AN ILLUSTRATION OF THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.
"Who can speak broader than he who has no house to put his head
in?"--_Shakspeare._
"With darkness circled, and an ambient cloud."
Nearly a year elapsed after his release from the old _don-jon_,
before I was enabled again to rejoice in a meeting with my friend
Wheelwright; and our interview happened on this wise: Passing by, or
rather crossing, the foot of Courtland-street, one bright morning in
May, I observed a group of laborers occupied in placing some articles
of heavy iron-machinery on board of an Albany sloop--the General
Trotter, I believe, commanded by Capt. Keeler--a veteran navigator of
the Hudson. And whom should I discover among these men, giving
directions with an authoritative air, and actually bending his own back
to the work, but the veritable Doctor Daniel Wheelwright! It was indeed
no less a personage. From the previous character and habits of my
friend, the reader may judge of my surprise at beholding him thus
engaged--laboring, too, as though his work was made easy by the good
will with which he was performing it. Having exchanged salutations,
mingled with expressions of surprise at finding him thus employed, and
inquired upon what new enterprise he was bent--
"Why havn't you hearn?" was his response.
"No," was the laconic reply.
"What? not of the launch of the 'Lady-of-the-Lake,' on Lake George?"
"Ah--let me see--yes: I think I have seen a paragraph respecting it, in
the Sandy Hill newspaper. But pray what have _you_ to do with that?"
"To do with it? Why every thing. I am the agent of the concern. I have
made up the company, and built the boat. The engine has gone up the
river, and I am now shipping the last of the machinery.--[Come, bear a
hand there, boys--what are you about?] Have you ever been to Lake
George? If you want to see a touch of the grand and glorious, I guess
you'll find it there. The hills is sublime; and the lake so clear that
you can see the stars in it when it's cloudy."
"Indeed! And you then are to be wedded to the Lady-of-the-Lake?"
"And a beautiful thing she is, too. We shall have all the travel of the
grand tower through the lake to Montreal, and mean to have the boat
ready to take the first travellers from the Springs after the fourth of
July."
"And you are really looking up in the world again?"
"To be sure I be. I always told you that the world owed me a living,
and I believe I have at last struck upon the right track to find it.
[Come, bear a hand there, boys--Why don't you take hold of that
shackle-bar, Tom?"]
Saying which he applied his own shoulder to a huge cog-wheel, with the
alacrity, if not the power, of another Hercules.
I was alike surprised and gratified with this apparent change in the
Doctor's circumstances, as also at the unwonted industry and energy he
was now putting forth. It seemed as though by some rare chance, my
esteemed and hitherto unfortunate friend had at length become
associated in an enterprise for which he might be found very competent,
and which might one day prove valuable--at least to him, if not to the
stockholders. He was moreover taking hold of the work himself like one
who had at last been taught by the "sweet uses of adversity," that a
man is not always certain of obtaining a living by his wits, unless the
labors of his own hands are superadded. Fashionable travelling during
the summer months, was even then extensive; it was increasing from year
to year--and was sure to continue increasing, with the augmentation of
the national wealth and population. The unsurpassed attractions of that
region--the lake--its bright waters--its enchanting islands--its course
of winding beauty--and its stupendous mountains--glorious in their
height, their wildness, and their desolation,--would soon become more
generally known, and must inevitably command the attention of all
travellers of taste, whenever it should appear that its surface might
be traversed by a steamboat in a few hours, from the ruins of Fort
William Henry at one extremity, to those of Ticonderoga at the other.
Wishing the Doctor a good morning, therefore, and all possible success
in his new undertaking,--in which he was evidently sustained by the
strongest hope and the most undoubting confidence,--we parted for that
time--not, however, without a promise on the part of my friend,
proffered of his own accord,--as had been the case at sundry times
before,--that he would shortly remit the amount of several small
advances which it had fortunately been from time to time in my power to
make, for the purpose of occasionally rescuing him from his
oft-returning pecuniary tribulations.
The machinery all arrived safe, and in good condition, at the head of
the lake, and the boat was actually completed, under the charge of Dr.
Wheelwright. The good people of the little borough of Caldwell rejoiced
in the brightening prospects of their village, and actually began to
calculate how soon they might be able to repaint their houses, and
substitute nine by seven window glass for the old hats and petticoats
which, in the progress of their poverty, had been stuffed into the
broken casements.
Arrangements were making for the first trip down the lake, and among
the fairy islands apparently floating like emeralds upon its bosom; and
but a few days more were to elapse before all things were to be in
readiness. Meantime, however, before the captain and crew had been
shipped, and in order that accident might not happen to the fair
Lady-of-the-Lake, or danger come nigh her, Mr. Wheelwright slept on
board himself, like a prudent guardian of the property confided to his
charge.
The last memorable night on which he thus slept on board, was
remarkably clear and beautiful. All was silent and sublime among the
lofty mountains in which the peaceful lake lay deeply embosomed. A
grateful coolness pervaded the atmosphere, and no sounds disturbed the
general repose, after the night-hawk and whip-poor-will had ceased
their vesper-melodies, save the distant hootings of the owl on the
mountain-side, or the occasional crash of a dried limb of a tree, over
which the prowling wolf, or perchance some heavier tenant of the
forest, was bounding. The stars hung pendent and sparkling like
diamonds from a canopy of "living sapphires," and were reflected back
with vivid brilliance from the dark surface of the waters.
A poet could not have gone to bed on such a night, and amid such a
scene of gloomy grandeur as this. But the agent of the Lady-of-the-Lake
was not distinguished for enthusiasm of that sort, and he turned into
his berth--having no oyster-supper to eat--at a very early hour, and
betook himself to dreaming--not "of antres vast and desarts idle,"--or
of what is sublime and glorious in creation,--but of piston-rods and
safety-valves--pence and passengers. But his repose was disturbed in a
manner alike unexpected and unwelcome; by a catastrophe, too, which had
well-nigh deprived the world of the farther services of Mr.
Wheelwright, and his biographer of the pleasing duty of extending these
memoirs beyond the present chapter. In plain terms, at about half-past
twelve o'clock he was awakened by a choking sensation, and sprang upon
his feet, already half suffocated by smoke. The awful truth of the
cause was literally _flashing_ around him upon all sides. The
Lady-of-the-Lake--the first of the fair upon whom he had ever in fact
bestowed his affections--was not only on fire, but the flames had
already made such progress in the work of destruction as at once to
preclude the hope of extinguishing them. From the cabin windows, the
appearance rendered it certain that the whole structure was wrapped in
a sheet of flame. In the next instant, the fire burst through the
dividing partition of the cabins, obliging our hero to fly in his
night-gown, with his inexpressibles under his arm. Thus, coatless and
bootless, he leaped on shore, when delay a second longer would have
effectually prevented his ever recounting the tale.
What a moment, and what a spectacle for a lover of the "sublime and
beautiful!" Could Burke have visited such a scene of mingled
magnificence, and grandeur, and terror, what a vivid illustration would
he not have added to his inimitable treatise upon that subject! Let
the reader picture the scene to himself. There, at the dark hour of
midnight, among the ruins of Fort William Henry and Fort George, stood
Daniel Wheelwright, alone, like Marius amid the ruins of Carthage,--_in
puris naturalibus_; as the insurgent Shays fled on horseback, and in a
snow-storm, from the face of General Lincoln--and looking for all the
world like a forked radish, as Shakspeare says of Justice Shallow. But
albeit ludicrous in his own plight and position, there was nothing of
that character in the scene around him, or in his own contemplations.
The fire raged with amazing fury and power,--stimulated to madness
as it were, by the pitch, and tar, and dried timbers, and other
combustible materials used in the constriction of the boat. The lurid
flames ascended to a great height,--the smoke rolled upward in majestic
volumes, while the light, red as the flames of Ætna, streamed across
the lake, gilding the crumbling battlements of the old fort, flushing
the face of the waters, and tinging the mountain sides to their very
crests. The night-bird screamed with terror, and the beasts of prey
fled in wild affright into the deep and visible darkness beyond.
This is truly a gloomy place for a lone person to stand in of a dark
night--particularly if he has a touch of superstition. There have been
fierce conflicts on this spot--sieges, and battles, and fearful
massacres. Here have the Briton, and the Gaul, and the painted savage,
mingled in the dread fight,--steed rushing upon steed, hands clenched
in hands with grappling vigor, while the climbing fire, and the
clashing steel, and eyes flashing with maddened fury, and the appalling
war-whoop of the Indian, have all combined in adding terror to "the
rough frowns of war." Here "hath mailed Mars sat on his altar up to his
ears in blood," smiling grimly at the music of echoing cannons, the
shrill trump, and all the rude din of arms, until, like the waters of
Egypt, the lake became red as the crimson flowers that blossom upon its
margin.[1] And if at "the witching hour of night," the unquiet ghosts
of murdered sinners _do_ stalk forth to re-visit earth by the pale
glimpses of the moon, the slaughter of Fort William Henry might have
furnished a goodly number of shadowy companions for the hero of a tale
which is no fiction. But I am not aware that any of them came forth to
add to the troubles of that memorable night, or divert his mind from
what must then have been the absorbing subject of his contemplations.
Still, if they had had any desire of mustering for a midnight review,
or for a goblin-dance, they lost the best opportunity, probably, that
will again occur for ages;--since another such illumination of the
beautiful esplanade in front of the old fortress where the massacre
took place, and where the skeleton platoons would of course have
mustered, will never again be presented--at least not until another
Doctor Wheelwright shall build and watch over the fortunes of another
Lady-of-the-Lake.
In the course of an hour, the beautiful vessel was burned to the
water's edge; when the weight of the massive iron machinery, rendered
white and malleable by the intenseness of the heat, carried down the
hull to the bottom, and the waters closed over it, sissing and boiling
for a moment, as when a stream of lava runs burning into the embrace of
the ocean. The illumination being thus extinguished, darkness once more
brooded over the mountains, the face of the deep, and the fortunes of
Mr. Daniel Wheelwright--of whom, for the present, we must take leave,
even while thus he stands, as Sir John Moore lies under the walls of
Corunna--"alone in his glory"--surveying
"----The circling canopy
Of night's extended shade."
[1] The _Lobelia Cardinalis_, commonly called the _Indian
Eye-Bright_. It is a beautiful blossom, and is frequently met
with in this region. The writer has seen large clusters of it
blooming upon the margin of the "_Bloody Pond_," in this
neighborhood--so called from the circumstance, of the slain being
thrown into this pond, after the defeat of Baron Dieskau, by Sir
William Johnson. The ancients would have constructed a beautiful
legend from this incident, and sanctified the sanguinary flower.