Colonel Henry Ludington: A Memoir

by Willis Fletcher Johnson

Robt. Benson, Secry.

There was, however, no question concerning the activity and zeal of Colonel Ludington at this time. On April 25, the very day after the adoption of the foregoing resolution by the Convention, a force of two thousand British troops landed at Compo, near Fairfield, Connecticut, under command of General Tryon, the former British governor of New York, under whom Henry Ludington had once held a commission. It marched hastily inland, and on the afternoon of the next day reached Danbury, Connecticut, where there were large stores of provisions, tents, etc., for the American Army, many of which had been sent thither from Peekskill for—as was supposed—greater security. Not only these, but also most of the private houses in the town, were at once set afire, while the soldiers made themselves drunk with looted spirits, and gave themselves up to an unrestrained orgy. It was one of the most brutal and disgraceful performances of British arms in all the war, and was unhesitatingly denounced as such by self-respecting British officers. It does not appear that the raid had any other object than the destruction of Danbury, or the stores at that place, for as soon as the soldiers could be sufficiently sobered up thereafter, a retreat toward the British shipping on the Sound was begun. But on the American side the incident gave occasion for one of the most thrilling and gallant exploits of the war.

It was on Friday afternoon that the landing was made at Compo, and it was on Saturday afternoon that Danbury was burned. Patriot messengers rode at top speed in three directions—toward New Haven to hasten Generals Arnold and Wooster, who were already on their way; to meet General Silliman, to expedite his juncture with the others; and to Fredericksburgh to tell the news to Colonel Ludington, that he might furnish the troops which the generals would need. Railroads, telegraphs and other annihilators of time and space were unknown in those days. But the personal factor, which after all dominates all the problems of this world, was active and effective. At four o’clock Danbury was fired. At eight or nine o’clock that evening a jaded horseman reached Colonel Ludington’s home with the news. We may imagine the fire that flashed through the veteran’s veins at the report of the dastardly act of his former chief. But what to do? His regiment was disbanded, its members scattered at their homes, many at considerable distances. He must stay there, to muster all who came in. The messenger from Danbury could ride no more, and there was no neighbor within call. In this emergency he turned to his daughter Sibyl, who, a few days before, had passed her sixteenth birthday, and bade her to take a horse, ride for the men, and tell them to be at his house by daybreak. One who even now rides from Carmel to Cold Spring will find rugged and dangerous roads, with lonely stretches. Imagination only can picture what it was a century and a quarter ago, on a dark night, with reckless bands of “Cowboys” and “Skinners” abroad in the land. But the child performed her task, clinging to a man’s saddle, and guiding her steed with only a hempen halter, as she rode through the night, bearing the news of the sack of Danbury. There is no extravagance in comparing her ride with that of Paul Revere and its midnight message. Nor was her errand less efficient than his. By daybreak, thanks to her daring, nearly the whole regiment was mustered before her father’s house at Fredericksburgh, and an hour or two later was on the march for vengeance on the raiders. They were a motley company, some without arms, some half dressed, but all filled with a certain berserk rage. That night they reached Redding, and joined Arnold, Wooster and Silliman. The next morning they encountered the British at Ridgefield. They were short of ammunition and were outnumbered by the British three to one. But they practised the same tactics that Paul Revere’s levies at Lexington and Concord found so effective. Their scattering sharpshooter fire from behind trees and fences and stone walls, harassed the British sorely, and made their retreat to their ships at Compo resemble a rout. Nor were instances of individual heroism in conflict lacking. Arnold had his horse shot under him as, almost alone, he furiously charged the enemy, and the gallant Wooster received a wound from which he died a few days later. There were far greater operations in the war than this, but there was scarcely one more expeditious, intrepid and successful. Writing of it to Gouverneur Morris, Alexander Hamilton said: “I congratulate you on the Danbury expedition. The stores destroyed there have been purchased at a pretty high price to the enemy. The spirit of the people on the occasion does them great honor—is a pleasing proof that they have lost nothing of that primitive zeal with which they began the contest, and will be a galling discouragement to the enemy from repeating attempts of the kind.… The people of New York considered the affair in the light of a defeat to the British troops.”

View of highroad and plains from site of Colonel Ludington’s house

It was not long before there was a still more serious menace than the Danbury raid. In June, 1777, there were indications that the British were planning anew to gain possession of the Hudson River, and thus unite their own northern and southern forces while dividing the eastern from the middle and southern colonies. Colonel Ludington and his regiment were therefore summoned to Peekskill, to strengthen the defenses of the Highlands, and it was not without some difficulty that he was enabled to respond to the call. Some of his men had become half mutinous. They had been willing enough to rush to Danbury, but now, in the busy time of the early summer, they objected to leaving their farms when there was no enemy actually in sight. The same trouble was experienced by the other militia commanders. On this occasion the period of service at Peekskill was short. But on July 1, Washington wrote to Clinton that the British were believed to be operating against Ticonderoga and its dependencies; that Howe was preparing to evacuate the Jerseys to coöperate with the northern army, and that there was danger of a sudden attack upon the Highlands and the passes of the Hudson. He urged therefore, in the strongest manner, that all available militia should be called out to strengthen the garrisons at Peekskill and other places on the river. The next day Governor Clinton reported the gist of this letter to the Committee of Safety, adding that in consequence thereof he had “issued Orders to Colonels Brinckerhoff, Ludington, Umphrey & Freeze of Dutchess County to march their Regiments to Peek’s Kill.” But the result was not altogether satisfactory. The men were ready enough for active service; but they demurred at waiting idly in the camp while their farms at home were suffering. On July 9, Clinton, in a quandary, wrote from Fort Montgomery to the president of the Convention:

The Militia which I ordered to this Post & who came in with great Expedition almost to a Man according to Custom begin to be extreamly uneasy. They want to go Home, their Corn is suffering, their Harvest coming on, and they cant see that it is likely there will be any Thing for them to do here suddenly. They have been frequently on the Dunderbergh to look down the River & cant see a single Vessel in it; What shall I do with them?

If I consent to their going Home they will Return when ordered again with great Chearfulness. If I dont, they will go (many of them at least) without Leave. I dont know what to do with them &, therefore, shall not do any Thing, without your Honor’s Directions which I should be glad to have this afternoon.

As a result of this appeal, General Putnam on July 11 issued an order to the effect that, “considering the Busy Season of the Year, & how important it is to the public as well as to themselves that the Militia be at home in their Business at this Time, and not being wanted, Altho’ he cannot say how soon they may be,” the three regiments which first responded to the call, to wit, Ludington’s, Humphrey’s and Brinckerhoff’s, were “dismissed with the General’s thanks for their Alertness and for their good Services, relying upon it that the Zeal & Ardor they have shewn in the great Cause we are engaged in will prompt them to turn out without (sic) the utmost Alacrity on all future Occasions.”

Another occasion was quickly supplied by the British, with their activities at the north and their renewed menace against the Highlands. On June 30, General Howe evacuated New Jersey, moved into Staten Island, and prepared to advance up the Hudson. On July 1, Burgoyne with his army appeared before Ticonderoga, and on July 6, the Americans evacuated that fortress. Washington, then at Morristown, wrote on July 10 to the president of the Continental Congress: “In consequence of the probability that General Howe will push against the Highland passes to cooperate with General Burgoyne, I shall, by the advice of my officers, move the army from hence to-morrow morning towards the North River.” Though delayed somewhat by bad weather, he proceeded to Sufferns, and thence to Galloway’s, in Orange County, New York, where he remained until he ascertained that Howe was not going up the river, but was really making a feint to cover a swift dash upon Philadelphia. Accordingly, on July 23, Washington’s army was set in motion toward the Delaware, leaving the Highlands to their local defenders. The inefficient and half treacherous Gates presently superseded Schuyler in command of the American Army at the north after the disastrous affair at Ticonderoga, and it is probable that Washington doubted his ability to cope with Burgoyne. At any rate, despite what he regarded as Howe’s “unaccountable abandonment” of Burgoyne, Washington regarded the latter’s movements with much apprehension, and frequently warned Clinton at the Highlands to be on his guard against him. On July 31, he urged Clinton to call out the militia to reinforce the garrisons, and Clinton wrote as follows to the Committee of Safety, a letter which throws much light upon the embarrassments from which he suffered: