It was late summer of the Bicentennial year. The 4th of July had come and gone into the history books. The Connecticut evenings had started to get cool. My parents were living on Inch Cliff Drive in the village of Gales Ferry,Connecticut, part of the town of Ledyard. We lived just one mile north of the Groton Submarine Base, in the next town over.
My folks lived at the far end of Inch Cliff Drive, the end that had a over 500 feet, 45 degree long drop which ended with [a] 90 degree - all most- blind left hand turn into our driveway, [b] a one lane, blind and all most invisible dirt covered over 200 hundred years old dam with a nice 20 foot drop [left] on to the old mill site, or [right] into Mill pond, [c] lastly a right hand turn at a 110 degree turn and up the the next hill which will return you back to the top of the Inch Cliff Drive hill.
It was a Thursday night, for some reason I remember that- about 9 o'clock my parents, one or two of my brothers, and younger sister were around the kitchen eating area - around the stove- when we heard the sound of screeching tires as a speeding car hit its brakes. Then a quick moment of silence,then "splash" as a car drove into Mill pond.
I ran out the kitchen door and across the gravel driveway in to street, dress in an old white cotton shirt, old white pants, and my brand dark brown new cowboy boots.
In front of me was two door, gray or silver Mustang car half submerge to the passenger compartment with drive side door opened, and no driver.
There was a splashing sound came from the passenger side of the car, and I ran to that side of the car. Up to his knees in the water, was standing a navy sailor with a stick, trying push a half six pack of beer into deep waters and away from his car.
I must have made a sound on the gravel as down the passenger side of the car and into the water edge, because turned around facing me. "There a is other car chasing me." he began, as he step out of the water. Then he froze as eyes got realty big, looking pass me on to the road behind me. He gasped in wonder. "Tell me that there is some men dress in old clothes behind you."
I spun around face the facing the right side of the road. Silently and white as ghosts in the moon light stood a group of men dressed in 1776 colonial clothing, with their hair pinned back of 200 years old hair style. Their stood there like ghost, for a moment, before I turned back to poor sailor and said, "What guys?"
He jumped with shock and, "Don't that!" before he realized I was laughed at him.
A group of Revolutionary War reenactors had heard the car splashed into the pond and ran down the other hill side from their meeting at Ron Wojack parent's house. The Revolutionary War reenactors were Capt. Ron Wojack's "2nd Connecticut Regiment of the Continental Line." Ron folks lived up the other hill from my folks house.
Somehow I missed "2nd Connecticut Regiment" as they ran down the hill. But now I called to them and let them known that navy sailor guy was okay. And then had my brothers lead the poor guy to my parent house.