The duty
of a sentinel over the British colors, which had just
been hoisted was assigned to me, and I certainly felt
not a little proud of the distinction.
Five times within half a century had the flag of that
fortress been changed. First the lily of France, then
the red cross of England, and next the stars and stripes
of America had floated over its ramparts; and then again
the red cross, and lastly the stars. On my return to this
country a few years since, I visited those scenes of
stirring excitement in which my boyhood had been passed,
but I looked in vain for the ancient fortifications which
had given a classical interest to that region. The
unsparing hand of utilitarianism had passed over them,
destroying almost every vestige of the past. Where had
risen the only fortress in America at all worthy to give
antiquity to the scene, streets had been laid out and
made, and houses had been built, leaving not a trace of
its existence save the well that formerly supplied the
closely beseiged garrison with water; and this, half
imbedded in the herbage of an enclosure of a dwelling
house of mean appearance, was rather to be guessed at
than seen; while at the opposite extremity of the city,
where had been conspicuous for years the Bloody Run,
cultivation and improvement had nearly obliterated every
trace of the past.
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