Cataracts or falls are formed by the descent of rivers over rocks, from
a higher to a lower level. That of Niagara, is situated on the river
Niagara, between Canada and the United States, which takes its rise in
the eastern extremity of Lake Erie, and, after flowing for thirty-five
miles, empties itself into Lake Ontario. Its breadth is nine hundred
feet, and its depth very considerable; but its current is so exceedingly
strong and irregular, and its channel so frequently interspersed with
rocks, that it is navigable for small boats only. Proceeding lower, the
stream widens, and the rocks gradually recede from the view, and the
current though strong, is smooth and regular. At Fort Chippewa, however,
situated one league above the cataracts, the scene is again changed, and
the river so agitated, that a boat would be inevitably dashed in pieces,
were it permitted to pass Fort Niagara, situated on its bank. So
impetuously do the waves break among the rocks, that the mere sight of
them, from the adjacent shore, is sufficient to strike terror in the
spectator. As it approaches the falls, the stream rushes along, with
redoubled fury, until it reaches the edge of the stupendous precipice,
when it tumbles suddenly to the bottom, without meeting with any
obstruction in its descent. Precisely at this place, the river strikes
off to the right, and the line of cataracts winds obliquely across,
instead of extending, in the shortest direction, from the one bank to
the other. It ought to be observed, that the water does not precipitate
itself down the vast abyss in one entire sheet, but, being separated by
islands, forms three distinct, collateral falls.
One of these is called the great or Horseshoe fall, from the similarity
of its form to that of a horseshoe. It is situated on the north-west
extremity of the river, and is most deserving of the attention of the
spectator, as probably seven-eighths of the water passes over it, and as
its grandeur is evidently superior to that of the adjacent cataracts,
although its hight may be somewhat less. As the extent of this fall can
be ascertained by the eye only, it is impossible precisely to describe
its limits; but its circumference is generally computed at eighteen
hundred feet, somewhat more than one-third of a mile. Beyond the
intervening island, the width of which may be equal to one thousand and
fifty feet, is the second fall, about fifteen feet wide; and at the
distance of ninety feet, occupied by the second island, is the third
fall, the dimensions of which may be reckoned equal to those of the
large island; so that the entire extent of the precipice, including the
intermediate islands, is four thousand and five feet; a computation
which certainly does not exceed the truth. The quantity of water
precipitated from the falls is prodigious, and it has been estimated,
amounts to _six hundred and seventy thousand, two hundred and fifty tuns
per minute_.
From the eminence entitled the Table rock, the spectator has a fine
prospect of the terrific rapids above the falls, and of the surrounding
shores, embellished with lofty woods. He there sees to advantage the
adjacent Horseshoe fall, and the dread abyss, into which he may look
perpendicularly from the edge of the rock, if his courage be equal to
his curiosity. The immensity of the various objects which here present
themselves to the view, infallibly overwhelms a stranger with
astonishment, and several minutes must elapse before he can possibly
collect himself sufficiently to form any just conception of the awful
and magnificent scene before him, which requires that all its component
parts should be separately examined, and which affords so truly
surprising an exhibition, that persons who have resided in its vicinity
for several years, and who have been constantly habituated to its
sublimity, ingenuously acknowledge, _at their last visit_, that they
were never able before to discover its peculiar grandeur.
From a cliff nearly opposite to one extremity of the third fall, the
falls are seen in a very interesting point of view: the scenery there,
it is true, is less magnificent, but is infinitely more beautiful than
from any other station. For several miles beneath the precipice the
river is bounded, on either side, by steep and lofty cliffs, composed of
earth and rocks, which in most parts are perpendicular. The descent to
the bottom of the falls was formerly accomplished by two ladders, formed
of long pine trees, with notches on their sides, on which the traveler
rested his feet, and passed down amidst a variety of huge misshapen
rocks and pendant trees, seeming to threaten him with instantaneous
destruction. The breadth of the river in this part is about two
furlongs; and toward the right, on the opposite side, the third fall
appears in a very advantageous point of view. About one-half of the
Horse-shoe fall is concealed by the projecting cliff, but its partial
prospect is extremely fine. The bottom of the former of these falls is
skirted with a beautiful white foam, which ascends from the rock in
thick volumes, but does not rise into the air like a cloud of smoke, as
is the case with that of the latter fall, although its spray is so
considerable, as to descend like a shower of rain, near the second
ladder, on the opposite side of the river. On its brink, and along the
strand, to the great fall, are to be constantly seen shattered trees and
bodies of animals, which have been carried away by the extreme violence
of the current.
The color of the water of the cataracts, as it descends perpendicularly
on the rocks, is occasionally a dark green, and sometimes a foaming,
brilliant white, displaying a thousand elegant variations, according to
the state of the atmosphere, the hight of the sun, or the force of the
wind. A portion of the spray, resulting from the falls, frequently
towers above the hight, and literally mingles with the clouds: while the
remainder, broken in its descent by fragments of rocks, is in continual
agitation. The noise, irregularity, and rapid descent of the stream,
continue about eight miles further; and the river is not sufficiently
calm to admit of navigation, till it reaches Queenstown, on the west
side of the river, and nine miles from the falls.
A late tourist has given us a more recent and fresh view of this
wonderful cataract, which will aid us more fully to understand its
various aspects as taken from different points of observation. “From the
bank just below the ‘Clifton House,’ he says, “is perhaps the finest
panoramic view of the falls. The general outline bears a resemblance to
the shape of a human ear; the great Horseshoe fall [which is represented
on the right hand of the cut below] constituting the upper lobe, while
Goat island and the American fall [as seen on the left] represent the
remaining portion. The river, whose general course has been east and
west, makes a sharp turn to the right just at the point where the fall
now is. Its breadth is here contracted from three-fourths of a mile to
less than one-fourth. The Horseshoe fall only occupies the head of the
chasm, while the American cataract falls over its side; so that this
fall and a part of the Horseshoe lie directly parallel with the Canada
shore, and its whole extent can be taken in at a single glance. It is
this oneness of aspect which renders the prospect from this side so much
the more impressive for a first view of Niagara. It gives a strong,
sharp outline which may afterward be filled up at leisure.
[Illustration: NIAGARA FALLS.]
“The most complete view of the Horseshoe fall is that from the bottom of
the cliff, at a point near the ferry landing. If, however, the water is
unusually high, the quiet pool which is ordinarily seen in the
foreground, becomes a fierce and angry rush of waters, foaming above and
around the jagged rocks. If the water is very low, the bed of this pool
is entirely dry. Last year [1852] there were but few days when the whole
spot was not overflowed. The current nearest the Canada shore runs
up-stream, as though seeking an outlet in the direction from which it
came. The middle distance is marked by a line of white foam, beyond
which the current runs downstream. The center of the Horse-shoe fall is
directly in front, defined on the right by the verge of Table Rock, and
on the left by the upper extremity of Goat island. Just below the tower
which seems to rise from the midst of the waters on the American side,
an immense mass of rock is dimly visible, which became detached from the
precipice in February, 1852.
“A very charming glimpse of that portion of the fall directly in front
of the tower, may be caught through a clump of trees which stand a
little above the ferry landing. The limitation of view hightens the
effect, when contrasted with the unlimited prospect of the fall
presented from almost every other point on the Canada side.
“It is no very difficult task for a stout pedestrian to make his way
along under the edge of the precipice from the ferry up to the foot of
the fall. The path winds among huge fragments of rock which have tumbled
from above, and is slippery with the falling spray. You stop to rest
upon a huge rock, where a couple of rough-coated men are fishing. They
tell you that it is named ‘Bass rock,’ and you recognize the propriety
of the appellation, as you observe the finny spoil that has repaid their
labor. The water rushes foaming and eddying around the fragments of
rock, sometimes rising in great swells to the spot on which you stand.
Fragments of timber, their ends rounded and worn like pebbles on a
wave-beaten shore, are scattered around: some groaning and tossing in
the water, others stranded high and dry upon the rocks, where they have
been flung by some swell higher than usual. You are so near the foot of
the fall that the descending sheet of water occupies the entire field of
vision: the immense rock which interposes between Bass rock and the
descending water has as yet received no distinctive name.
“The path now begins to ascend the sloping bank, winding around huge
bowlders, and among gay shrubs which the perpetual spray nourishes in
luxuriant greenness, wherever there is a resting-place for a patch of
soil. At last you reach the dilapidated staircase which descends the
perpendicular face of the cliff, and clambering around its base upon a
rotten and slimy plank, you find yourself below the overhanging mass of
Table Rock. You are close at the edge of the falling water, which
descends in a mass apparently as solid as though carved from marble. You
now begin to comprehend the hight of the fall. It makes you dizzy to
look up to the upper edge of the rushing column. You stand just midway
between the top and the bottom. Above you hangs the imminent mass of
Table Rock; below, far down by the wet and jagged rocks, is the seething
whirlpool, where the water writhes and eddies as though frenzied with
its fearful leap. Round and round it goes in solemn gyrations, bearing
with it whatever floating object may have been plunged into its vortex.
“A year ago this very month of August, a young woman walked in the cool
gray morning down to the brink of the cliff and flung herself into the
whirlpool below. So resolute was the leap, that she shot clear of the
jagged rocks at the base, and plunged sheer into the water beyond. When
the visitors came sauntering down to the fall, her body was seen
whirling round and round in the mad eddies, now submerged for an
instant, and then leaping up, as though imploring aid. A day or two
afterward, I was one of a group to whom a rough-looking man was
describing the scene. He told how he and two others had descended amid
the blinding spray close to the foot of the fall. A rope was then
fastened to his body, which was held fast from above by the others,
while he groped his misty way down to the very edge of the waters, where
he waited till they whirled the corpse close inshore. He then darted a
spear with a spring-barb into the body, but the force of the current
tore out the hold, and it drifted away. Again it came within reach, and
again the hold of the spear was too weak to overcome the force of the
current. A third time the body approached, and the spear was darted.
This time it caught among the strong muscles of the thigh, and held, so
that the body was drawn to shore. The narrator was a rough man, roughly
clad, and told his story roughly; but there was in his voice a low
thrill of horror as he told how he was obliged to cut the spear-head out
of the flesh with his knife, before the weapon could be extracted: ‘It
was too bad,’ said he; ‘but it couldn’t be helped.’ And it was with
unconscious pathos that he told how they stripped off their own rough
garments, and tenderly covered the poor maimed and mutilated body before
they bore it up the bank. It was a commentary, wrought out into
practice, upon Hood’s immortal ‘Bridge of Sighs.’
“With the exception of the fall itself, the Canada side presents little
of interest. The brink of the gorge is bare and naked, the trees which
once clothed it having been cut away. The regular drive seems to be up
to the Burning Spring, and thence back by way of Drummondville and
Lundy’s Lane. At the Burning Spring you register your name, pay your
fee, and are introduced into a small apartment, in the floor of which is
a spring in constant ebullition from the escape of an inflammable gas.
The flaxen-pated children of the show-woman place a receiver over the
spring, and set fire to the gas, as it comes out of the jet; they then
remove the receiver, and light the gas as it rises to the surface of the
water; and that is all. You take your departure, looking vastly edified;
while the driver thrusts his tongue into his cheek, as though he were
mentally quoting a certain proverb touching ‘a fool and his money.’
[Illustration: Niagara Falls on the American side]
“In the early morning you commit yourself to the little boat in which
you are to be ferried over to the American shore. Your half-felt
misgivings are dissipated as you see the dexterous manner with which the
brawny boatman handles his oars, and takes advantage of the ‘up-eddy’
and ‘down-eddy;’ and in a few minutes you are landed close at the foot
of the American fall. Half-way up the ferry-stairs is an opening which
gives access to a path along the foot of the perpendicular precipice to
the verge of the falling water. From this point in the early morning,
may be gained one of the most picturesque views of Niagara. Your
position gives a fine view of the fall on the American side, as seen in
the cut; the hight of which forms a standard by which you measure that
of the Horseshoe fall, which stretches away in the distant perspective.
Completing the ascent of the ferry-stairway, you reach Prospect point,
at its head, from whence the same general view is gained, from a more
elevated point. It is hard to say whether the view from above or below
is the finer. The latter brings more into notice the hight of the
falling column of water, thus gaining an additional element of grandeur,
while the latter embraces a view of the wooded islands above the fall,
adding greatly to the picturesque effect. The precise point from which
the artist has taken this sketch is not now attainable. It was a
projecting shelf of rock, a few feet below the precipice, which has been
cut away to make room for the terribly unpicturesque, but most
convenient stairway.
“This was apparently the point from which honest Father Hennepin, who
has left us the earliest written account of Niagara, gazed upon that
‘prodigious Cadence of Waters, which falls down after a surprising and
astonishing Manner, insomuch that the Universe can not afford its
parallel.’ ‘The Waters,’ goes on the quaint narrative, ‘which fall from
this horrible Precipice, do foam and boyle after the most hideous Manner
imaginable, making an outrageous Noise more terrible than that of
Thunder.’ The good Jesuit would seem to have been deeply moved by this
‘dismal Roaring;’ for in the curious picture which he gives of the
falls, he represents the spectators holding their hands to their ears to
shut out the din; and he hints that the Indians were forced to abandon
the neighborhood of the falls, lest they should become deafened by the
uproar. But the good father must have heard the ‘horrid Noise of the
Falls,’ as he elsewhere calls it, with the imagination rather than with
the ear. You hardly notice it as you loiter along the brink, except when
some sudden atmospheric change varies its deep and solemn monotone. The
sound is like the continuous and pervading murmur of the wind through a
forest of somber pines. You are not forced to raise your voice in
conversing with a friend by whose side you loiter along the brink of the
fall, toward the bridge which gives you access to the wooded islands
that beckon you on.
“Nothing can exceed the picturesque beauty of the small wooded islands
which stud the rapids upon the American side. Two of rare beauty, known
as Ship and Brig islands, stem the current a little above the bridge
which connects Goat island with the shore. It needs but little effort of
the imagination to fancy them vessels under full press of sail,
endeavoring to sheer out of the current that hurries them inevitably
down. The former of these islands is accessible by a bridge which
connects it with Bath island, and is one of the loveliest spots
imaginable. The old cedars, whose gnarled and contorted trunks overhang
the waters, dipping their branches into the current, seem to cling with
desperate clutch to the rocks, as though fearful of losing their hold
and being swept away.
“From the bridge leading to Goat island, the rapids present that same
appearance of plunging from the sky which renders their view from the
Canadian shore so impressive. Goat island—so let it still be called, in
spite of the foppery which has lately attempted to change its name to
Iris island—presents an aspect almost as wild as it did before it had
been rendered accessible to human foot. Were it not for the path which
girdles its entire circumference, and the rustic seats disposed here and
there, one might fancy that he was the first who had ever sauntered
through its grand and stately woods. The beauty and variety of the trees
on this island are wonderful. There is the maple, greeting the early
spring sunshine with its fire-tipped buds; spreading out in summer its
broad dome of dark green leaves in masses so thick, that beneath them
you have no fear of the passing shower; and in autumn wearing its
gorgeous crimson robe like an oriental monarch. The beech shows its
dappled trunk and bright green foliage at every point, giving perpetual
life and vivacity to the scene. The silvery trunks of the white birch
gleam among the underwood. An occasional aspen, with its ever-quivering
leaves, which almost shed a sense of breezy coolness in the stillest,
sultriest day, contrasts finely with the dark evergreens by which it is
relieved. Almost all of our northern fauna have their representatives
here. Even upon the little Ship island, which can be crossed in any
direction in a dozen strides, and which appears to a hasty view but a
mass of twisted and gnarled cedars, there are at least seven distinct
species of trees. Those trees, however, which immediately overhang the
falls, have an aspect peculiar to themselves. They are bent, broken,
twisted and contorted, in every direction. They seem to be starting back
in horror from the abyss before them, and to wind their long finger-like
roots around the rocks, in order to maintain their hold.
“One of these, an aged birch, growing upon the ridge known as the ‘Hog’s
Back,’ affords a resting-place from which to gain one of the finest
views of the American falls. Right in front is the small central fall,
and the footbridge which leads to Luna island, with its trees dwarfed
and stunted by the weight of frozen spray which loads them in the
winter. Beyond is the serrated line of the American fall; while the
distance is filled up with the receding lines of the banks of the river
below.
“A few paces—past groups of blithe tourists, past companies of somber
Indian girls in blue blankets and high-crowned hats, with their gay
wares spread out at their feet—brings you to the Biddle staircase, down
which you wind to the foot of the precipice. The path to the left leads
along the foot of the overhanging cliff, up to the verge of the
Horseshoe fall, only a portion of whose circumference is visible from
any point on the American shore. You are here close upon the fragments
of rock that fell from just in front of the tower, in February, 1852,
the latest of those changes which are slowly and almost imperceptibly
altering the form and position of the falls. This fall of rock was seen
by an artist who has given us a faithful picture of its effects. He was
just recovering from an illness, and while sitting in his room at the
Clifton House, on the opposite Canadian shore, he was startled by a
crash, almost like that of an earthquake. Tottering to the window, he
beheld the immense curtain of rock in front of the tower precipitated
from its ancient hold, and lying in huge masses upon the ice below;
while a few streams of water trickled down the brown cliff, where but a
moment before nothing had been seen but a surface of dazzling ice. The
water at this extremity of the fall descends in light feathery forms,
contrasting finely with the solid masses in which it seems to plunge
down the center of the sweeping curve. The tower is perched upon the
very brink of the precipice, so close that the next fall of rock must
carry it along with it. The path to the right from the foot of the
staircase, leads to the entrance to the Cave of the Winds, which lies
behind the central fall. It is hard to imagine how this cavern missed
being called the ‘Cave of Æolus,’ by those classicists who have
exhausted ancient mythology for appellations for our American scenery.
But it has escaped this infliction; and the ‘Cave of the Winds,’ it is,
and will be. From the little house close by the entrance, where the
requisite changes of dress are made, you look down into an abyss of cold
gray mist, driven ever and anon like showers of hail into your face, as
you grope your way down the rocky slope. Haste not, pause not. Here is
the platform, half-seen, half-felt amid the blinding spray. Shade of
Father Hennepin, this is truly a ‘dismal roaring’ of wind and water. We
are across, and stand secure on the smooth, shaly bottom of the cave.
Look up: what a magnificent arch is formed by the solid rock on the one
side, and the descending mass of water on the other. Which is the
solider and firmer you hardly know. Yet look again—for it is sunset—and
see what we shall see nowhere else on earth, three rainbows one within
another; not half-formed and incomplete, as is the scheme of our daily
life, but filling up the complete circle, perfect and absolute.
“Upon an isolated rock at the very brink of the cataract stands a round
tower. It is approached by a long, narrow bridge, resting now upon
ledges of solid rock, and now upon loose bowlders. From the balcony upon
its summit, you can lean far over the edge of the precipice, and there
catch the freshness of the cloud of spray that rises evermore from the
unseen foot of the great fall. Or you can climb down the low rock upon
which the tower stands, and gather shells and pebbles from within arm’s
length of the verge of the descent, so gentle, to all appearance, is the
current. But be not over-bold. These waters, apparently so gentle, sweep
down with a force beyond your power to stem. Not many months ago, a man
fell from the bridge into their smooth flow, and was in the twinkling of
an eye swept to the brink of the descent. Here he lodged against one of
those rocks that lie apparently tottering upon the brow, looking over
the fearful descent, with as little power to retrace his course, as he
would have had to reascend the perpendicular fall. A rope was floated
down to him, which he had just strength to fasten around his body, and
he was drawn up from his perilous position.
“It is usual to speak of the Horseshoe fall as Canadian; and our rather
slow neighbors across the river have been wont to plume themselves upon
the possession of the more magnificent part of Niagara; while Young
America has been heard to mutter between his teeth something about
‘annexation,’ on the ground that the lesser nation has no fair claim to
the possession of the major part of the crowning wonder of the
continent. But the portion of Niagara belonging to Canada is hardly
worth contending for. The boundary line between the two countries is the
deepest water, which runs far over toward the Canadian shore. The line
passes through the lonely little isle in the center of the river, which
has never been trodden by human foot. Right through the very center of
the Horseshoe fall, where the water is greenest, cutting the thickest
pillar of spray, through the inmost convolution of the whirlpool,
through the calmest part of the quiet reach of water above the
suspension bridge, through the maddest work of the rapids below, goes
the boundary line, leaving to Canada nothing of Niagara except Table
Rock, which yearly threatens to fall, and the half of the great fall:
while to America it gives, together with full one-half of the Horseshoe
fall, the varying beauties of the lesser cataracts, and the whole wealth
of the lovely islands which gem the rapids.
“The general form of the falls is slowly changing from age to age. When
Father Hennepin saw them, a century and three-quarters ago, they
presented little of that curved and indented outline which now forms
their most striking peculiarity. The fall on the western side extended
in nearly a straight line from the head of Goat island to Table Rock,
which terminated in a bluff that turned a portion of the water from its
direct course, forming another cataract which fell to the east. A
century later, this projecting rock had disappeared, but the spot which
it had occupied was distinctly traceable. From the character of the
strata through which the water has slowly worn its way back from the
shores of Lake Ontario, we learn what must have been the appearances of
the fall at any period of its history. Thus it can never have overcome
the descent of three hundred and fifty feet at Lewiston at a single
leap, but must have formed at least three cataracts separated by
intervening rapids. When the falls occupied the position of the
whirlpool, three miles below their present site, the descent was
evidently greater than at any period before or since. But there never
can have been a period when their beauty equaled that which they present
at the present age. The immense breadth of the sheet of falling water,
its graceful sweep of curves, and the picturesque islands that stud the
brink, belong solely to our present Niagara. The falls recede at
present, we are told, at the rate of something less than a foot in a
year. Geology is able to predict that when a recession of a mile has
taken place, some five or six thousand years hence, the hight of the
fall will be reduced by a score of feet. Another five thousand years
will subtract two score more of feet. Ten thousand years more, when the
fall shall have worn its way four miles further back, all that
constitutes Niagara will have disappeared, and the whole descent will be
accomplished by a series of rapids like those near the whirlpool.
“It is strange how little of direct human interest is connected with
Niagara. One would have supposed that it would have been a sacred spot
with the Indians; but, with the exception of a few graves on the upper
extremity of Goat island, no special memorial of the aborigines exists
here. The falls have been known to the white race for too short a time
to gather around them legendary associations. One or two points are
associated with the memory of a young Englishman who, something like a
score of years ago, set up as the ‘Hermit of the Falls.’ A picturesque
little break in the rapids between Goat island and one of the rocky
islets known as the Three Sisters, has been named from him the ‘Hermit’s
cascade.’ It is a lovely spot, by the side of which one may lie under
the overarching trees, and while away the noontide hour, lulled into
dreamy slumber by the deep voice of the cataract. This hermit seems
hardly worthy of being made the hero of the falls. Little is told of him
except that he was fond of music and of pacing by night along the margin
of the river; that he was alike indisposed for human society and for
clean linen. It is said, indeed, that he was accustomed to record his
musings in Latin, but as no fragments of these were discovered after his
death, we may set the story down as apocryphal. A deeper tragic interest
is attached to a tale, now some three years old, which will be told you
as you stand by the margin of the lesser fall. A party of visitors stood
here, in gay discourse. Among them were a young man and his affianced
bride, and with them a laughing child. The young man, catching up the
child, said sportively to her, ‘Now I shall throw you over;’ when she,
gliding from his hold in affright, half real and half feigned, slipped,
and falling, plunged headlong into the stream; he sprang after, but the
current was stronger than his strength, and swept them both down the
smooth slope, and over the fall. Their bodies, mangled and bruised, were
recovered from the rocks below.
“The pedestrian can hardly find a pleasanter summer day’s ramble, than
that along the river to Lewiston, descending on the American side, and
returning by the opposite bank. For a mile below the falls, where the
channel is narrowest, the current is so smooth, that one might fancy he
was gazing down into some quiet tarn embosomed in the mountains, were it
not that you catch the white margin of the lower rapids just where the
suspension bridge stretches its slender line from the summits of the
opposing cliffs.”
This bridge, a view of which is given in the cut below, is about two and
a half miles below the falls, and spans the river near the head of the
rapids, above the whirlpool. From pier to pier it is eight hundred feet
long, and in breadth eight feet. It is suspended on eight wire cables,
four on each side, which pass over towers fifty-four feet high, built of
heavy timber. The present structure is only the scaffolding for
constructing a larger bridge, intended for the passage of railroad cars.
The towers for the large bridge will be of solid masonry, each eighty
feet high. Each of the cables is eleven hundred feet long, and composed
of seventy-two strong, No. 10 iron wires, closely wrapped round with
small wire three times boiled in linseed oil, which anneals it, and
prevents injury from rust or exposure to the weather. The cables, after
passing over the piers on the banks, are fast anchored in solid masonry
fifty feet back of them. The _suspenders_, which form the sides, are
composed of eight wires each, and are four and a half feet apart. The
bridge itself is two hundred feet above the water, and is a wonder alike
of enterprise and art.
[Illustration: Suspension Bridge over Niagara River]
Our tourist proceeds as follows. “In the quiet reach of the water below
this bridge, plies the little steamer, the Maid of the Mist. After
passing the ugly, bustling little village growing up around the American
extremity of the bridge, a path leads through quiet fields and woods
along the very verge of the precipice. Here and there some tree growing
upon the brink forms a safe balustrade over which you lean, and look
down upon the green water dashing furiously through its confined channel
far below.
“The whirlpool, three miles below the falls, is an adjunct worthy of
Niagara. The stream makes a sharp bend just where the channel is
narrowest and the descent of the rapids the steepest. At the angle the
current has scooped out an immense basin, around whose whole
circumference the water circles before it can find an outlet. All
floating bodies that pass down the river are drawn into the whirlpool,
where they are borne round and round for days, and weeks sometimes, it
is said, before they make their escape. A practicable path winds down
the bank to the water’s edge. The character of the banks gradually
changes as we descend toward the outlet of the river. The hard limestone
overlying the softer rock, and forming the perpendicular portion of the
cliff, becomes thinner; the sloping talus at the foot grows higher, and
the rocks are clothed with a luxurious forest growth. A half mile below
the whirlpool is a deep cleft in the precipitous bank, which is
connected with a wild Indian legend ascribing terrible convulsions of
nature, and even the approach of the fatal white men, to an unauthorized
violation of the privacy of a great demon who once abode here. This was
the scene of a terrible tragedy in the old French wars. A convoy of
British soldiers fell into an ambush of Indians at this point, and were
all, with the exception of two, slain outright or driven over the edge
of the chasm. The little rivulet which flows over the brink, ran red
with the blood of the slaughtered, and thus gained the name, which it
still bears, of the Bloody Run.
“Close by the Devil’s Hole, the railroad now in course of construction
from Lewiston to the falls, gains the level of the top of the bank. From
this point downward, it is excavated in the face of the cliff, forming a
steep grade to its bottom. An almost continuous line of shanties,
occupied by the laborers engaged in the excavation, extends along the
very verge of the precipice. It was curious, as I passed along in the
early April days, to see children whom we should scarcely trust out of
the nurse’s arms, sprawling upon the very verge of the cliff. The
laborers are apparently all Irish, and it is noteworthy to see how much
more intelligent is the aspect of the younger than of the older
children. I thought I could distinguish by their mere physical
appearance, those who were born under the freer and happier auspices
which surround them here. At the foot of the cliff the suspension bridge
stretches like a slender thread across the stream, its supporting towers
resting on a ledge above the level of the roadway. No line of guards
watches the quiet frontiers of two great nations. The sole police is a
small boy at the gate, and the only passport demanded is a shilling for
toll. You climb the smooth slope to the summit, where the shattered
monument to the noble Brock is the only memorial of the day when the
thrice-won victory was at last wrenched from the hands of the Americans.
A flock of sheep are cropping the tender herbage; a couple of lambs have
found a shady resting-place in the crumbling archway of the monument. To
the right the white village of Lewiston presents an aspect of bustling
activity; while to the left, on the opposite Canadian shore, Queenstown
rests gray and somber. At your feet, just below the dilapidated memorial
of war, the bridge, symbol of union, binds the two shores: may it never
be a pathway for the march of hostile armies!
“There are two or three things in the way of excursion which must sooner
or later be performed. Some bright afternoon, when the west is all
aglow, as you sit upon Table Rock, watching the clouds of spray momently
torn from the face of the descending column, the guide with the hollow
voice, whose mission is to conduct visitors behind the great sheet,
presents himself. You commit yourself to his guidance, and donning the
suit of yellow oil-skin, follow him down the spiral staircase, along the
base of the precipice up to the verge of the cataract. You shudder, and
hesitate to enter the blinding spray along that winding path, which
seems in the dimness like a slender line drawn upon the face of the
rock. The guide whispers a word of encouragement, deftly insinuating how
boldly ‘the lady’ trod its slippery length. You take courage and
advance. You can scarcely breathe, much less see; but you feel that the
torrent is plunging from the immeasurable hight above into the
unfathomable depth below. Somehow, how you hardly know, you have passed
through the thick curtain of blinding spray, and are peering eagerly
into the gray depth beyond. You are on Termination rock, and further
than this mortal foot may never penetrate within the vail. Whichever way
you turn, it is all cold gray mist, shrouding the overhanging rock and
the overarching water above, and the profound depths below; all mist,
cold gray mist above, below, around, except when you turn your eyes back
along the path by which you entered, where you behold a strip of golden
sky between the grim rock and the edge of the descending flood. Drenched
and dripping, spent and exhausted, as a shipwrecked sailor flung by the
surf upon some inhospitable shore, you follow your guide back along the
misty path, and emerge gladly enough into the clear outer air, into the
free sunshine, and beneath the bright sky. As you doff the heavy
oil-skin integuments, a printed paper is put into your hand, certifying
that you ‘have been under the great sheet of water, the distance of two
hundred and forty feet from the commencement of the falls to the
termination of Table Rock,’ verified by the signature of the proprietor
of ‘Table Rock House.’ Your guide looks on you complacently, as though
he would assure you that the great end of life was now attained, and you
might take up your ‘=Nunc dimittis=.’
“Or you take your place upon the deck of the Maid of the Mist, hard by
the suspension bridge, and are steamed up to the foot of the cataract.
The little steamer answers but poorly to her romantic name. She swings
wearily from her moorings, and goes panting and tugging up the current.
Yet she manages to hold her course, unless the wind blows too strong
down-stream, and slowly wins her way close up to the huge rocks on which
the waters of the American fall are broken and shattered into the
thickest of spray. In that spray a sharp and angry gust of wind tears a
sudden rent, and through it you catch a glimpse of the green crest of
the Horseshoe fall, sinking grandly into the ocean of vapor below. Or
better still, if in some calm moonlight night, you glide, with the
boatman, along the foot of the American fall, keeping just outside of
the dark line of shadow, you will find there is nothing on earth so
weird and ghost-like as the spectacle before you. The column of spray
rises from the blackness below, like the specter of some gigantic tree,
and spreads solemnly up into the clear air above.
“The mere summer tourist, however, sees but half the glory of Niagara.
In the winter the great rocks at the foot of the fall are piled up with
an accumulation of frozen spray to the depth of half a hundred feet. By
creeping cautiously up the slippery ascent, you may stand face to face
with the cataract, half-way up its giddy hight. Every shrub on its
margin is loaded with glittering ice. The thick-branched evergreens are
bowed beneath its weight, and bend to the ground like enormous plumes.
The face of the cold gray rock is cased in the frozen element, and
ribbed with pillars and pilasters which flash back the reflection of all
the gems in the rays of the sun; and when in a clear, unclouded day,
that sun shines down in its splendor, the scene is one of matchless
magnificence and glory.”
Thus we have attempted a full description of Niagara; and yet words seem
but feeble to set forth the magnificence and grandeur of the scene as it
rises to the view of the actual beholder. There, in its vast volume and
resistless power, it ever flows on with ceaseless, patient, unwearied
tide. At midnight and noonday, through summer and winter, and seed-time
and harvest, it is still the same. The drought of summer does not
sensibly diminish, or the freshets of spring augment its mighty current.
The scorching sun does not dry it up, and the chains of winter do not
bind it. Emblem of God and of eternity, it rolls on, speaking in calm
sublimity of Him who made it. Nor is sublimity the only characteristic
of this greatest of waterfalls. There are traits of beauty, which seem
even to highten the effect of its grandeur. The rainbow, ever playing in
sunshine over its awful front, and seeming indifferent to the boiling
whirlpool beneath; the tide of many-colored gems, into which the spray
often seems converted, as it plunges over the rocks; the heaps of foam,
white as wool, dancing on the billows that rush away from the foot of
the fall; and more than all, an aspect of tranquillity and of repose,
which settles upon the whole scene, when viewed at a little distance,
are all incidents which blend in the majestic picture imprinted on the
memory by this stupendous yet lovely work of nature’s God.
The falls of Niagara have been the frequent theme of poetry, but the
following lines by Brainard are deemed the finest that have been
produced upon the subject.
“The thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain,
While I look upward to thee. It would seem
As if God poured thee from his ‘hollow hand,’
And hung his bow upon thine awful front;
And spoke in that loud voice, which seemed to him
Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour’s sake,
‘The sound of many waters;’ and had bade
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back,
And notch His centuries in the eternal rocks!
“Deep calleth unto deep, and what are we,
That hear the question of that voice sublime?
Oh! what are all the notes that ever rung
From war’s vain trumpet, by thy thundering side!
Yea, what is all the riot man can make
In his short life, to thine unceasing roar!
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him,
Who drown’d a world, and heaped the waters far
Above its loftiest mountains?—a light wave,
That breaks and whispers of its Maker’s might!”