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regiment of Lobsterbacks (as we called the British in those days). When each Saturday's training session came to a close, many of the men, accompanied by their wives, would join in a social gathering.
The ladies brought specially baked muster bread (like modern day ginger bread, but much tougher), and the men always seemed to find an adequate source of liquid refreshment. We were very formal in those days, and we used big words to describe very common events. The late Saturday afternoon gathering (which today we would call a party) was a post-muster jollification.
In spite of all my dreams of fighting the British under the command of Washington, my part in the war was not quite so glamorous. One evening, in March of 1780, I was returning home after a visit to the home of a young lady who had struck my fancy. I lived at the northern boundary of Oxford (where Towantic Hill Road is now located). In those days it was called Gunntown.
On my way home that evening, I came across a group of men who insisted that I accompany them to an unknown destination. Some time later I learned that they were British supporters who had burglarized the home of an American Revolutionary sympathizer in Bethany. Being afraid that I would recognize them, they took me hostage. During the next several days of my captivity, I learned the details of their plot. They had originally met to plan their deed at Whittemore's Tavern (which still stands in Seymour). Their plan was to steal large amounts of money and silk goods and turn them over to the British in Long Island.
When I unexpectedly met them on their route of escape, their scheme came to an abrupt end, and their stolen goods were quickly discarded. At that point, their only concern was to escape from this region to the safety of British territory. In order to prevent me from identifying them to the authorities, they took me with them. For over a day we hid in a narrow cleft in the rocks to the south of Gunntown Road (Towantic Hill Road) and then under cover of darkness I was dragged along Riggs Street until we reached the home of the cousin of one of the robbers. It was called Captain John Wooster's Tavern and was located at the falls near the corner of Park Road and the main road leading to Derby.
We stayed there overnight, and I knew from the frightened actions of my captors that the militia of Bethany and Oxford were probably in pursuit of them. The next day, in the middle of a blinding snowstorm, they took me over Great Hill towards Derby Landing, and then, by boat we traveled down the Housatonic River, past Stratford and across Long Island Sound to British territory.
I didn't know it at the time, but the alarm had indeed been sounded in Bethany, Oxford and Derby. Observers who were sympathetic to the American cause had watched us as we rowed past the Stratford lighthouse, and by means of telescopes were able to determine exactly where we had landed on Long Island. Within a matter of hours, a rescue party was
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