WAR WITH ENGLAND—IN THE ARMY—MY UNCLE'S ADVICE—CAMPAIGNING—ON THE MARCH—OUR MILITARY COSTUME—MY FIRST SOLDIER'S SUPPER.

During my residence at Hartford war was declared against Great Britain. For some time Connecticut held aloof from all participation in the struggle. But when, in 1813, our own territory was threatened, all feeling vanished before the instinct of self-preservation, and the strong feeling of animosity which then raged against England. Anticipating this state of things, the state government had made preparations for the emergency.

As it was midsummer—a period when the husbandmen could ill afford to leave their farms—orders were sent by Governor Smith to dispatch at once the companies of militia from the larger towns to the defence of New London and the neighboring country. At that time I belonged to an artillery company, and this was among those ordered to the coast. I received a summons at four o'clock in the afternoon to be ready to march next day at sunrise. I went at once to consult my uncle—who, by the way, was at that time not only mayor of the city, but Lieutenant-Governor of the State. He had a short time before promised to make me one of his aids, and perhaps thought I should expect him now to fulfill his engagement. He soon set that matter at rest.

"You must, of course, go," said he. "We old federalists cannot shelter our nephews when there is a question of defending our own territory."

"Ought I not to consult my parents?" said I.

"I will go down and see them to-morrow," he replied.

"Certainly, then, I shall go. I wish to go. My only feeling is, that my mother may have some anxiety."

"I will see her to-morrow. You may be at ease on that subject. Be ready to march at sunrise, according to your orders. I will come and see you before you start."

The next morning, while it was yet dark, he came, gave me some letters of introduction, and also supplied me with ten dollars—a welcome addition to my light purse. After a little advice he said,—"I have only one thing to add: If you come to a fight, don't run away till the rest do. Goodby!"

The next morning, June 7, 1813, about sunrise, the whole company, nearly sixty in number, mounted in wagons, departed. At sunset we were on the heights two miles back of New London. No provision had been made for us, and so we went supperless to bed in a large empty barn. I scarcely closed my eyes, partly because it was my first experiment in sleeping on the floor, and partly because of the terrific snoring of a fellow-soldier by my side. Never have I heard such a succession of choking, suffocating, strangling sounds, as issued from his throat. I expected that he would die, and, indeed, once or twice I thought he was dead. Strange to say, he got up the next morning in excellent condition, and seemed, indeed, to feel better for the exercise. This man became quite a character before the campaign was over: he got the title, of Æolus, and as he could not be tolerated in the barracks, he was provided with a tent at a good distance, where he blew his blast without restraint. At the close of the campaign he was the fattest man in the company.

I was glad to see the daylight. The weather was fine, and as the sun came up we saw the British fleet—some half-dozen large ships of war—lying off the mouth of the Thames. They seemed very near at hand, and for the first time I realized my situation—that of a soldier who was likely soon to be engaged in battle. I said nothing of my emotions: indeed, words were unnecessary. I watched the countenances of my companions as they first caught a view of the black and portentous squadron, and I read in almost every face a reflection of my own feelings. We were, however, not all sentimentalists. There were among us, as doubtless in all such companies, a supply of witty, reckless Gallios, who gave a cheerful turn to our thoughts. We soon dispersed among the inhabitants, scattered over the neighboring hills and valleys, for breakfast. Like hungry wolves we fell upon the lean larders, and left famine behind. Of course every one offered to pay, but not one person would accept a farthing: we were, indeed, received as protectors and deliverers. It was something, after all, to be soldiers! With our stomachs fortified, and our consciousness flattered, we came cheerfully together.

At ten o'clock we were mustered, and began our march all in our best trim: cocked hats, long-tailed blue coats, with red facings, white pantaloons, and shining cutlasses at our sides. Our glittering cannon moved along with the solemnity of elephants. It was, in fact, a fine company—all young men, and many from the best families in Hartford. As we entered New London the streets presented some confusion, for the people were still removing back into the country, as an attack was daily expected. A few military companies were also gathering into the town. We were, however, not wholly overlooked: women put their heads out of the windows and smiled their gratitude as we passed along. Men stopped and surveyed us with evident signs of approbation. It was a glorious thing to belong to such a company! At last we came to a halt in one of the public squares. Then there was racing and chasing of aids-de-camp for four mortal hours, during which our martial pride drooped a little in the broiling sun. At four o'clock in the afternoon we were transported across the Thames to the village of Groton, and took up our quarters in a large house on the bank of the river, vacated for our use. Two immense kettles—the one filled with junks of salt beef, and the other with unwashed potatoes—were swung upon the kitchen trammels, and at six o'clock in the evening we were permitted each to fish out his dinner from the seething mass. That was my first soldier's supper; and, after all, it was a welcome meal.