Rolls mingling with his name forever.”
The beautiful towns and villages of Connecticut, bordering on Long Island sound, are not surpassed in quiet loveliness by any others in New England. The loveliest, perhaps, of them all, is Norwalk, situated in the western part of the State, on a river of the same name, which flows sweetly along through the centre of the town. The title, we confess, is neither euphonious nor romantic: but we would not have it changed even for the sweetest word that ever passed human lips. It was given it by the Aborigines on the day when the territory was first purchased from them, and refers, if we mistake not, to its extent northward from the sound, called by the Indians the North walk. It is, indeed, one of the most lovely spots in Nature. Its quiet harbor is studded with verdant islands of every size and form, while across the green waters Long Island is seen, its dim outline scarcely distinguishable from the blue expanse beyond. The sound through its whole length is spotted with sheets of snowy canvass spread to catch the breeze, and anon the majestic steamer, like some huge leviathan, comes laboring on her way, proudly dashing aside the foaming waters from her prow, and leaving far behind a whitened, widening track. But when the Storm King is abroad, the crested waves pursue each other in continual chase, and the long, swelling billows break upon the shore, sending forth their rich music in the deep organ tones of nature.
On the eastern side of the river, and directly opposite the present steamboat landing, is a large circular mound, some twenty feet high, and covering a surface of about an acre. It is perfectly level on the top, and bordered with large, tall cedars. It is now commonly known by the inhabitants in the vicinity as Old Fort Point.
There is a tradition respecting the object and the erection of this mound, which I have with difficulty procured, and which maybe interesting to many who have visited the place, if not to strangers. For its truth, in all particulars, I will not vouch, but give it substantially as it has come down to us.
About two centuries ago, there lived, on the level country about what is now Fort Point, but what was then called Naumkeag, one of those large tribes of native Indians, which, at the time when this land was first visited by Europeans, were scattered over the country from the shores of the Atlantic to the great valley of the west. The Indians had not then been degraded by their intercourse with the whites. The peculiarities of their nature had not been modified by the influence of civilization. Their tastes had not been pampered, nor their appetites excited by the fatal “fire water” introduced by their destroyers, nor their bodily strength wasted by diseases, loathsome and deadly, and till then unknown among them.
From the feathered flocks of the forest and the finny tribes of the sea, they derived an ample subsistence; the shores, too, abounded in shell fish, and the forests with game, so that want and famine were never dreamt of by the happy and proud inhabitants of Naumkeag.
Many years before the time of this sketch a large colony separated from the principal tribe and moved northward, settling themselves in the mountainous regions of Massachusetts. This colony embraced about a quarter of the whole tribe at Naumkeag—and being composed mostly of young men and their wives, they soon became nearly as powerful as the people whom they had left.
Although many miles lay between them, these two tribes long kept up a friendly intercourse with each other, and forgot not that they had sprung from the same common stock. Miles were passed over almost as easily by those hardy foresters as they are by us at the present day, even with the help of iron roads and steam carriages. Great power of endurance was natural to their constitution, and especially was the fatigue of a long and rapid journey borne without inconvenience.
There was one of the Wannamoisetts, as those who had removed from Naumeag now called themselves, who was more frequent by far in his visits to the sea shore than any other of his tribe. Every second moon found him treading the forest with his face toward the south. His journey usually occupied from two to three days. Occasionally he remained at Naumkeag for a week at a time, though for the most part, his visits were less protracted.
Mononchee had of course some object or incentive for being thus frequent and regular in his attendance at the home of his ancestors. His very distant relationship to the tribe would hardly demand such an excess of filial affection. The truth was, there was a magnet of attraction in the person of a young maiden of Naumkeag, the sister-in-law of the chief, Wappaconet; and a powerful magnet it was too,—for there was not another in the whole village that possessed a brighter eye or a more perfect form. Her step almost realized the description of the poet,