'\ I.Jnii'/. 103
hv an attack of the friends of the Confederacy, who at that time were reported to be quite numerous in Canada, just across Lake Erie, thirty-five miles to the north.
Little remains of the old fortification aside from its broad, sloping embankment, and even of this a part of the earthworks on the west side towards the camp has been nearly levelled to the ground near by.
The old magazine, for the storing of powder and ball for use by those who occupied this fortification, has gone to decay, and as its walls and ceiling were of plank, old Father Time has done the work surely and well, for the top has caved in, probably never to be re- excavated in the present generation.
About twenty or thirty rods still farther eastward, near the eastern end of the island, is the lonely burial plat, where rest the remains of over 200 officers of the Confederate army, who died while impris- oned here, and their remains were buried in this little plat of ground, where the north winds whistle through the trees, singing a mournful symphony o'er the graves of more than one brave man who laid down his life at his country's call.
The plat is enclosed with a wrought-iron fence, thus protecting the last resting place of many a loved one from tramp of horses and cattle and the heedless visitors, that occasionally pay a visit to this lonely spot.
As we opened the gate and walked in at the south end of the half- acre enclosure, eight rows of white marble headstones came into view, each bearing a withered wreath of evergreen, placed there by members of McMean's Post of the G. A. R., on Decoration Day in May last. Every year a committee from this post, or the Toland Post, at the Soldiers' Home, near the city, visit this burial plat, and o'er the graves strew flowers and place wreaths upon the headstones of each of the 205 graves. While the duty is a sad one, it is always performed with willingness by members of the Grand Army who live here, and when the exercises of the day are held, a fitting recogni- tion of these sleeping warriors is made by the speaker of the day, who delivers the oration of praise to living and dead in terms to touch more than one honest heart.
If we are rightly informed, it is thirty-seven years since the first interment was made, and while within the grounds there were a few small trees then, they now have grown to a good size, and whose friendly limbs outstretch o'er foe and friend alike, and as autumn comes the silvery leaves bedeck the lonely graves of those who lie buried here.
