The year 1814 was a specially trying one for New England. The British government, as we have observed, had determined and prepared, at the beginning of that year, to make the campaign a vigorous, sharp, and decisive one on land and sea. Hitherto the more northerly coasts of the United States had been very little molested by the enemy excepting by threatenings, for Commodore Hardy’s blockade of New London and its vicinity had been so mild that it was practically little more than a jailor’s custody of two prisoners – Decatur’s vessels – above that town. Now a system of petty invasions commenced, and were followed by more serious operations.

On the 16th of June the Bulwark, 74, Captain Milne, carrying about ninety guns, anchored off the mouth of Saco River, in Maine, and her commander sent one hundred and fifty armed men, in five large boats, to destroy property on the Neck belonging to Captain Thomas Cutts. That gentleman met them with a white flag, and proposed a money commutation. The matter was referred to Captain Milne, who soon afterward came ashore in his gig. He assured Cutts that he had positive orders to destroy, and could not spare. The torch was then applied, and two vessels (one finished, the other on the stocks), valued at $15,000, were destroyed, and another one taken away, which the owner afterward ransomed for $6000. They also plundered Mr. Cutts’s store of goods to the amount of $2000. 1

At about the same time the Nimrod and La Hogue were blockading New Bedford and Fair Haven, little villages on each bank of the Acushnet River, an inlet from Buzzard’s Bay. They lay in Tarpaulin Cove, watching vigilantly the privateer Yankee, belonging to De Wolfe, of Bristol, Rhode Island, the great slave-merchant. This vessel, and all others of her class, were unwelcome to the New Bedford people, who were Federalists, but right welcome to those of Fair Haven, who were Democrats – a difference of opinion which led to the separation of the two towns. The Fair Haven people cherished all privateers and other enemies of the British, and had, moreover, a fort on their Point, built in the time of the threatened war with France in 1798 on the site of a battery of the Revolution. It now had about a dozen iron cannon on its ramparts, and was guarded by a small garrison under Lieutenant Selleck Osborne, the poet. 2 Of course, the British blockaders did not like the Fair Haven folk, and one dark night they planned an attack on the fort and the destruction of the village. Every thing was ready long before daylight, and the Nimrod was to be the executor of the plan. Just then the tin horn of a solitary mail-carrier was heard, and the clatter of his horse’s feet as he galloped across the Acushnet bridge and causeway sounded loudly upon the night air. The horn was mistaken for the braying of a trumpet sounding an advance, and the rattle of hoofs was interpreted as the forerunner of the approach of a large American force. The Nimrod hastened to withdraw to a safe distance from the fort, and New Bedford and Fair Haven were spared the notoriety of a battle. The fort and its iron cannon yet (1867) remain, monuments of the wisdom of ample preparation for evil.

A more serious invasion of the New England coast now occurred. Early in July, Sir Thomas M. Hardy sailed secretly from Halifax [July 5, 1814.] with a considerable force for land and sea service. His squadron consisted of the Ramillies, 74, his flag-ship; the sloop Martin, brig Borer, the Bream, the bomb-ship Terror, and several transports with troops, under Colonel Thomas Pilkington. The squadron entered Passamaquoddy Bay on the 11th, and anchored off Fort Sullivan at Eastport, 3 which was then in command of Major Perley Putnam, of Salem, 4 with a garrison of fifty men and six pieces of artillery. The baronet demanded an instant surrender of the post, giving the commander only five minutes for consideration. Putnam promptly refused compliance, but, on account of the vehement importunities of the alarmed inhabitants, who were indisposed to resist, he yielded his own judgment, and gave up the post on condition that while the British should take possession of all public property, private property should be respected. When this agreement was signed, a thousand armed men, with women and children, a battalion of artillery, and fifty or sixty pieces of cannon, were landed on the main, and formal possession was taken of the fort, the town of Eastport, and all the islands and villages in and around Passamaquoddy Bay. Declaration was made that these were in permanent possession of the British, 5 and the inhabitants were called upon to take an oath of allegiance within seven days, or leave the territory. 6 Two thirds of them complied. The customhouse was opened under British officials; 7 trade was resumed; the fortifications around Eastport were completed, and sixty pieces of cannon were mounted; and an arsenal was established. Several vessels, and goods valued at three hundred thousand dollars, accumulated there to be smuggled into the United States, were made prizes of by the British. The enemy held quiet possession of that region until the close of the war.

The energetic General Montgomery, 8 of New Hampshire, ordered every tenth man of his brigade to repair to Portsmouth for its defense, and there he commanded in person. Little Fort Lilly, at Gloucester, was armed.

FORT PICKERING. 9

An attack upon the important city of Boston was confidently expected after intelligence was received of the bombardment of Stonington [August 9, 1814.], which we shall presently consider. It was the capital of New England, and the moral effect of its capture or destruction would be great. It was a place for the construction of American war-vessels, which the enemy feared more than armies. On this account its destruction was desirable. It was also a wealthy town, and offered a rich harvest for plunderers. It was well known, too, that it was almost defenseless, for it was not until the descent of the enemy upon Eastport, and his hostile operations elsewhere, had aroused the authorities of Massachusetts from their dreams of peace that any important preparations were made to repel an attack. 10 The people had seen the blockading squadrons from the tops of their houses, and trembled for the safety of the town, but it was not until the close of August that any energetic measures were taken by the leading men of the city toward providing for its defense. Then [August 30, 1814.] a public meeting was called to consider the matter; and a committee, consisting of Harrison Gray Otis, James Lloyd, Thomas H. Perkins, and others, were appointed to wait on the governor, and present to him an address on the defenseless state of the city. They assured him that the people were ready to co-operate in any way for the security of the capital and the state.

Governor Strong, whose opposition to the war was intense, listened to this appeal, and at once instituted measures for the defense of the whole line of the coast of Massachusetts and of the District of Maine, its dependent. The high ground on Noddle’s Island (now East Boston), known as Camp Hill, 11 was chosen for the site of a new and heavy fort, and it was resolved to place its erection under the supervision of Laommi Baldwin, a graduate of Harvard College, as engineer. He issued his first official notice on the 10th of September, when he asked for tools and volunteers to work on the fortification. The response was patriotic. Large numbers of the inhabitants might be seen, day after day, toiling like common laborers with pickaxe, spade, shovel, and barrow. Every class of citizens was represented. "I remember," says an eye-witness, "the venerable Rev. Dr. Lathrop, with the deacons and elders of his church, each shouldering his shovel and doing yeoman’s service in digging, shoveling, and carrying sods in wheelbarrows." 12 The volunteers were soon numbered by hundreds. A regular system of employment was adopted, confusion was avoided, and the work went on rapidly. 13 The fort was completed at the close of October. On the 26th of that month it was formally named, in honor of Governor Strong, Fort Strong, Lieutenant Governor Phillips officiating as the chief actor in the ceremonies. The flag was hoisted amid the roar of artillery from Noddle’s Island, North Battery, and India Wharf; and on the 29th the Selectmen of Boston announced that "the important post of Fort Strong was completed," to the great joy of the people. 14 Happily, it was never needed. 15 A battery of heavy guns was placed on Dorchester Heights (South Boston), and other defenses were prepared on prominent points at Roxbury and Cambridge.

When Commodore Hardy left Eastport he rejoined the blockading squadron off New London. He was not long inactive. He was charged with a part of the duty enjoined in the terrible order of Admiral Cochrane, to destroy the coast towns and ravage the country, and on the 9th of August [1814.] he appeared off the borough of Stonington, in Connecticut, for that purpose, with the Ramillies, 74, Pactolus, 44, bomb-ship Terror, the brig Dispatch, 22, and barges and launches. He anchored his little squadron within two miles of the town at four o’clock in the afternoon, a mile and a half being the nearest point to the village which the depth of water would allow the flag-ship to approach. He then sent a flag of truce ashore, bearing to the selectmen of the town the following message, dated half past five o’clock P. M.: "Not wishing to destroy the unoffending inhabitants residing in the town of Stonington, one hour is granted them from the receipt of this to remove out of the town." 16 "Will a flag be received from us in return?" inquired the magistrates of the bearer of Hardy’s letter. "No arrangements can be made," was the reply; and in answer to a question whether it was the commodore’s intention to destroy the town, they were assured that it was, and that it would be done effectually. Satisfied that no accommodation could be effected, the magistrates returned the following answer: "We shall defend the place to the last extremity; should it be destroyed, we will perish in its ruins!"

One of them, called a carcass, 17 unexploded, may still (1867) be seen on a granite post on the corner of Main and Harmony Streets, in Stonington. It weighs two hundred and fifteen pounds. 18

At eight o’clock on the morning of the 11th, the authorities, under the direction of General Isham, sent a message to Commodore Hardy, 19 saying (what he already knew) that the borough of Stonington had no power to comply with the requisition. "I will wait till twelve o’clock to-day," said Hardy, "and if the lady shall not be on board my ship at that hour I shall renew the assault on the town."

In the mean time the Ramillies and Pactolus had given three tremendous broadsides with spiteful vigor, which proved to be a parting salute, and quite harmless. They then withdrew, but the Terror kept up a bombardment until past noon. At four o’clock the assailants all withdrew, and the little squadron anchored far away toward Fisher’s Island. 20

During this whole series of assaults not a single life was lost. One person was mortally wounded, 21 and five or six slightly. Among the latter was Lieutenant Hough. About forty buildings were more or less injured, and two or three were nearly ruined. The rockets and shells set several of them on fire, but the flames were extinguished.

The repulse of the British at Stonington was one of the most gallant affairs of the war, and the spirit there shown by the few who conducted the defense caused Hardy and his commanders to avoid all farther attempts to capture or destroy Connecticut sea-port towns. The assailing squadron had about fifteen hundred men, while the number actually engaged in driving them away did not exceed twenty. 22 It was computed that the British hurled no less than fifty tons of metal on to the little peninsula during the three days. 23 The loss to the British was twenty lives, over fifty wounded, and the expenditure of ten thousand pounds sterling. The affair spread a feeling of joy throughout the whole country, and the result was a deep mortification of British pride. The impotence of the attack was the point of many a squib and epigram. 24

Hardy’s easy conquest at Eastport and its vicinity encouraged the British to attempt the seizure of the whole country lying between Passamaquoddy Bay and the Penobscot River. For this purpose a British fleet, consisting of the Bulwark, Dragon, and Spencer, 74 guns each; the frigates Bacchante (late from the Mediterranean) and Tenedos; sloops-of-war Sylph and Peruvian; and schooner Picton, with ten transports, sailed from Halifax on the 26th of August, 1814. 25

It was the intention of Sherbrooke and Griffith when they sailed to stop and take possession of Machias; but on the 30th [August, 1814.] they learned from the commander of the brig Rifleman, with whom they fell in, that the United States corvette John Adams, 24, Captain Morris, had gone up the Penobscot, so they hastened to the mouth of that river to blockade her. Passing up the Green Island channel, they arrived in the fine harbor of Castine, off Cape Bigaduce, 26 on which the pleasant village of Castine now lies, on the morning of the 1st of September.

HALF-MOON REDOUBT. – FORT PORTER. 27

Lieutenant Lewis, of the United States Army, with about forty men, was occupying a half-moon redoubt which the Americans had erected in 1808. That redoubt, whose embankments were very conspicuous on the edge of the water southward of the village when the writer was there in 1860, was armed with four 24-pounders and two field-pieces. Lieutenant Colonel Nichols, of the Royal Engineers, who had been sent in a small schooner to reconnoitre, sent a summons to Lewis, at sunrise, to surrender. Lewis saw that resistance would be vain, so he resolved to flee. He gave Nichols a volley from his 24-pounders, then spiked them, blew up the redoubt, and, with the field-pieces, he and the garrison fled over the high peninsula to its neck, and escaped up the Penobscot. Colonel Douglass immediately landed from the fleet at the back of the peninsula with a detachment of Royal Artillery and two companies of riflemen, and took quiet possession of Castine, and with it the control of Penobscot Bay. The number of troops landed was about six hundred. Governor Sherbrooke made the house of Judge Nelson his head-quarters, and the court-house and other suitable buildings were occupied as barracks for the soldiers. A number of women also were landed. 28

CROSBY’S WHARF. 29

Blake had dispatched two flank companies to watch and annoy the approaching enemy. Between seven and eight o’clock they reported them crossing the little stream that divides Hampden Corners from Hampden, and ascending the hill to attack the Americans. The fog was so thick that no enemy could be seen, but Blake pointed his 18-pounder in the direction of the foe, and with his field-pieces blazed away with considerable effect, as was afterward ascertained. He had resolved to reserve his musket-firing until the enemy should be near enough to be seriously hurt, but the ordeal of waiting, without breastworks in front, was too severe for the untried militia. The enemy suddenly advanced at a "double-quick," firing volleys in rapid succession. The militia, panic-stricken, broke and fled in every direction, leaving Blake and his officers alone. Lieutenant Wadsworth, at Morris’s upper battery, perceived the disaster in its full extent, and communicated the fact to his chief on the wharf. Morris knew the impending danger. His rear and flank were exposed, and he saw no other way for salvation than flight. He ordered Wadsworth to spike his guns, and with his men retreat across the bridge over the Soadabscook while it was yet open, for that stream was fordable only at low water, and the tide was rising. Wadsworth did so, his rear gallantly covered by Lieutenant Watson with some marines. The John Adams was fired at the same time, the guns on the wharf were spiked, and the men under the immediate command of Morris retreated across the Soadabscook bridge. Their commander was the last man to leave the wharf. Before he could reach the bridge the enemy were on the bank above him. He dashed across the stream, arm-pit deep, under a galling musket-firing from the British, unhurt, and, joining his friends on the other side, retreated, with Blake, his officers, and a bare remnant of his command, to Bangor. From there Morris 30 soon made his way to Portland overland.

Having finished their work, and despoiled the inhabitants of property valued at $23,000, and destroyed several vessels, 31 the marauders left Bangor, and spent the 5th in similar employment at Hampden. There the soldiers and sailors, unrebuked by Barrie, performed scenes which had been enacted at Havre de Grace under the eye of Cockburn. They committed the most wanton acts of destruction. The village meeting-house (now the town-house – see engraving, next page) was desolated. They tore up the Bible and Psalm-books, and demolished the pulpit and pews. They destroyed cattle and hogs as at Havre de Grace. They carried away much private property, and compelled the selectmen to sign a bond for $12,000 as a guaranty for the delivery of vessels at Hampden to the commander at Castine. 32 This bond shared the fate of the one given at Bangor. The total loss of property at Hampden, exclusive of a valuable cargo of brandy, wine, oil, and silk which they found on board the schooner Commodore Decatur, was estimated at $44,000. 33

OLD MEETING-HOUSE (NOW TOWN-HOUSE), HAMPDEN. 34

The indignant sufferers charged a greater portion of their misfortunes to the feeble resistance made by General Blake at Hampden. His tardiness; his non-compliance with the wishes of Morris and others to attack the enemy at their landing-place; his neglect to throw up breastworks on the ridge at Hampden, and other evidence of inefficiency, were regarded as crimes; and he was charged with cowardice, and even treason. The clamor against him was vehement for some time. He was hung, shot, and burned in effigy; 35 and for a while his personal safety was not considered secure in some districts. The public indignation finally cooled, and sober judgment, on considering the crude materials of his little force, acquitted him of every other fault but a lack of competent military ability and experience for the extraordinary occasion. A court of inquiry investigated his conduct, and acquitted him of censure or suspicion. 36

On the 12th of September Sherbrooke and Griffith, with most of the troops and a greater part of the fleet, left Penobscot Bay, and, after capturing Machias, 37 returned to Halifax. General Gerard Gosselin, a gentleman in manners and a brave soldier, was left in command at Castine, and immediately prepared to maintain his position by thoroughly repairing the fortifications there.

Old Fort George, in the centre of the peninsula, which was built by the British in 1779, 38 was repaired, fraised, and armed. The half-moon redoubt was rebuilt. In various parts of the peninsula new works were thrown up; 39 and through the Neck, from Hatch’s Cove to Perkins’s Back Cove, a canal was cut. General Gosselin issued a proclamation [October 31, 1814.], by which he directed all the male inhabitants between the Penobscot and the boundary-line of New Brunswick, above sixteen years of age, to take an oath of allegiance to his majesty, 40 and also of neutrality. By the latter they agreed that they would peaceably and quietly demean and conduct themselves while in that territory; that they would not carry arms, harbor British deserters, nor give intelligence to the king’s enemies during the current war. 41 The selectmen of different towns were authorized to administer these oaths of allegiance and neutrality; and the permanent occupation of the country by the British was quietly accepted by the inhabitants as an inevitable necessity.

General Gosselin made himself very popular at Castine. The officers were quartered in private houses, and paid fairly for all they received from the inhabitants. 42 The soldiers were housed in the court-house and public school building. The barn of Mr. Hook, the collector of the port, 43 was converted into a theatre, and play-actors from Halifax afforded much amusement. Had these new-comers been friends instead of enemies, the inhabitants of Castine would have enjoyed their visit, notwithstanding the citizens suffered many inconveniences. It was not very long. Peace was proclaimed early in 1815, and on the 25th of April [1815.] the British sailed out of Penobscot Bay. 44 The event was celebrated by the people with festivities and rejoicings. Within a few days afterward not an armed enemy remained westward of the St. Croix River and Passamaquoddy Bay. Peace, joy, tranquillity, and prosperity came with the birds and blossoms in the spring of 1815; and from that day until now no foreign enemy has ever appeared on our coast with hostile intentions, and probably never will.

MEMENTO OF THE BRITISH AT CASTINE. 45

I visited most of the places mentioned in this chapter in the month of November, 1860. Leaving New York in the afternoon of the 16th, I arrived in Boston at midnight, and spent three days there visiting men and places associated with the War of 1812, in company with a friend, 46 to whom I had been indebted for kind attentions and information while seeking materials for my Pictorial Field-book of the Revolution twelve years before.

In East Boston 47 we visited Mr. Samuel Dillaway, who was a soldier and a privateersman in the war. He was captured on board the privateer Sine qua non, put into a prison-ship at Gibraltar, sent to England, and finally exchanged. He informed us that the authorities in charge of the exchange of prisoners, and sending them in cartel ships to America, generally subjected their victims to as much annoyance as possible. They were in the habit of sending prisoners whose homes were in the Northern States to some Southern port, and those from Southern States to Northern ports. This produced exasperation, and in many instances the prisoners rose and took possession of the ship. That was the case when Mr. Dillaway came in the brig Shakespeare. The captain was ordered to a Southern port. The prisoners took possession of the ship and sailed her into Boston.

We went to the site of Fort Strong, in East Boston, 48 saw some of its remaining mounds, and then started to visit Fort Warren, on Governor’s Island, which became famous as a prison for political offenders during the late Civil War. The sea was too rough for a skiff, and we contented ourselves with gazing at the venerable fortress from the highest part of East Boston. We turned, and in a two-wheeled chaise rode over to Charlestown, dined with Mr. Frothingham, the accomplished author of The Siege of Boston, 49 who then lived in the shadow of Bunker’s Hill Monument, on Monument Square, and with him visited Mr. Byron, one of the last survivors of the crew of the frigate Constitution. He was a Baltimorean and a musician. He entered the land service, but, preferring the sea, became a fifer on board the Constitution, and was made a "minute-man;" that is to say, one ready to fight at a moment’s warning. As such he fought gallantly in the actions of that vessel, and was highly commended by his superiors. Mr. Byron was lively and fluent in conversation, and entertained us for an hour with grave and humorous narratives of his experience in the service. He has passed away since my visit.

At Charlestown we visited the national dock-yard, and at the head of the dry-dock saw upon a post, over a lamp, the billet-head which the Constitution had borne during her battles in the War of 1812. 50 It was the one which Commodore Elliott removed in 1834 while she was lying at that station, and put in its place a bust of General Jackson, then President of the United States. The substitution of that image for the old billet-head which had braved the storms of battle and the seas during the War of 1812 was considered an unpatriotic act, and was vehemently denounced by the Opposition as a partisan outrage. Elliott was assailed in newspapers, handbills, 51 and speeches, and was threatened with violence in anonymous letters if he did not remove the obnoxious effigy. He disregarded all complaints; so, one night, early in July [1834.], during a fearful storm of wind, lightning, and rain, a daring young man from New York went out to the ship in a skiff, sawed off the head of the image, and carried it to Boston. Great efforts were made to discover the mutilator of a government vessel, but in vain. The excitement died away, and at near the close of Jackson’s administration the iconoclast went to Washington City, called on the President, frankly acknowledged his exploit, and assured him that it was only a "young man’s dare-devil adventure." He amused more than angered the President, who told him he should not be harmed. 52

In the museum of the Navy Yard at Charlestown we saw a beautiful alabaster model of the monument erected to the memory of Lieutenant Allen, at Hudson, New York. Under it, in a glass-case, were a lock of Allen’s hair, and the bullet which caused his death. We found little else of interest connected with the history of the War of 1812, and, after a brief visit to Bunker’s Hill Monument, returned to Boston.

On the following day the writer went out to Salem by railway, sixteen miles from Boston, and visited Fort Pickering, Marblehead, and other points of interest, in company with a citizen of Salem. It was a cold November morning, and with difficulty the pencil was used in sketching the exterior of Fort Pickering, seen on page 891, and the view of the interior (see next page), drawn while standing on the southern ramparts of the fortification, looking northward toward Beverly. This fort was built in 1798, and named in honor of the eminent Timothy Pickering, who was born in that town, and whose remains lie buried in its soil. It was an irregular work, occupied about an acre of ground, and commanded the harbor and the entrance to the North and South Rivers, as the estuaries are called which embrace the peninsula.

Its embankments, composed of earth and stone, excepting the brick wall in the rear (see picture on page 891), were about eight feet in height, and well preserved. The officers’ quarters (seen on the right), built of brick, and shaded by balm of Gilead trees, were well preserved. There the keeper, Sergeant Reuben Cahoon, resided. He was seventy-one years of age when I was there. He was a soldier on the Northern frontier in 1812, and yet carried a ball in his leg which he received at the battle of Plattsburg. His wife was his only companion.

Not far from Fort Pickering we passed the remains of Fort Lee, near the house of Mr. Welch, at the western end of the causeway leading to Winter Island. It was an irregular work, built at the beginning of the War of 1812, and occupied a very commanding position, especially as the guardian of Beverly Harbor. It also commanded Salem Harbor, in a degree. From its mounds, now eight or ten feet in height, we obtained fine views of Salem, Beverly, and the whole outer harbor. The water which it was chiefly designed to watch over and protect was the estuary called Bass River. It extends up to Danvers, or Old Salem Village, 53 and was the one spanned by the famous "Leslie Bridge" 54 of the Revolution.

Returning to Salem, we rode out to Marblehead. After passing a fine avenue skirted with lofty elms, we crossed the Forest River, near the Forest City Mills, and, ascending the gentle slope of Marblehead promontory, soon came to the village lying at the head of a bay in which there is a good harbor. The village is situated among rocks, and the street lines are so irregular in some places that it appears as if the houses might have dropped from the clouds, and the ways among them had been laid out afterward. It was quite natural for the celebrated Whitefield, on entering the town, and seeing no verdure as indicative of soil, to inquire, "Pray, where do they bury their dead?" 55 It was inhabited chiefly because of its advantages and convenience as a fishing port, a character which it has always borne. 56 Its trade was almost wholly destroyed during the Revolution, 57 but it revived soon afterward.

MARBLEHEAD HARBOR. 58

FORT SEWALL. 59

When I visited it Mrs. Maria T. Perkins was the United States Agent in charge of the property there, having been a resident of Fort Sewall since 1835. She was an energetic woman, and with the greatest courtesy she received and entertained us. On the floor of one of her rooms was a carpet of which she was justly proud. It was made entirely of the clothes of her father (Sergeant Stephen Twist, of the Continental Army) and her two brothers, worn by them during the War of 1812. They were ever afterward in the military service of the United States up to 1857. 60 She was engaged in piecing it during twenty years. The carpet was woven by Mrs. Perkins and her daughter, in Fort Sewall, a few months before my visit, and took a premium at a Fair in Boston.

On returning to Salem I had the pleasure of meeting Dr. Benjamin F. Browne, a native of that place, who entered the naval service as surgeon’s mate in the privateer Alfred, in September, 1812, when he was only nineteen years of age. While in the schooner Frolic, in the West Indies, he was captured, taken to Barbadoes, sent to England, and confined six months in the notorious Dartmoor prison, of which I shall write hereafter. The cartel ship Anne, in which he was sent home, was ordered to Norfolk. Most of the prisoners were from New England and New York. They seized the ship, and sailed into New York in June, 1815. Dr. Browne was in the Dartmoor prison at the time of the massacre there, and published an interesting sketch of it in the Democratic Review, 1845. 61 The prisoners were chiefly privateersmen, and a very large proportion of them were from New England. He furnished me with a list of the names of more than one hundred survivors known to be living in the vicinity of Salem at the time of my visit.

I passed the night at Salem, returned to Boston the next day, and toward evening departed on a visit to the theatre of the stirring historic scenes on the Penobscot Bay and River, in Maine, in the year 1814. I traveled on the Eastern Railway to Portland, one hundred and seven miles, where I embarked for Belfast, at ten o’clock in the evening, in the steamer Daniel Webster. It was a rough and stormy night on the Atlantic, but we made the voyage of one hundred and thirty miles in good time. When we entered Penobscot Bay at dawn, the storm-clouds had passed away, and the sun shone out brilliantly when we landed at Belfast between seven and eight o’clock in the morning [November 19, 1860.]. Soon after breakfast I sailed in the little packet Spy (formerly a Boston pilot-boat), with raking masts and schooner-rigged, for Castine, on the eastern side of Penobscot Bay. A stiff breeze had sprung up from the northwest, and before it we ran across the bay, thirteen miles, in little more than an hour. It was an exhilarating voyage. We entered the picturesque harbor of Castine at eleven o’clock, and, after a pleasant and profitable interview with Dr. Joseph L. Stevens and Samuel T. Noyes, Esq. (the former a physician and the latter a ship-builder of Castine), I rambled over the interesting peninsula with an intelligent lad who was familiar with the historical localities. A portion of the peninsula is high, rocky, and covered with evergreens, while its southwestern slope is wet and spongy, bare, and abounding in juniper bushes. The village of Castine is beautifully situated on a slope overlooking several picturesque islands. It is said to be the wealthiest town in Maine in proportion to its size, and is the seat of customs of the Penobscot district. 62

We first visited Fort George, 63 the principal military work on the peninsula, which lies northwestward of the town. A sketch of a portion of the ruins from the south bastion is given on page 903, in which one of the casemates is seen. In that bastion was the bomb-proof magazine. That, and all of the casemates, excepting the one delineated, built of brick and stone, had been carried away for building purposes. The fort was a quadrangle, with bastions at each angle. The ditch was dug down to the flat rock, about six feet deep. The banks were about eighteen feet in height from the bottom of the ditch when I visited it, and were covered with a hard sward.

The view from the banks of Fort George is very interesting at every point. The little picture gives an outline of the scenery around the head of Penobscot Bay, looking northwestward from the fort. On the extreme right is the entrance to the canal across Castine Neck, cut by the British. This canal was about twelve feet in width and eighty rods in length, and made Castine, or Bigaduce peninsula, an island. It is now crossed by a bridge. Between the promontory seen beyond Brigadier Island (then the property of David Sears, of Boston), near the centre of the picture, is seen the mouth of the Penobscot River. On the extreme left, over the cedar-covered point of land called Banks’s Head, is seen Belfast, thirteen miles distant.

REMAINS OF FORT GRIFFITH. 64

From Fort George we went down the northwestern slope toward the Neck to the remains of Fort Griffith, one of the larger redoubts built by the British, and named in honor of the English admiral. It was intended to guard the Neck. There was another, called Fort Gosselin in honor of the general, just above the present bridge over the canal. After sketching the remains of Fort Griffith, we visited those of two or three others, and then hastened back to Castine, and embarked in the Spy for Belfast. It was toward evening, and the light wind was directly ahead. The voyage was long and tedious, and it was almost eight o’clock before I was admitted to the comforts of a warm supper at our destined haven, where I had the pleasure of meeting Judge Joseph Williamson, son of the historian of Maine, and to whom I am indebted for valuable information.

On the morning of the 21st I left Belfast for Hampden on the steamer Sanford, Captain C. B. Sanford, which plied between Boston and Bangor. The voyage up the Penobscot – the winding, picturesque Penobscot – was a delightful one, and was made particularly instructive to me by Captain Sanford, who kindly pointed out every place and object of interest on the way. Fourteen miles from Belfast we passed Fort Point, a bluff with a lighthouse upon it. 65

Opposite Bucksport, on the rugged hills, the solid masonry of a stupendous fortification, called Fort Knox, in process of erection, was seen, with the small village of Prospect nestled near. A little above we passed Indian Point, made famous as the site of a conflict between the savages and Captain Church, the decapitator of the slain King Philip. Farther on we entered Marsh Bay, in which the British invading squadron lay one night on their way toward Hampden. 66 It is an expansion of the Penobscot, and at its head lies the pretty little village of Frankfort. Westward rises the Musquito Mountain, a huge mass of granite, where, it seems, quarrying might be carried on for a thousand years. In Frankfort, M‘Glathry’s store-house was pointed out as the recipient of a British cannon-ball when the invaders landed there in September, 1814; 67 and about a mile above the landing my attention was called to a thick Norway pine, the only one in that region, which bears the name of "The Bacon Tree."

It is a round, compact tree, its short trunk composed apparently of a group of smaller ones, and the limbs so near the ground that it is difficult to get under it. I had a good view of it through a telescope, by which I was enabled to make the annexed sketch. It derived its name from the circumstance that when the British landed, a citizen of Frankfort, having a large quantity of bacon, carried it to this tree, and hung the pieces in the branches to conceal them from the foe. The measure was successful. The British passed along the road a short distance from the tree without observing its savory fruit, and the man saved his bacon. In a cove off Oak Point, two or three miles above Frankfort, we saw the ribs of the Warren, one of the Massachusetts vessels destroyed by the British when they took Castine in 1779. 68

We landed at Hampden at an early hour, and I went immediately in search of the historical localities of that pleasant town. I called on the venerable Mrs. Stetson with a letter of introduction from a friend in Boston. She was then eighty-seven years of age, and lived in a fine old mansion in the Upper Town, not far from the Soadabscook. Her husband was one of the citizens who was confined as a prisoner on board the Decatur. 69 She gave me a most vivid description of events in Hampden at the time of the invasion; and she furnished me with such directions that, with the aid of a young man whom I had engaged to take me to Bangor in a light wagon, I experienced no difficulty in finding all I had come to see. I went down the winding road to the mouth of the Soadabscook, and sketched Crosby’s Wharf, 70 climbed to the place of Morris’s hill battery, and visited the meeting (now town) house and the site of Blake’s brief encounter with the invaders near the Lower Town. When these pleasant tasks were accomplished, we dined at the hotel, near which I saw a small building, with a little weather-beaten sign-board over the door, that was innocent of all paint excepting the black letters which composed the name of HANNIBAL HAMLIN. It was the law office 71 of that distinguished United States Senator, who a few weeks before had been elected Vice-President of the Republic.

At three o’clock in the afternoon I left Hampden for Bangor, following the road which the British traveled in their march to that place. 72 I spent the remainder of the afternoon in rambling about that fine inland city of the picturesque State of Maine, and was surprised by the great number of schooners that lay in the Penobscot and in the mouth of the Kenduskeag.

I remained in Bangor two days, and spent a greater part of the time in the company and under the hospitable roof of Dr. John Mason. With him I visited places of interest about Bangor; rode over to Brewer, and sketched the residence of General Blake, 73 and spent some time in the humble dwelling of Henry Van Meter, a remarkable black man, then ninety-five years of age.

He was a slave to Governor Nelson, of Virginia, during the Revolution, became a seaman in long after years, and was one of the crew of the privateer Lawrence which sailed from Baltimore in 1814. 74 He was captured, sent to Plymouth, and confined in the Dartmoor Prison, where he saw the massacre in the spring of 1815. Van Meter’s history, as he related it to me, was an eventful one. 75 His mind seemed clear, and his body not very feeble; and when I had finished the annexed sketch of him he wrote his name, with my pencil, under it, as well as he could without glasses.

I left Bangor on the morning of the 23d [November, 1860.], and, traveling by railway, reached Boston the same evening. A few days afterward, just at twilight, I arrived at New Bedford, 76 spent the evening with Dr. Charles L. Swasey, and made arrangements for a ride the next morning to the old fort near Fair Haven, across the Acushnet, spoken of on page 889 as having been saved from an attack by the British on a dark night in 1814 by the blast of a postman’s tin-horn and the clatter of his horse’s hoofs, which frightened them away. A heavy storm of wind and rain arose during the night; nevertheless we made the journey, and at ten o’clock rode into the parade of the ruined fortress as far as the rocks would allow. The remains of the fort were upon a very rough cape opposite New Bedford, and a mile below the Acushnet Bridge and causeway. It was called Fort Phœnix, and was little more than an 8 or 10 gun battery, whose walls were of hewn stone and earth. Several of the iron cannon (24-pounders) with which it was armed were lying within it, never having been removed since they were placed there in 1812.

The storm was beating so furiously as it came driving in from the sea that our horse became very restive; so the kind Doctor stood out in the blinding tempest, and held him in quietude while, under the cover of the little carriage, I made the annexed sketch of the interior of the fort with all possible dispatch. 77 Then we returned to Fair Haven village, and rode out to the residence of Captain Lemuel Akin, an exceedingly intelligent and well-read gentleman, whose home had been on the sea during a large portion of his long life. 78 For the good cheer with which he welcomed us, and for much valuable information which he gave me then, and afterward in letters, I feel grateful. While at his house the storm abated somewhat. We rode back to New Bedford, and in the afternoon I traveled by railway to Providence, Rhode Island, where I passed Thanksgiving Day most profitably with Dr. Usher Parsons, the surgeon of the Lawrence, Perry’s flag-ship at the time of the battle of Lake Erie, whose name and record of services are familiar to the readers of this volume. From this last survivor of Perry’s commissioned officers I received much valuable and minute information concerning the army and navy on the Niagara frontier and on Lake Erie. 79 Dr. Parsons is still (1867) living, in the enjoyment of excellent health of body and mind.

Early on the morning of the 29th [November, 1860.] I left Providence for New London, on the Thames, fifty miles westward, where I spent the day, as already recorded in the latter part of Chapter XXX. of this work. At sunset I left for Stonington, a few miles eastward, and became the guest of Dr. George E. Palmer, whose house bears evidence of the cannonade in 1814.

While at Mystic we visited the beautiful Elm Grove Cemetery, in which, as we have observed in note on page 896, the State of Connecticut erected a monument to the memory of Frederick Denison, who lost his life in defense of Stonington. Near that monument was one (delineated in the annexed engraving) in commemoration of the first of his family who resided in that vicinity; 80 and near it (seen to the left of the monument in the picture) was the first tombstone erected in the town of Stonington. 81 It is of dark slate, with the cherub on the arched upper part, which was a fashionable ornament a hundred and fifty years ago.

We returned to Stonington toward sunset, and called on the Rev. Mr. Weston, of the Protestant Episcopal Church, where we saw the beautiful gold box in which the freedom of the city of New York was publicly presented to the Baron de Steuben by the hands of his old friend and aid-de-camp, General North. Around its edge was the following inscription: "Presented by the Corporation of the City of Hew York, with the Freedom of the City." On the lid are the arms of the city, engraved by Maverick. We also saw, in the course of the evening, the famous Stonington flag, delineated on page 894, bearing sixteen stars, the then number of States in the Union. It is bunting, about six yards in length and three yards and a half in width. It was in the possession of Captain Francis Amy, of Stonington.

During that evening I heard many relations of stirring incidents connected with the attack on Stonington. I will repeat only one, a touching narrative of a dying mother and her faithful daughter. The mother (Mrs. Hall) was a poor woman, living in the old barracks near the "Cobb House" (page 896), in the last stages of consumption, and exposed to the British balls when they were hurled upon the town. The people had fled in terror, and none but Huldah, the daughter of the dying woman, remained. She was faithful. Sometimes, when the balls came crashing through the building, she would fly to the cellar, and sometimes to the garret, and then immediately return to the bedside of her mother. At length two or three soldiers rushed into the building, and bore the poor woman away on her bed to the burying-ground near the present Watawanuc 82 Institute, by the railway, where they thought she would be safe. Just as they had laid her on the greensward, a bomb-shell struck near and exploded, by which a deep trench was scooped from the earth. The shock was too much for the poor woman, and she expired. In the grave dug by the shell she was hastily buried, and then the faithful Huldah hurried away to a place of greater safety.

General Montgomery married a daughter of General Henry Knox, of the Revolution, by whom he had six children, all daughters. He died at Haverhill, New Hampshire, on the 29th of February, 1825 [sic], at the age of fifty-six years. I am indebted to his daughter, Mrs. Samuel Bachelder, of Cambridge, for the above portrait.

9 This view is from the slope back of the fort, looking seaward. On the extreme left, in the distance, is seen Beverly. A little to the right, Misery Island. Still farther toward the right, Baker’s Island light-house. On the extreme right is Marblehead Point.