great extent, chiefly through the medium of Canadian _voyageurs_.
The fort, which is kept in admirable order, commands the whole town,
but is itself commanded by another eminence in the woods behind it.
During the late war a strong party of British and Indians pushed
across from Drummond’s Island, with eleven pieces of cannon, and
being favoured by the darkness of the night, contrived to gain this
eminence, distant half-a-mile, without being perceived by the Americans
in the fort, who had not received notice of the war having broken
out. They beat the “reveillée” as usual in the morning, and were
exceedingly astonished to hear it immediately answered by the British,
who were above them. Resistance would have been useless, and the fort
surrendered. The remains of the old British fortification are still to
be seen upon the hill: it is called Fort Holmes, after Major Holmes,
a gallant American officer, who was advancing to retake it, and met
his fate at the head of the attacking column. Mackinac was given up to
the Americans by the treaty of Ghent, in 1814. There was originally a
French fort and settlement on the main land of the Michigan territory.
The first British garrison who occupied it were murdered by the
Indians, and the fort and settlement were afterwards removed by the
British to the island.
I amused myself with shooting pigeons, which are to be found on the
island in great numbers. I was quite surprised at the extraordinary
facility and quickness of eye, with which my guide, half Indian and
half Canadian, discovered them sitting in the thickest foliage; his
sight seemed to me to be far keener than that of an English sportsman
when looking for a hare. The woods with which the island is covered,
are principally composed of hazel and maple; I could have fancied
myself in a Kentish preserve, but that wild raspberries were in great
abundance in the open spaces.
In the evening I went to see the Indians spear fish by torch light.
A lighted roll of birch bark, emitting a most vivid flame, was held
over the head of the boat, where the Indians were stationed with their
spears. The water was excessively clear, and the fish were attracted by
the light, and several of them were instantly pinned to the ground at
the depth of four or five feet.
About ten miles north-east of Mackinac are the St. Martin’s islands;
one of them abounds in gypsum. At about the same distance from Mackinac
and on the main land, I was informed that there was a remarkably fine
trout stream that would amply repay the fly-fisher for his trouble in
going there. There is no fly fishing at Mackinac, but very fine fish
are to be taken with a bait: they have pike, bass, white-fish, and what
are called salmon-trout, in great perfection. As to these last, I very
much question whether they are of the salmo genus at all; as they never
rise at a fly. They certainly are not what are called salmon-trout by
English sportsmen, nor are they the large butt-trout of the English
lakes. I saw a boat-load containing a dozen that had been caught in one
night weighing from fifteen to twenty pounds each; they more resembled
in every respect the fish called the salmon in the Lake Wenner in
Sweden, and which I have seen taken of an enormous size below the
falls of Trollhätta. The meat at this season (August) was white, but
well flavoured. I was informed that it becomes of a reddish colour in
October or November.
Mackinac is an excellent market for Indian curiosities.
Our next destination was Green bay, on Lake Michigan. On our way we
passed several fine-looking islands,—all thickly covered with forests,
and apparently uninhabited. A fort and a flourishing settlement are
to be seen at Green bay; but there is nothing attractive about either,
and the country is very flat and uninteresting, except to a sportsman.
There are plenty of wild fowl to be found at Duck creek, about three
miles off, and I proceeded there in hopes of shooting some, but did not
fall in with them until it was too late to have much sport. However,
I chanced to meet an old Indian who had been more successful, and I
carried back to the steam-boat two silver ducks, which answered every
purpose, as no questions were asked. My guide had been enumerating to
me the different wild animals to be found in that part of the forest,
and I chanced to ask him, if foxes were plentiful; his answer was
amusing, “Yes, sir; there is considerable fox.” In the very darkest
part of the forest, about two and a half miles from the mouth of the
creek, was the residence of an Indian doctress and fortune-teller.
I landed there out of curiosity to have my fortune told; but her
manner, her language, and the substance of what she said, differed in
no respect from that of a common English gipsy woman. She shuffled a
dirty pack of cards, and told me of the fair lady and the dark lady,
the false friend and the true friend, the treasure to be found and the
journey to be taken, with the same chapter of accidents and unavoidable
dangers. I purchased some of her medical herbs: the principal plant was
sarsaparilla. I observed wild rice growing in great abundance on the
margin of the stream.
By passing up the river at Green bay, a traveller may proceed in canoes
down the Wiskansaw river to the head of the Mississippi, having only to
pass over one mile of terra firma; so that with this single exception,
the whole distance from Quebec to New Orleans may be travelled by water.
We left Green bay, and returned to Mackinac, and passed the day much
in the same manner as before. Our evening’s entertainment was rather
of a novel description. A Catholic priest, whom we had previously
left at Mackinac, and who was known to be an eloquent man, was going
to preach in the chapel, and accordingly many of us went to hear him:
he had come to the island for the sole purpose of holding a religious
controversy with some of the Presbyterian clergy. The expected meeting
did not however take place; and having been, or fancying himself to
have been very much wronged, he entered into a long explanation of
the whole affair. He read letters and papers, and commented upon them
in his robes from the altar; he made a long tirade, in which sarcasm
and ridicule were successively prominent, and wound up his speech more
suited to the bar than the pulpit, by accusing his adversary of telling
a “thumper.” Whether he was in the right or the wrong was little to the
purpose: in common, I believe, with every one that heard him, I thought
the whole proceeding was exceedingly disgraceful.
We now steered again for Fort Gratiot, and passed to Detroit and Lake
Erie. From Detroit to Buffalo it is three hundred and fifty miles.
We touched at several posts; and in short, after a voyage of one
thousand eight hundred and ten miles, performed in nineteen days,
we arrived at Buffalo, and fired a salute of twenty-four guns, one
for each state. The distances the steam-boat had passed over were as
follows. From Buffalo to Detroit, three hundred and fifty miles; to
Fort Gratiot, seventy-five; length of Lake Huron, two hundred and
twenty; from the mouth of the river St. Marie to the Saut, and back
to the Lake, one hundred miles; thence to Mackinac, forty miles; to
Green bay, one hundred and eighty; back to Mackinac, one hundred and
eighty more; thence to Fort Gratiot, two hundred and forty; to Detroit,
seventy-five; to Buffalo, three hundred and fifty; total, one thousand
eight hundred and ten miles. The voyage altogether had been very
pleasant, and the weather so favourable that quadrilles were danced
on deck almost every evening. On one night only, the surface of Lake
Huron was agitated by something like a squall, and the rolling of the
steam-boat was exceedingly disagreeable. I had nothing to complain
of, but the conceit and untameable insolence of the stewards; which
were remarked, and I have no doubt will be remembered, by many of the
warmest admirers of liberty and equality who were on board.
Buffalo is a large, thriving and cheerful town, containing about
fourteen thousand inhabitants. The principal street is spacious and
handsome, and of great length.
And now for Niagara, the diapason of fresh waters! An hour’s drive
brought me to the village of Black Rock, where the Niagara river is
about half a mile in breadth, and runs from the lake with a very
strong current. Opposite to Black Rock are the remains of Fort Erie,
unsuccessfully besieged by the British in 1814.
I proceeded along the side of the river. Its rapidity soon ceases, and
it presents a surface as still and as calm as that of a lake. A turn
of the road brought my voiture to a small inn, close to the field of
battle of Chippewa, fought during the last war. At this spot, which
by the road is about four miles distant, we were within hearing of the
deep hollow roar of the cataract, and first saw the spray that arose
from the gulph beneath. Both are sometimes perceptible at a far greater
distance. The moon was just rising, and threw a faint, pale light over
the river, which is here expanded to a breadth of several miles. There
was scarcely a ripple to be seen; the whole sheet of water was tranquil
and resigned: the stream appeared to cease flowing, while all nature,
hushed and breathless, listened with it to the distant thunders of the
cataract. This scene is continued for about a mile further, and thence
the tale is soon told. The bed of the river begins to slope, and the
agitation of the waters indicate the commencement of the rapids. The
mighty stream rushes forward with ungovernable violence—its confusion
and exasperation are increased every instant—it nears the brink of the
precipice in a state of frenzy—and bounds over it to its destiny of
mist and foam, in unexampled volume, and with terrific impetuosity.
This stupendous fall has been frequently and well described; and I do
but trespass on your patience in remarking, that it is divided into
three parts by two islands—a larger and a smaller one. Including these,
the bed of the river immediately above the fall is suddenly narrowed
to about three quarters of a mile. The fall of the rapids above,
commencing near the village of Chippawa, two miles from the brink of
the cataract, is estimated at ninety feet. On the American side, the
river is precipitated from a height of one hundred and sixty-four feet:
on the Canadian bank, the fall is about ten feet less; but contains by
far the greater quantity of water, the precipice having been worn into
the form of a vast crescent by the “green water,” (so called on account
of its brilliantly transparent colour when the sun shines on it), which
falls from the middle of the river in a solid mass, not less than five
or six feet in thickness, and is driven forwards with an impetus that
hurls it into the gulph below, at a distance of fifty feet from the
base of the rock.
The finest general view is, I think, to be obtained from the top of Mr.
Forsyth’s hotel (where, be it added, having just entered the British
dominions, we drank his Majesty’s health in a bumper, at the table
d’hôte), because the whole surrounding country and the rapids, which
of themselves are worth a long journey, are seen at the same time. The
bottom of the fall it is true is not visible; but I believe the view
will not be thought the less magnificent on that account, as it is
very possible from that spot to imagine the height of the fall to be
even greater than it really is. I may also be allowed to remark, that
I think the immediately surrounding scenery is sufficiently in keeping
with the grandeur of the cataract, although I am aware that many are of
a different opinion. The country is on the same level both above and
below the fall, as the river precipitates itself into a channel which
it has formed in the solid, but soft fetid limestone, and which, as is
usually contended, has been hollowed out by the receding cataract, all
the way from Lewistown, distant seven miles.
This fact has been sometimes doubted, but it would appear, without
much reason. It has been ascertained that an irregular ledge of rock
is extended between the lakes Erie and Ontario, at a varying distance
from either of them; sometimes piercing through the soil that covers
it, and in many places jutting out with salient and re-entering
angles, like an immense fortification; and it has been supposed that
the Niagara river has found its way into one of the ravines formed
between them, which has thus become the bed of the river, towards lake
Ontario. This theory, however, is very much weakened, if not entirely
overthrown, by the observations of our countryman, Lieutenant Owen,
who, when employed on the government surveys in the years 1815, 16, 17
and 18, contrived to force his boat nearer to the foot of the falls
than any person had ever done, and ascertained by repeated soundings,
that the nearly constant depth of the river from Lewistown to the
falls, was about two hundred feet, excepting in limited spaces, where
it did not exceed forty-five feet. These spaces or points he conceived
to be composed of granite “in situ,” or of some other rock, which
being harder than the soft lime-stone of which the bed of the river is
generally composed, had offered a proportionably greater resistance to
the regular action of the falling element.
Having first stripped off my clothes, and enveloped myself in an
oilskin dress, I followed a guide, who conducted me under the fall.
This is a service of some danger, as a single false step in some
places might prove fatal. As we crept along the side of the rock we
encountered a most furious gust of wind, that increased in violence
till we were fairly behind the sheet of water, and arrived at what
is called the Termination Rock. Here we remained for a few minutes,
gasping for breath, stunned with the noise, and drenched with a shower
of spray. If I wished to speak I was obliged to put my mouth close to
the ear of the guide, and to raise my voice to the utmost; and it was
with the greatest difficulty that I could look upwards for a moment,
and glance at the tumbling element, as it rushed over the edge of the
rock that towered high above our heads, and then fell into the abyss
within arm’s length of us, with the rapidity of lightning.
About half-a-mile below the fall, the river is crossed in a ferry-boat.
On the American side a wooden bridge of admirable construction conducts
the visiter to Goat Island, the larger of the two which divides the
fall. A walk of a few minutes will lead him to another bridge, thrown
from rock to rock, till it actually overhangs the edge of the principal
part of the cataract. I am fully persuaded, that when any one who has
seen the fall from this spot asserts that he is disappointed, it is
but a proof of insufferable affectation, or what Johnson would call
“stark insensibility.” It is possible, that some flat-souled Dutchman,
who would think of nothing but how he might turn the course of the
river by a dam; or some passionless manufacturing Yankee, who would
“guess it to be a pity that such an all-mighty water power should
remain unemployed,” might regard the scene, when viewed from any other
point, and remain unmoved by its grandeur; but it is next to impossible
to look upon it from this bridge, and not be affected with something
like awe and astonishment. Let the atheist—and, if he will, with wine
and warmth in his bosom—repair to this spot, as is usual, by moonlight,
when one-half of the cataract is in shade, and the other glistening
with more than snowy whiteness,—he may there gaze in security, and
enjoy the _sublime without terror_; but should one thought of
annihilation trouble him—should he covet the pinion of the bald eagle
as he fearlessly glides over the abyss, or envy the finned tribe that
can live and revel in the boiling gulf beneath—let him reflect, that
his reason is with him, the undoubted substitute for these physical
advantages; his reason, alike the promoter of his happiness and the
medium of his misery. Then, turning to a more tranquil scene, let
him gaze on the silvery spirit-like beauties of the lunar rainbow;
let him observe the worlds upon worlds that throng the heavens above
him, declaring the existence of their Creator as they roll onward in
eternal obedience to his will, but in silent amazement at his meaning;
and let him ask why his reason should be, as it were, so tantalized by
his senses. Had no lesson been intended, the firmament might as well
have been placed far beyond the reach of mortal sight, and perhaps the
little he can see and know of it may teach him to believe in, and hope
for, another and happier home, by proving to him, at once, how much
must be withheld from him, and how much must remain to be enjoyed.
I am not aware whether the experiment has ever been tried, but I should
conceive that the effect of a Bengal light sent up from this bridge, on
a dark stormy winter’s night, would be exceedingly fine.
At about two miles below the fall, the river again becomes a torrent. I
proceeded along the edge of the chasm through which it rages, in order
to visit “the Whirlpool,” whose deep and gloomy appearance well repaid
me for a very hot walk.
I procured a hack, and rode to the abyss in the side of the river,
known by the appellation of the “Devil’s Hole.” I followed a party who
had descended the ladders before me; we all, as I learned afterwards,
took a wrong path to the right, which soon conducted us to the edge of
a small but impassable precipice, and under the impression that we had
seen all that was worth seeing, we re-ascended the ladders and returned
to Niagara, after having enjoyed a very fine view of the river from the
bold flattened rock, that is projected on the left hand.
The road by which I passed down the Canadian side of the river, for
the purpose of joining the steam-boat on Lake Ontario, at but a very
short distance from Niagara, lies over the field of the murderous and
severely contested battle of Bridgewater, or Lundy’s Lane, which was
fought on the night of the 25th of July, 1814, and terminated without
much advantage to either party. A few miles further on, to the left,
is a heavy-looking pillar, erected to the memory of General Brock, who
was killed early in the battle of Queenston, October 13, 1812, in which
the Americans were forced to repass the river with great loss, whilst
several thousands of their militia were idly looking on from the other
bank.
Near the mouth of the river, on the Canadian side, is Fort George;
on the American bank stands Fort Niagara, in which the notorious
William Morgan, who wrote a book, in which, as I have before remarked,
he revealed the secrets of freemasonry, was confined under false
pretences, previously to his being murdered by some fanatic masons, and
afterwards, as it is supposed, pitched into the lake, or the Niagara
river.
I am afraid I shall be excommunicated by my American readers, as I
visited neither the Erie nor the Welland Canals; not even the Locks at
Lockport, or the Deep Cut, or the Mountain Ridge. The Welland canal,
however, is unquestionably a great national work, and reflects much
credit upon the spirited individuals by whom it was undertaken; by
its means, the obstacles presented to navigation by the falls of the
Niagara, have been effectually overcome, and a communication opened
between the lakes Erie and Ontario.
Ontario is one of the deepest of the lakes; its mean depth being about
six hundred feet. It has been ascertained that the bottom of lake Erie,
which is two hundred and seventy miles in length, is six feet higher
than the surface of lake Ontario. The distance between the two lakes is
thirty-five miles, in which space the river Niagara is supposed to fall
about three hundred feet, which is therefore the depth of lake Erie.
I embarked in a splendid steam-boat, “the Great Britain,” proceeding to
Kingston, at the other end of the lake. I could not but remark, that
although a finer vessel, her table was by no means so well supplied as
that of the American boat in which I had made my excursion to the great
lakes.
During the short time we remained at Kingston we were entertained by
the band of the 66th, which gave us the national airs of England and
America in the finest style: the principal British naval establishment
and dockyard on the lakes, is at Kingston. I observed two first-raters
and a large frigate on the stocks. The St. Lawrence, of one hundred
and twenty guns, which made one cruise at the end of the last war, was
rotten, and half sunk in the water. There were several smaller vessels
in ordinary, but those on the stocks are not to be proceeded with,
according to the stipulations of the treaty of Ghent.
Immediately afterwards, we entered the thousand “islands,” extending
for sixty miles up the river St. Lawrence. There are in fact, twelve
hundred of them, and although certainly very picturesque, are without
variety, and much resemble those on the lakes, being flat and thickly
covered with trees. Their number is not of course perceived, as they
lie so closely together along the side of the channel that they appear
more like points or promontories from the main shore.
I quitted the steamer at Cornwall, and entered a large boat with a
number of ladies and gentlemen who, like myself, wished to descend the
rapids. In our way to Montreal we were obliged to change our mode of
travelling by land and water, no less than four times in one day. The
river above Montreal is full of rapids. The most formidable of these
are called the Long Saut and the rapids of the Cedars. We passed down
two or three of minor consideration, and then commenced the descent
of the “Long Saut.” Our boat was carried along at a great rate for
several miles, and soon approached the only part that can be considered
dangerous, where the river was running with appalling violence. The
waves as soon as they are formed, do not subside and then swell up
again at regular distances, but dart furiously onward, racing and
crowding upon each other in a most extraordinary confusion of spray
and foam, that rises to a height of four or five feet, and splashes
over the sides of the boat, to the great discomfiture of the ladies’
dresses, and the very serious looks of the gentlemen. The boatmen
directed our attention to the rapids of the “Lost Channel” on our left,
from which we were divided by an island. They are far more dangerous
than those we were passing, and at a distance of half-a-mile, we could
see that the river was most terribly agitated. The “Lost Channel”
receives its name from the number of persons that have perished there.
In the old French war, three hundred British troops were lost in the
torrent; the first boat took the wrong channel, the others followed,
and all went to pieces. The floating bodies first intimated to a French
garrison on the river below, the surprise that had been intended for
them. The boatmen are of course usually experienced persons, and if
sober there is no danger; but it is not always that they are so. At one
place our tipsy pilots allowed the boat to swing across the stream:
fortunately the worst of the rapids were passed, or an accident might
have occurred. Both the Long Saut and those of the Cedars which we saw
from the road, are certainly more boisterous than those at the Saut de
St. Marie, on account of the greater body of water in the St. Lawrence,
but the descent at the latter is more rapid as the fall is far more
precipitate in proportion to its length.