T was in the afternoon of a warm, bright day in October, that I left Boston for Norwich and New London, upon the Thames, in Connecticut, where I purposed to pass two or three days in visiting the interesting localities in their respective neighborhoods. I journeyed upon the great Western rail-way from Boston to Worcester, forty-four miles westward, where the Norwich road branches off in the direction of Long Island Sound, and courses down the beautiful valleys of the French and Quinebaug Rivers. Every rood of the way is agreeably diversified. Hill and mountain, lake and streamlet, farm-house and village, charmed the eye with a kaleidoscope variety as our train thundered over the road at the rate of thirty miles an hour. Yet memory can fix upon only a few prominent points, and these appear to make the sum of all which the eye gazed upon. Thus I remember the sweet Lake Cochituate, whose clear waters now bless the city of Boston with limpid streams. I remember it stretching away north from the rail-way, pierced with many green headlands, and rippled by the wings of waterfowl. Thus, too, I remember the beautiful little Mashapaug, * lying in a bowl of the wooded hills of Killingly, sparkling in the slant rays of the evening sun as we swept by and became lost among the rugged heights and dark forests at twilight.
The Quinebaug is dotted with pretty factory villages at almost every rift in its course; and, as we halted a moment at the stations, the serried lights of the mills, and the merry laughter of troops of girls just released from labor, joyous as children bursting from school, agreeably broke the monotony of an evening ride in a close car. We reached the Shetucket Valley at about half past seven o'clock, and at eight I was pleasantly housed at the Mer-
* This sheet of water is now known by the unpoetical name of Alexander's Lake, from the circumstance that a Scotchman, named Neil Alexander, settled there, and owned all the lands in the vicinity in the year 1720. The Indians, who called it Mashapaug, had a curious tradition respecting the origin of the lake. I quote from Barber's Historical Collections of Connecticut, p. 431: "In ancient times, when the red men of this quarter had long enjoyed prosperity, that is, when they had found plenty of game in the woods and fish in the ponds and rivers, they at length fixed the time for a general powwow—a sort of festival for eating, drinking, smoking, singing, and dancing. The spot chosen for this purpose was a sandy hill, or mountain, covered with tall pines, occupying the situation where the lake now lies. The powwow lasted four days in succession, and was to continue longer, had not the Great Spirit, enraged at the licentiousness that prevailed there, resolved to punish them. Accordingly, while the red people, in immense numbers, were capering about on the summit of the mountain, it suddenly gave way beneath them and sunk to a great depth, when the waters from below rushed up and covered them all, except one good old squaw, who occupied the peak which now bears the name of Loon's Island. Whether the tradition is entitled to credit or not, we will do it justice by affirming that in a clear day, when there is no wind, and the surface of the lake is smooth, the huge trunks and leafless branches of gigantic pines may be occasionally seen in the deepest part of the water, some of them reaching almost to the surface, in such huge and fantastic forms as to cause the beholder to startle!"
Arrival at Norwich.—A literary Friend.—Indian History of Norwich.—Uncas and Miantonomoh.
chants' Hotel in Norwich, a city beautifully situated at the confluence of the Yantic and Shetucket Rivers, whose wedded waters here form the broad and navigable Thames.
Early in the morning I started in search of celebrities, and had the good fortune to meet with Edwin Williams, Esq., the widely-known author of the "Statesman's Manual" and other standard works. Norwich is his birth-place, and was his residence during his youth, and he is as familiar with its history and topography as a husbandman is with that of his farm. With such a guide, accompanied by his intelligent little son, an earnest delver among the whys and wherefores in the mine of knowledge, I anticipated a delightful journey of a day. Nor was I disappointed; and the pleasures and profit of that day's ramble form one of the brightest points in my interesting tour. I procured a span of horses and a barouche to convey us to Lebanon, twelve miles northward, the residence of Jonathan Trumbull, the patriot governor of Connecticut during the Revolution. While the hostler is harnessing our team, let us open the chronicles of Norwich and see what history has recorded there.
Like that of all the ancient New England towns, the Indian history of Norwich, commencing with the advent of the English in that neighborhood about 1643, is full of romance, and woos the pen to depict it; but its relation to my subject is only incidental, and I must pass it by with brief mention.
Norwich is in the midst of the ancient Mohegan country, and Mohegan was its Indian name. Uncas was the chief of the tribe when the English first settled at Hartford, and built a fort at Saybrook, at the mouth of the Connecticut River. He formed a treaty of amity with the whites; and so fair were his broad acres upon the head waters of the Pequot River, now the Thames, that the sin of covetousness soon pervaded the hearts of the Puritan settlers. Wawekus Hill, now in the center of Norwich, was a famous observatory for his warriors, for eastward of them were the powerful Narragansets, sworn enemies of the Mohegans, and governed by the brave Miantonômoh, also a friend of the white men. In the spring of 1643 the flame of war was lighted between these powerful tribes, and Miantonômoh led his warriors to an invasion of the Mohegan country. His plans were secretly laid, and he hoped to take Uncas by surprise. For this purpose six hundred of his bravest warriors were led stealthily, by night marches, toward the head waters of the Pequot. At dawn, one morning, they were discovered at the Shetucket Fords, near the mouth of the Quinebaug, by some of the vigilant Mohegan scouts upon the Wawekus. From the rocky nooks near the falls of the Yantic, a canoe, bearing a messenger with the intelligence, shot down the Thames to Shantock Point, where Uncas was strongly fortified. With three or four hundred of his best warriors he marched to meet Miantonômoh. They confronted at the Great Plains, a mile and a half below Norwich, on the west side of the Thames. A fierce conflict ensued. The advantage gained by Uncas by strategy * was maintained, and the Narragansets were put to flight, closely pursued by the Mohegans. Through tangled woods and over rocky ledges, across the Yantic, and over the high plain of Norwich toward the Shetucket Fords, the pursued and pursuers swept like a blast. Two swift-footed Mohegans pursued Miantonômoh with unwearied pertinacity, and finally outstripped him, he being encumbered with a heavy corselet. They impeded his progress, but did not attempt to seize him, that honor being reserved for their chief. As soon as Uncas touched Miantonômoh, the latter halted and sat down in silence. He was conducted in triumph to Shantock, where Uncas treated him with generous kindness and respect. The conflict had been brief, but thirty of the Narragansets were slain. Among the prisoners were a brother of the captive king, and two sons of Canonicus, his uncle Uncas, probably fearing that the Narragansets would make an attempt to recapture their
* When Uncas saw the superior number of Miantonômoh's warriors, he sent a messenger to that chief to say, in the name of Uncas, "Let us two fight single-handed. If you kill me, my men shall be yours; if I kill you, your men shall be mine." Miantonômoh, suspecting treachery, disdainfully rejected the proposition. Uncas then fell on his face, a signal previously agreed upon with his warriors, who, with bent bows, rushed upon the Narragansets, who were carelessly awaiting the result of the conference, and thus put them to flight.