The Seneca is remarkable for its "Wandering Jew," and the "Lake Gun."
The first is a tree so balanced that when its roots are clear of the
bottom it floats with its broken and pointed trunk a few feet above the
surface of the water, driving before the winds, or following in the
course of the currents. At times, the "Wandering Jew" is seen off
Jefferson, near the head of this beautiful sheet; and next it will
appear anchored, as it might be, in the shallow water near the outlet.
{"Wandering Jew" = The medieval legend of Ahasueras, who mocked Christ
on his way to the cross and was condemned to live until Judgment Day,
is widespread throughout Europe, though he was only identified as a
"Jew" in the 17th century--students at Geneva College (now Hobart
College) applied the name to a supposedly unsinkable floating log in
Lake Seneca, identified as the legendary "Chief Agayentha";
Jefferson = I am indebted to John Gormley of Burdett, NY, for the
information that the Village of Jefferson, which I had been unable
to locate, was renamed "Watkins" in 1852 and then the current and
well-known "Watkins Glen" in 1926. (August, 2011)}
For more than half a century has this remnant of the forest floated
about, from point to point, its bald head whitening with time, until
its features have become familiar to all the older inhabitants of that
region of country. The great depth of the Seneca prevents it from
freezing; and summer and winter, springtime and autumn, is this
wanderer to be observed; occasionally battling with the ice that makes
a short distance from the shore, now pursuing its quiet way before a
mild southern air in June, or, again, anchored, by its roots touching
the bottom, as it passes a point, or comes in contact with the flats.
It has been known to remain a year or two at a time in view of the
village of Geneva, until, accustomed to its sight, the people began to
think that it was never to move from its berth any more; but a fresh
northerly breeze changes all this; the "Jew" swings to the gale, and,
like a ship unmooring, drags clear of the bottom, and goes off to the
southward, with its head just high enough above water to be visible. It
would seem really that his wanderings are not to cease as long as wood
will float.
{Village of Geneva = now the City of Geneva, at the northern end of
Lake Seneca}
No white man can give the history of this "Jew." He was found laving
his sides in the pure waters of the Seneca by the earliest settlers,
and it may have been ages since his wanderings commenced. When they are
to cease is a secret in the womb of time.
The "Lake Gun" is a mystery. It is a sound resembling the explosion of
a heavy piece of artillery, that can be accounted for by none of the
known laws of nature. The report is deep, hollow, distant, and
imposing. The lake seems to be speaking to the surrounding hills, which
send back the echoes of its voice in accurate reply. No satisfactory
theory has ever been broached to explain these noises. Conjectures have
been hazarded about chasms, and the escape of compressed air by the
sudden admission of water; but all this is talking at random, and has
probably no foundation in truth. The most that can be said is, that
such sounds are heard, though at long intervals, and that no one as yet
has succeeded in ascertaining their cause.
{"The Lake Gun" = The "Lake Gun" or "Lake Drum" is a mysterious booming
sound occasionally heard on Lake Seneca (and on neighboring Lake
Cayuga), which has been given a variety of scientific, literary, and
legendary interpretations.}
It is not many lustrums since curiosity induced an idler, a traveler,
and one possessed of much attainment derived from journeys in distant
lands, first to inquire closely into all the traditions connected with
these two peculiarities of the Seneca, and, having thus obtained all he
could, to lead him to make the tour of the entire lake, in the hope of
learning more by actual personal observation. He went up and down in
the steamboat; was much gratified with his trip, but could see or hear
nothing to help him in his investigation. The "Gun" had not been heard
in a long time, and no one could tell him what had become of the
"Wandering Jew." In vain did his eyes roam over the broad expanse of
water; they could discover nothing to reward their search. There was an
old man in the boat, of the name of Peter, who had passed his life on
the Seneca, and to him was our traveler referred, as the person most
likely to gratify his curiosity. Fuller (for so we shall call the
stranger for the sake of convenience) was not slow to profit by this
hint, and was soon in amicable relations with the tough, old,
fresh-water mariner. A half-eagle opportunely bestowed opened all the
stores of Peter's lore; and he professed himself ready to undertake a
cruise, even, for the especial purpose of hunting up the "Jew."
{lustrum = a period of five years; half eagle = a U.S. gold coin worth
$5.00}
"I haven't seen that ere crittur now"--Peter always spoke of the tree
as if it had animal life--"these three years. We think he doesn't like
the steamboats. The very last time I seed the old chap he was a-goin'
up afore a smart norwester, and we was a-comin' down with the wind in
our teeth, when I made out the 'Jew,' about a mile, or, at most, a mile
and a half ahead of us, and right in our track. I remember that I said
to myself, says I, 'Old fellow, we'll get a sight of your countenance
this time.' I suppose you know, sir, that the 'Jew' has a face just
like a human?"
"I did not know that; but what became of the tree?"
"Tree," answered Peter, shaking his head, "why, can't we cut a tree
down in the woods, saw it and carve it as we will, and make it last a
hundred years? What become of the tree, sir;--why, as soon as the 'Jew'
saw we was a-comin' so straight upon him, what does the old chap do but
shift his helm, and make for the west shore. You never seed a steamer
leave sich a wake, or make sich time. If he went half a knot, he went
twenty!"
This little episode rather shook Fuller's faith in Peter's accuracy;
but it did not prevent his making an arrangement by which he and the
old man were to take a cruise in quest of the tree, after having
fruitlessly endeavored to discover in what part of the lake it was just
then to be seen.
"Some folks pretend he's gone down," said Peter, in continuation of a
discourse on the subject, as he flattened in the sheets of a very
comfortable and rather spacious sailboat, on quitting the wharf of
Geneva, "and will never come up ag'in. But they may just as well tell
me that the sky is coming down, and that we may set about picking up
the larks. That 'Jew' will no more sink than a well-corked bottle will
sink."
{picking up the larks = "When the sky falls we shall catch larks" is an
old proverb, meaning that an idea or suggestion is ridiculous}
This was the opinion of Peter. Fuller cared but little for it, though
he still fancied he might make his companion useful in hunting up the
object of his search. These two strangely-assorted companions cruised
up and down the Seneca for a week, vainly endeavoring to find the
"Wandering Jew." Various were the accounts they gleaned from the
different boatmen. One had heard he was to be met with off this point;
another, in that bay: all believed he might be found, though no one had
seen him lately--some said, in many years.
"He'll turn up," said Peter, positively, "or the Seneca would go down
bows foremost. We shall light on the old chap when we least expect it."
It must be confessed that Peter had many sufficient reasons for
entertaining these encouraging hopes. He was capitally fed, had very
little more to do than to ease off, or flatten in a sheet, the boat
being too large to be rowed; and cigars, and liquors of various sorts
were pretty much at his command, for the obvious reason that they were
under his care. In delivering his sentiments, however, Peter was
reasonably honest, for he had the most implicit faith, not only in the
existence of this "Jew," but in the beneficent influence of his visits.
His presence was universally deemed a sign of good luck.
Fuller passed most of the nights in a comfortable bed, leaving Peter in
the boat; sometimes asking for lodgings in a farm-house, and, at
others, obtaining them in an inn. Wherever he might be, he inquired
about the "Wandering Jew" and the "Lake Gun," bent on solving these two
difficult problems, if possible, and always with the same success. Most
persons had seen the former, but not lately; while about one in ten had
heard the latter. It occurred to our traveler that more of the last
were to be found nearer to the northern than to the southern end of the
lake.
The cruise continued a fortnight in this desultory manner, with the
same want of success. One morning, as Fuller was returning to the boat,
after passing the night in a farm-house, he was struck by the
statue-like appearance of a figure which stood on the extreme point of
a low, rocky promontory, that was considerably aside from any dwelling
or building. The place was just at the commencement of the hill
country, and where the shores of the Seneca cease to offer those
smiling pictures of successful husbandry that so much abound farther
north. A somber, or it might be better to say a sober, aspect gave
dignity to the landscape, which, if not actually grand, had, at least,
most of the elements that characterize the noble in nature.
But Fuller, at the moment, was less struck with the scenery, charming
as that certainly was, than with the statue-like and immovable form on
the little promontory. A single tree shaded the spot where the stranger
stood, but it cast its shadows toward the west, at that early hour,
leaving the erect and chiseled form in clear sun-light. Stimulated by
curiosity, and hoping to learn something that might aid him in his
search from one as curious as himself, Fuller turned aside, and,
instead of descending to the spot where Peter had the boat ready for
his reception, he crossed a pleasant meadow, in the direction of the
tree.
Several times did our traveler stop to gaze on that immovable form. A
feeling of superstition came over him when he saw that not the smallest
motion, nor relief of limb or attitude, was made for the ten minutes
that his eye had rested on the singular and strange object. At he drew
nearer, however, the outlines became more and more distinct, and he
fancied that the form was actually naked. Then the truth became
apparent: it was a native of the forest, in his summer garb, who had
thrown aside his blanket, and stood in his leggings, naked. Phidias
could not have cut in stone a more faultless form; for active,
healthful youth had given to it the free and noble air of manly but
modest independence.
{Phidias = a very famous Greek sculptor of the 5th century B.C.}
"Sago," said Fuller, drawing near to the young Indian, who did not
betray surprise or emotion of any sort, as the stranger's foot-fall
came unexpectedly on his ear, using the salutation of convention, as it
is so generally practiced between the two races. The Indian threw
forward an arm with dignity, but maintained his erect and otherwise
immovable attitude.
{Sago = a term of greeting, as Cooper believed, among American Indians}
"Oneida?" demanded Fuller, while he doubted if any young warrior of
that half-subdued tribe could retain so completely the air and mien of
the great forests and distant prairies.
"Seneca," was the simple answer. The word was uttered in a tone so low
and melancholy that it sounded like saddened music. Nothing that Fuller
had ever before heard conveyed so much meaning so simply, and in so few
syllables. It illuminated the long vista of the past, and cast a gloomy
shadow into that of the future, alluding to a people driven from their
haunts, never to find another resting-place on earth. That this young
warrior so meant to express himself--not in an abject attempt to extort
sympathy, but in the noble simplicity of a heart depressed by the fall
of his race--Fuller could not doubt; and every generous feeling of his
soul was enlisted in behalf of this young Indian.
"Seneca," he repeated slowly, dropping his voice to something like the
soft, deep tones of the other; "then you are in your own country, here?"
"My country," answered the red man, coldly, "no; my FATHER'S country,
yes."
His English was good, denoting more than a common education, though it
had a slightly foreign or peculiar accent. The intonations of his voice
were decidedly those of the Indian.
"You have come to visit the land of your fathers?"
A slight wave of the hand was the reply. All this time the young Seneca
kept his eye fastened in one direction, apparently regarding some
object in the lake. Fuller could see nothing to attract this nearly
riveted gaze, though curiosity induced him to make the effort.
"You admire this sheet of water, by the earnest manner in which you
look upon it?" observed Fuller.
"See!" exclaimed the Indian, motioning toward a point near a mile
distant. "He moves! may be he will come here."
"Moves! I see nothing but land, water, and sky. What moves?"
"The Swimming Seneca. For a thousand winters he is to swim in the
waters of this lake. Such is the tradition of my people. Five hundred
winters are gone by since he was thrown into the lake; five hundred
more must come before he will sink. The curse of the Manitou is on him.
Fire will not burn him; water will not swallow him up; the fish will
not go near him; even the accursed axe of the settler can not cut him
into chips! There he floats, and must float, until his time is
finished!"
{Swimming Seneca = though I have been unable to discover any genuine
Native American origin for this legend, a detailed variation of it can
be found in a poem, "Outalissa", by Rev. Ralph Hoyt, published in
"Sketches by Rev. Hoyt, Vol. VIII" (New York. C. Shepard, n.d. [ca.
1848] (the Geneva College library copy of which is inscribed "DeLancey"
and may have belonged to the family of Cooper's brother-in-law,
Episcopal Bishop of Western New York William Heathcote De Lancey
(1797-1865), who lived in Geneva)--a somewhat different version forms
the Geneva (Hobart) College student legend of Chief Agayentha or "The
Floating Chief."}
"You must mean the 'Wandering. Jew?'"
"So the pale-faces call him; but he was never a Jew. 'Tis a chief of
the Senecas, thrown into the lake by the Great Spirit, for his bad
conduct. Whenever he tries to get upon the land, the Spirit speaks to
him from the caves below, and he obeys."
"THAT must mean the 'Lake Gun?'"
"So the pale-faces call it. It is not strange that the names of the red
man and of the pale-faces should differ."
"The races are not the same, and each has its own traditions. I wish to
hear what the Senecas say about this floating tree; but first have the
goodness to point it out to me."
The young Indian did as Fuller requested. Aided by the keener vision of
the red man, our traveler at length got a glimpse of a distant speck on
the water, which his companion assured him was the object of their
mutual search. He himself had been looking for the "Jew" a week, but
had asked no assistance from others, relying on the keenness of his
sight and the accuracy of his traditions. That very morning he had
first discovered the speck on the water, which he now pointed out to
his companion.
"You think, then, that yonder object is the 'Wandering Jew?'" asked
Fuller.
"It is the Swimming Seneca. Five hundred winters has he been obliged to
keep in the chilled waters of the lake; in five hundred more the
Manitou will let him rest on its bottom."
"What was the offense that has drawn down upon this chief so severe a
punishment?"
"Listen to our traditions, and you shall know. When the Great Spirit
created man, He gave him laws to obey, and duties to perform--"
"Excuse me, Seneca, but your language is so good that I hardly know
what to make of you."
An almost imperceptible smile played about the compressed lip of the
young Indian, who, at first, seemed disposed to evade an explanation;
but, on reflection, he changed his purpose, and communicated to Fuller
the outlines of a very simple, and, by no means, unusual history. He
was a chief of the highest race in his tribe, and had been selected to
receive the education of a pale-face at one of the colleges of that
people. He had received a degree, and, yielding to the irrepressible
longings of what might almost be termed his nature, he no sooner left
the college in which he had been educated, than he resumed the blanket
and leggings, under the influence of early recollections, and a
mistaken appreciation of the comparative advantages between the
civilized condition, and those of a life passed in the forest and on
the prairies. In this respect our young Seneca resembles the white
American, who, after a run of six months in Europe, returns home with
the patriotic declaration in his mouth, that his native land is
preferable to all other lands. Fuller soon understood the case, when
both reverted to their common object in coming thither. The young
Seneca thereupon resumed his explanation.
{the young Indian = almost certainly based on Abraham La Fort or
De-hat-ka-tons (1799-1848), an Oneida Indian who attended Geneva
College in the late 1820s, but who later abandoned Christianity and
returned to his traditional way of life}
"These laws of the Great Spirit," continued the Seneca, "were not
difficult to obey so long as the warrior was of a humble mind, and
believed himself inferior to the Manitou, who had fashioned him with
His hands, and placed him between the Seneca and the Cayuga, to hunt
the deer and trap the beaver. But See-wise was one of those who
practiced arts that you pale-faces condemn, while you submit to them.
He was a demagogue among the red men, and set up the tribe in
opposition to the Manitou."
{See-wise = intended to represent William Henry Seward's surname}
"How," exclaimed Fuller, "did the dwellers in the forest suffer by such
practices?"
"Men are every where the same, let the color, or the tribe, or the
country be what it may. It was a law of our people, one which tradition
tells us came direct from the Great Spirit, that the fish should be
taken only in certain seasons, and for so many moons. Some thought this
law was for the health of the people; others, that it was to enable the
fish to multiply for the future. All believed it wise, because it came
from the Manitou, and had descended to the tribe through so many
generations: all but See-wise. He said that an Indian ought to fish
when and where he pleased; that a warrior was not a woman; that the
spear and the hook had been given to him to be used, like the bow and
arrow, and that none but cowardly Indians would scruple to take the
fish when they wished. Such opinions pleased the common Indians, who
love to believe themselves greater than they are. See-wise grew bolder
by success, until he dared to say in council, that the red men made the
world themselves, and for themselves, and that they could do with it
what they pleased. He saw no use in any night; it was inconvenient; an
Indian could sleep in the light as well as in the darkness; there was
to be eternal day; then the hunt could go on until the deer was killed,
or the bear treed. The young Indians liked such talk. They loved to be
told they were the equals of the Great Spirit. They declared that
See-wise should be their principal chief. See-wise opened his ears wide
to this talk, and the young men listened to his words as they listened
to the song of the mocking-bird. They liked each other, because they
praised each other. It is sweet to be told that we are better and wiser
than all around us. It is sweet to the red man; the pale-faces may have
more sober minds--"
The Seneca paused an instant, and Fuller fancied that a smile of irony
again struggled about his compressed lip. As the traveler made no
remark, however, the youthful warrior resumed his tale.
"I hear a great deal of what demagogues are doing among your people,
and of the evil they produce. They begin by flattering, and end by
ruling. He carries a strong hand, who makes all near him help to uphold
it. In the crowd few perceive its weight until it crushes them.
"Thus was it with See-wise. Half the young men listened to him, and
followed in his trail. The aged chiefs took counsel together. They saw
that all the ancient traditions were despised, and that new conduct was
likely to come in with new opinions. They were too old to change. What
was done has never been said, but See-wise disappeared. It was
whispered that he had gone down among the fish he loved to take out of
season. There is one tradition, that he speared an enormous salmon, and
the fish, in its struggles, drew him out of his canoe, and that his
hands could not let go of the handle of his spear. Let this be as it
may, no one ever saw See-wise any more, in the form in which he had
been known to his people. At length the trunk of a tree was seen
floating about the Seneca, and one of the oldest of the chiefs,
pointing to it, pronounced the name of 'See-wise.' He would fish out of
season, and his spirit is condemned, they say, to float among the
salmon, and trout, and eels, for a thousand winters. It was not long
after this that the lake began to speak, in a voice loud as the thunder
from the clouds. The Seneca traditions say this is the Manitou calling
to See-wise, when he goes down after the fish, out of season."
"And do you, an educated man, believe in this tale?" asked Fuller.
"I can not say. The things learned in childhood remain the longest on
the memory. They make the deepest marks. I have seen the evil that a
demagogue can do among the pale-faces; why should I not believe the
same among my own people?"
"This is well enough, as respects the curse on the demagogue; but lakes
do not usually--"
Fuller had got thus far, when the Seneca, as if in mockery, emitted the
sound that has obtained the name of the "Lake Gun" among those who have
lived on its banks in these later times. Perhaps it was, in part, the
influence of the Seneca's legend, united to the opinions and statements
of the inhabitants of that region, which conspired to make our traveler
start, in awe and surprise; for, certainly, the deep-mouthed cannon
never gave forth a more impressive and sudden concussion on the ear.
"It does, indeed, sound very like a gun!" said Fuller, after a long
pause had enabled him to speak.
"It is the voice of the Great Spirit, forbidding See-wise to fish,"
answered the Seneca. "For a time the demagogue has all the talking to
himself, but, sooner or later, the voice of truth is heard, which is
the voice of the Manitou. But I must go nearer to the tree--ha! what
has become of it?"
Fuller looked, and, sure enough, the speck on the water had vanished.
This might have been by an unobserved movement in a current; or it
might have been owing to a sudden variation in the light; certain it
was, no tree could now be seen. Fuller then proposed to use his boat,
in endeavoring to get nearer to the "Jew." The Seneca gave a very
cheerful assent, and, throwing his light summer blanket, with an air of
manly grace, over a shoulder, he followed to the water-side.
"Most red men," resumed the young warrior, as he took his place in the
boat, "would see something marvelous in this appearance and
disappearance of the swimming Seneca, and would hesitate about going
any nearer to him; but this is not my feeling--error is strengthened by
neglecting to look into truth. I hope yet to go near See-wise."
Fuller hardly knew what to think of his companion's credulity. At times
he appeared to defer to the marvelous and the traditions of his tribe;
then, again, the lights of education would seem to gleam upon the
darkness of his superstition, and leave him a man of inductive reason.
As for himself, he was probably not altogether as much of the last as
his pride of race would have led him to hope.