I saw at the house of Mr. Trumbull, in Norwich, a fine picture of these romantic falls, painted by the eminent artist John Trumbull, a son of the patriot governor, before a layer of brick or the sound of an ax had desecrated the spot. It was, indeed, a charming scene.
About half way between Norwich, city and the upper town, on the right or south side of the road, was the birth-place of Benedict Arnold, depicted in the annexed engraving. The view is from the road, looking southeast. The house had had some slight additions to its size since Arnold played in its garden in petticoats and bib, yet its general appearance was the same as at that time. Several circumstances bord-
Arnold's early Years.—Attempt to commit Murder.—A Ringleader in Mischief.—His Mother.—Scorching Acrostic.
ering upon the marvelous, and viewed with a little superstition, gave the house an unpleasant notoriety, and for many years it was untenanted, because it was haunted! by what or whom rumor never deigned to reveal. When I visited it, only two or three rooms were occupied, the others being empty and locked. The room in which Arnold was born, in the southwest corner of the second story, was occupied, and the people seemed to be familiar with the traditions respecting the boyhood of that distinguished man. Arnold was blessed with a mother (Hannah King, of Norwich), who was, says her epitaph, "A pattern of patience, piety, and virtue," but her lessons seem to have been fruitless of good effect upon the headstrong boy. * He was wayward, disobedient, unscrupulous, and violent—traits of character which finally worked his ruin. He even attempted murder while a young man residing at Norwich, by shooting a youthful Frenchman, who paid court to Arnold's sister, Hannah, by whom his love was reciprocated. Young Arnold disliked him, and finding persuasion powerless on the mind of his sister to induce her to break off her engagement with the foreigner, vowed vengeance upon him if he ever caught him in the house again. The opportunity occurred, and Arnold discharged a loaded pistol at him as he escaped from a window, fortunately without effect. The young man left the place forever, and Hannah Arnold lived the life of a maiden. Arnold and the Frenchman afterward met at Honduras They fought a duel, in which the latter was severely wounded.
When a mere boy, Arnold's courage was remarkable, and among his playmates he was a perfect despot. A ringleader in every mischievous sport, he often performed astonishing feats of daring. On a gala-day, he set a field-piece upright, poured powder into it, and dropped from his own hand a firebrand into the muzzle. On another occasion, at the head of a number of boys, he rolled away some valuable casks from a ship-yard at Chelsea, ** to make a thanksgiving bonfire. An officer, sent by the owner to recover them, arrested the casks on their way. The stripling Arnold was enraged, and, taking off his coat upon the spot, dared the constable, a stout man, to fight him! Such was the boyhood of one of the most intrepid generals of our Revolution—such was the early type of the unscrupulous, violent man whose memory is black with the foulest treason. *** We have met him in preceding
* Miss Caulkins publishes the following letter from Mrs. Arnold to Benedict, while he was at school in Canterbury. It exhibits the character of his mother in strong contrast with his own in after life.
*"Norwich, April 12,1754. "Dear Child,—I received yours of the 1st instant, and was glad to hear that you was well. Pray, my dear, let your first concern he to make your peace with God, as it is of all concerns of the greatest importance. Keep a steady watch over your thoughts, words, and actions. Be dutiful to superiors, obliging to equals, and affable to inferiors, if any such there be. Always choose that your companions he your betters, that by their good examples you may learn. "From your affectionate mother, Hannah Arnold. "P.S.—I have sent you 50s. Use it prudently, as you are accountable to God and your father. Your father and aunt join with me in love and service to Mr. Cogswell and lady, and yourself. Your sister is from home."
** Chelsea is the old port of Norwich. The houses cluster chiefly at the mouth of the Shetucket.
*** Oliver Arnold, a cousin of Benedict, and also a resident of Norwich, was the reputed author of the following scorching acrostic, written after the treason of his kinsman. It is bad poetry and worse sentiment.
"Born for a curse to virtue and mankind,
Earth's broadest realm ne'er knew so black a mind.
Night's sable veil your crimes can never hide,
Each one so great, 'twould glut historic tide.
Defunct, your cursed memory will live,
In all the glare that infamy can give.
Curses of ages will attend your name,
Traitors alone will glory in your shame.
"Almighty vengeance sternly waits to roll
Rivers of sulphur on your treacherous soul;
Nature looks shuddering back with conscious dread
On such a tarnish'd blot as she has made.
Let hell receive you riveted in chains,
Doom'd to the hottest focus of its flames!"