the Rector of St. Paul's Church, in presence of brethren of various Christian names, and on this occasion repeats the old benedic- tion, " Grace be to all of them who love the Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity."
So history answers with her voice to the face of na- ture, and both call us together in common fellowship to-day. What more shall I say, or is this enough with-
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out touching upon the painful associations of this com- memoration ? No ! Let us speak out and have the whole heart of the time with us, not doubting that in this as in all other historical events, the shading is needed to bring out the light, and we must bear the cross, if we would wear the crown. Beauty is said to be a fatal gift, and however this may be as a general truth, it is quite sure that this fair town has had its share in the interpretation. The loveliness of this place had probably something to do with attracting its destroyers. Like old Jerusalem this sweet little Zion was assailed and destroyed, and in all the bright- ness of her restored beauty we see the traces of that sadness, and a certain pathos shades the bloom of her cheek and moistens the light of her eyes. We may as well own it, that a certain disappointment has gone with this town. Since that act, not of war, but of barbarism, that destroyed the houses and stores and churches of this unarmed place, the best hopes of its prosperity have never been fulfilled. It was once as thrifty and ambitious as New Haven, and as likely from its wealth and culture and situation to be a great university town, but New Haven carried the day, and our chief marshal and his associates prove their mind and their muscle there under the elms of College Green instead of finding academic halls here under the brow of Greenfield hill. It is hard to be- lieve it, but it is true that the men of Fairfield, under stout Roger Ludlow, thought of punishing the Dutch settlement of New Amsterdam, and rated Fairfield
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as the equal of the future New York in prosperity. But New York has beat us, and here to-day her news- paper press may be learning for the first time what great expectations were once cherished in this quiet place. We must confess it. We have been cut out by neighbors far and near Bridgeport was the last to get the better of us, and after taking our fine harbor of Black Rock she is waiting for our timid people to ask her to take all the rest of the town under her wing, and perhaps has sent her police to- day to spy out the riches of our domain.
Yes, we have been disappointed, but we are not cast down nor in despair. Our town probably never felt her dignity more than to-day; never was so happy in her people and her guests. Never has the scenery looked fairer than now, and we mean to add careful science to choice tastes in bringing health with beauty to crown our prosperous hours. The marshes shall be drained, all unwholesome elements shall be checked or removed, our roads shall be extended and improv- ed. The groves shall again adorn and refresh our hills, our shores shall be opened to travel, and a charming water side avenue shall join Sea Side Park to Sasco hill, and win admiration and company from hosts of resi- dents and visitors as to one of the choice attractions of the land.
Our libraries shall increase, our schools and churches shall prosper. The new population will do their part and are doing it by industry, thrift, sobriety and rev- erence, and the laboring class are setting a good ex-
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ample by earning homes and lands for themselves, sending their children to school, and attending church with a constancy and zeal that may well be a lesson to some persons who are tempted to look down upon them. We have no destructive socialism here, and the laborer who owns his cottage and acre is as far from the tramp or the anarchist as the merchant in his mansion with his servants and horses and broad fields and fine lawns.
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