Morning journal and courier., 1891-09-25
OLD DAYS RECALLED.

It was slumbrous August afternoon. There was repose in the gentle, stirring air that seemed to invite reveries. I was wandering along that picturesque bit of strand that bends from Milford to Strat- ford Point. There is always something about the sea that leads the mind far from the present and leaves the loiterer buried in recollections of other days and scenes. Thus occupied with memories of distant lands and almost forgotten faces, lulled by the soothing murmur of the water, gently swashing at my feet, had left the village far behind and was nearing Stratford. Unconscious of the lengthening strip of sand that was leaving, I was lost in thoughts of happenings long gone by and beings connected with them, many of whom are dead. One lone tern was fol- lowing me, circling around and above me ceaselessly, his broad wings ever and anon flashing past. Nothing else I saw; the glancing light on the nipples, the far-away fecks of white upon the blue, sails of tiny | craft, the shelving shore with it's endless monotony of grays and browns seemed to l simmer before my eyes-a beautiful, but 1 blurred picture.
 Startled at length by the fading light, I reused myself to find the village four good miles away and twilight deepening fast. There are no shadows by the sea to warn one of approaching night, and, when it comes, dusk soon hides the show. Black ! l, driving rapidly before a brisk and some what strong southeast cold wind. Dark ness obscured nearby objects, and even the great white lighthouse, which but a moment before, as it seemed, had lowered above me, had vanished into the gloom. It was one of those sudden storms so com mon to our low-lying coasts in summer and so often of great violence. Before I could decide what to do, or whither to turn my footsteps, binding glare of lightning came, followed fast by rolling, crashing thunder. The storm was upon me. The sand went whirling past, the wind almost howled now in it's strength as it hurried dry seaweed and bits of driftwood before it. Drenched with spray and shivering, ] felt the first drops of rain. To keep by the waters edge was impossible, to leave it far was to lose my way in the dreary reach of sand and reeds to the north. So guiding my course by the washing of the waves, which were invisible now, though only rod distant, faced toward Mil ford, as I thought and began my bewil- dering journey.
 A twinkle of light through the dimness "Blessed ray" thought, plodding toward it with eager feet that were very tired witt slipping on the stones and sand. A few moments more brought to view the huge form of the lighthouse, it's outlines faintl, showing against the clouds. A single Ian 1 tern in a lower window was shining out O I mounted the stairs. "Halloa," yelled at the same time pounding on the door The noise of the wind and rain was & great that had twice repeated my sum I mons when the heavy door swung back,
 tough voice cried ''come in," and 1 stumbled over the threshold into tn warmth and cheer. The owner of tn rough voice was barring the door agail when was able to bear the dazzling ligh inside sufficiently to see him point acros the room where roaring fire sputtere and hissed. Soon my soaked garment were smoking in the corner. and thei weary owner rigged out in an ancient oil l skin suit was seated by the blaze. My host 8 sturdy chap, had disappeared upstai1 l to kindle the beacon, and left me to grate 1 fully doze below and watch the baco sizzle on the skillet. Shortly he returne and spread the little board tabl with supper that rejoices my hungr heart. I had recovered my spirit now and reeled off my mishaps an missteps to the giant opposite. He laugh ed long when I told him had started fe Milford and in reality had gone towar Stratford, completely turned around. Sul ! per finished, we repaired to to the heartl and lighting our pipes by the glowing woo ' c.. l. of old days were told, and in the silve rings and wreaths of smoke dim faces ( former cronies would come and go Spi
 it's of the past with silent steps fingered | the ruddy flare of the frelight and carrie us back even to childhood and home. M host was famous yam spinner. His Ii
 at sea for score or more years, his subs quent days here at the light, together wit a keen observation and good memor supplied many stirring anecdote. Knov ing the former keeper of the light he hs from him learned many bit of histo1 connected with the lighthouse or it's su
 roundings in early times. A few of u - tales told that night in that little dim an smoky room while the storm beat at u windows I have remembered. Much If- their charm is lost when we do not cato
 the warmth of the rugged speaker with b quaint but strong dialect, to write whie k is to ruin it. You shall hear few snatc @ es from landsman's logbook.
 s THE WRECK OF THE BRITISH PRIvATEE E During the last war with England, pa
 ticularly in the latter part of that eventf
 year, 1872, our New England coast suffer-
 severely from the inroads of privateel
 men. Small wooden vessels of twelve
 twenty guns were continually cruising
 and down the shore, here to-day and go .le tomorrow, committing all manner - thefts and depredations. Resistance W
 we]l-nigh impossible, for the attacks we
 only made upon unexpecting and unp1 pared towns. Their raids were conduct
 at night, when, landing at some seclud
 spot, they sallied into the village. and I
 turned before day break to re- embark. o r. schooner especially was the terror to Go Il necticut seaports. A rather clums
 looking craft, but a fast sailing one
 reality was the Miranda. She was Frenc
 built lugger of some seven hundred tor
 more or less, manned by a crew of forei
 cutthroats from the Channel Islands, w.
 were commanded by one Redfoot,
 escaped convict and renegade Tory. The
 was not an inch of shore unfamiliar
 this scoundrel and his name soon became ' dreaded word in every village home al l hostlery. One mild day in November . from Milford had been "ducking" on Gre
 creek, sluggish stream just east of t IF Housatonic, and was preparing to start f
 home when he heard approaching voice m It was nearly dusk and being concealed
 the sedge on the bank he drew his skiff o
 of sight and waited. Soon oars were hea - and around bend just below came bo
 in which he could just make out the for,
 of three persons. They came nearer un
 he made out that two were rowing wh
 the third at the tiller seemed to be poir
 ing to large oak tree just across the cree
 There they had evidently decided to la1
 for they at once headed for the bank. On
 a few paces separated them from the trer
 bling boy now peering white-faced, at t
 strangers. In the uncertain light the
 faces were indistinct though their voic
 were clear in the stiffness of the mars
 The tallest of the three was a strappil
 fellow and seemed to command the other
 who were gathering wood for fire benea
 the tree A small iron kettle soon swu1
 from pole and the tall man stirred
 from time to time, while the others we
 bringing things from the boat. Now a,
 then laugh went around at some sal
 and the cramped listener soon caug
 words that made the light skiff shake pt
 ceptibly. Aye, the stern of the Miran ! is all the cruisers ever sec" the bio m