fisherman on a favourable day can kill any quantity of trout he
pleases. Beside the bridge, is a small and solitary tavern, kept by an
Englishman from Gloucestershire. With him resides an old man named
Joseph Earl, a complete specimen of the real backwoodsman; just such
a character as Leatherstocking, in Mr. Cooper’s novel. He will take
his rifle and his knapsack, and frequently absent himself for weeks
at a time in search of game. If he kill a deer, he will carry off
the skin, and hang up the venison in a secure place, and from his
intimate acquaintance with the mountains, and every settler who lives
in them, no long time elapses before he can command any assistance
he may require. The principal tenants of the forest are the cougar
or painter (panther), as it is very improperly termed; the bear, the
wolf, the lynx (called the cat-a-mount), the wild cat, the marmot,
the racoon, the opossum, and red and grey foxes. The deer, which in
some places is very abundant, is the cervus virginianus, a species
unknown in Europe, of a size between the red and common fallow deer,
with a small palmated horn. Beside this there are but two species of
deer found in the eastern States, the moose deer, or great Siberian
elk, and the American elk, four of which were exhibited in London
some years ago under the coined name of wapiti, and which have bred
very well in England. Other kinds of deer, and goats, and sheep, and
an antelope from the Rocky Mountains, are exhibited in the Zoological
museum. The reindeer is found in the colder latitudes of Lower Canada,
where it exists in large herds. A species of stag of gigantic size,
with enormous horns, which Humboldt considers as a distinct species,
is very common in the forests and plains of New California. He thinks
it probable that the horns which were displayed by Montezuma to the
companions of Cortez, as objects of curiosity on account of their
immense size, belonged to this animal. A species of the same genus
as the European chevreuil, or roebuck, is also found in Canada and
some of the States. It is larger, and longer eared than the European
animal. Of the cervus virginianus, or common deer of America, a single
hunter will sometimes kill two or three in a day; but will more often
go without a shot, as they are very wild, and their sense of smelling
exceedingly acute. A still day is unfavourable; a windy day is the
best, as the sportsman can then come very near them on the windward
side. The cougar is their greatest enemy, but is luckily not very
common. A few years ago an American gentleman who had taken up his
shooting-quarters at the tavern I have just mentioned, wounded a deer,
and tracked it by the blood. On coming up with it, he observed a cougar
on the animal; he fired, and had the satisfaction to see it drop dead.
When he approached, he saw another, that had crouched behind the body
of the deer. He disabled him, and killed him with the third shot. As he
was returning, he killed another deer, and brought all the four skins
with him to the tavern. The old Englishman shewed me the scalp of a
deer that had been killed during the last season: a cougar was in full
pursuit of him; and the deer took to the water close by the tavern.
The cougar sprang on him in the water, but made off when he saw one of
the old man’s sons approaching with a rifle, from which the poor deer
received his death-wound immediately afterwards. I found that there was
a penalty of five dollars for killing a deer at this season of the year.
The winged game of these forests are—the wild turkey, which being
pursued with avidity by the sportsman, is becoming more scarce every
day: it is larger than the tame turkey, and its plumage closely
resembles that of the dark-coloured domesticated bird, but is rather
more brilliant; the pheasant, which is a species of wood-grouse; the
partridge, which should rather be termed a quail, but which is, in
fact, as I have hereafter noticed, neither one nor the other; the
woodcock, snipe, pigeons, and wild fowl, in great abundance.
The largest snakes found in these forests, are the rattle-snake,
the copper-head, or moccasin-snake, so called from its yellow
colour, resembling that of the moccasin, or Indian sandal; and the
black-snake. The latter grows to the length of seven or eight feet,
and even longer. It moves with great rapidity, is a species of the
boa-constrictor, and its habits and manner of taking its prey are
similar to those of that tremendous reptile. The bite is not poisonous.
The copper-head is a very dangerous snake, as it gives no warning
like the rattle-snake. Its name is its description, as far as it goes.
Its length is about three feet. The rattle-snake is too well known
to need much description: it invariably raises its tail and rattles
before it strikes, so that, in general, it can be easily avoided. The
Indians consider this as proof of its noble nature, and accordingly
they never destroy it, believing that it has something divine in it.
A large rattle-snake would measure four feet in length, perhaps, or a
little more, but is very thick in proportion. When about to attack,
it suddenly coils itself, with the tail raised, and rattling in the
middle of the coil, and can strike from nearly its whole length. It is
a very spirited animal; and from its moving but slowly out of the way,
is destroyed with little difficulty. Much has been said of the extreme
danger of its bite, and of the number of persons bitten; but like the
accidents from canine madness in England, they are far more often heard
of than met with. It is most probable that a person would die, unless
immediately assisted,—or have at all events a very narrow escape,
if bitten on any part of the body that happened to be naked; but if
struck through his clothes, so great a proportion of poison is by them
absorbed, or prevented from coming in contact with the blood, that the
bite, if taken in time, is not dangerous.
It is a well known and singular fact, that the body of a person
bitten, will sometimes change whilst under the influence of the
poison, to the colour of the snake that bit him. The plant called the
rattle-snake weed (bidens frondosa) is a remedy used by the Indians,
and sometimes, I was credibly informed, with great effect. The leaves
and root are boiled in milk and used as a poultice; the milk is also
taken internally. In Mr. Pratt’s botanical garden at Philadelphia, I
saw a specimen of another plant which is also considered efficacious
(polygela senaga) called by the French “l’herbe a serpente a
sonnettes.” It grows in damp and shady parts of the woods, to a height
of about two feet; has a small pointed leaf, and a single fusiform
root, resembling a piece of stick-liquorice. I was, however, assured by
a physician of eminence at Philadelphia, that the only remedy he had
never known to fail, was the speedy application of a cupping glass to
the wound, and a large tea spoonful of ammonia in a wine glass filled
with water, administered every hour till the symptoms took a favourable
turn. It is well known that hogs soon destroy every snake in the woods
around a settlement. They eat them, and are seldom known to suffer
from the bite, owing, it is said, to the quantity of fat in their
system. Almost every wild animal is their enemy; small birds will often
peck at them, although at the same time credence is certainly to be
given to the stories of fascination or terror by which small animals,
such as squirrels and birds, are sometimes rendered unable to escape
from them. Deer will crush them to death, by jumping on them with all
their four feet brought close together. I was frequently told that
rattle-snakes were common here and there; but still I never saw one:
the fact is, that they generally lie concealed. A person travelling
in the woods, will sometimes come suddenly upon fifty or a hundred
of them basking on the rocks. They all retire as the cold weather
approaches, and lie torpid during the whole winter; so that a sportsman
is in no danger from them. A French gentleman, who a year or two ago
was shooting grouse very early in the season, on the mountains in New
Jersey, was suddenly struck near his hip by a rattle-snake of the
largest size; thanks to his loose fustain trowsers, the fangs did not
touch him; the brute could not extricate itself, and hung upon him till
stunned by repeated blows from his gun.
* * * * *
Philipsburg is rapidly increasing, under the advantages of English
superintendence: it contains about eight hundred inhabitants in the
town and environs. It is almost exclusively the property of one
English gentleman, who is master of nearly 70,000 acres in that part
of the country. While I partook of his hospitality, I was agreeably
surprised by the circle of English society, which I found collected
under his roof. Several English have made Philipsburg their place of
residence. Its advantages consist in a remarkably healthy situation on
the western slope of the Alleghanies, where the descent is so gradual
as to be hardly perceptible; an easy and constant communication with
Philadelphia, and Pittsburgh on the Ohio; excellent trout-fishing, and
shooting in the forest; a very cheap market (a sheep or deer can be
bought for a dollar), and excellent medical advice. Uncleared land may
be purchased at one, two, or three dollars an acre.
The large beaver dams in this neighbourhood afford the finest pasture
imaginable. They run for several miles along the side of the Moshanan
Creek. What is now called a beaver dam, is not merely the fence or
dam which that industrious animal had thrown across the stream, but
the whole meadow over which the water was spread in consequence of
its being arrested in its course. The beaver was held sacred by the
Indians, and their habitations were probably undisturbed for centuries.
The stream, when checked in its career by the dam which those
extraordinary animals had constructed, found its level, of course, in
every nook to which it could gain access; and tree and shrub rotted
away with so much moisture. As the beaver was destroyed, or driven out
by the progress of civilization, the dams gave way, and the stream soon
returned to its former channel, and the bottom of the pond or dam is
converted into a fine meadow, exceedingly valuable for the purposes of
the grazier. A person may travel through the forest for many miles,
and will suddenly emerge upon a green open space, with scarcely a
tree or shrub upon it, although at the same time it be surrounded by
a leafy wall of the loftiest forest trees. An English gentleman had
just commenced a farm on one of these dams, and I rode about six miles
through the woods to visit him. The place had much the appearance of an
English park, which deer and other wild animals would frequently cross,
and sometimes within rifle-shot from his window. It was more than a
mile in length, with the shape and appearance of a billiard table.
At Philipsburg, and in the neighbourhood, are several iron works. I
visited a curious screw manufactory there: the machine for heading the
screws was invented on the spot, and probably there is not such another
to be found any where. It turned out about sixty screws in a minute,
and finished them off with a neatness that would excite the surprise
even of a mechanist.
I have before mentioned that Philadelphia will shortly be connected
with the Ohio river, by means of the Columbia rail-road, from which
the great Pennsylvania canal will soon be finished to the foot of the
Alleghany mountains, where it will be joined by another rail-road,
which will pass the mountains, and communicate with Pittsburg. Another
rail-road will, most probably, be constructed, so as to intersect
the same canal a little above Huntingdon. It will come from the
bituminous coal district, which lies about Philipsburg and Clearfield
county, and is spread over a great extent of ground on the western
slope of the Alleghany. Plenty of stone or anthracite coal is to be
found in many parts of Pennsylvania, and in vast quantities; but the
bituminous coal used in the transatlantic cities is supplied either
from Liverpool, from Nova Scotia, or from Virginia. The particles
of the Virginia coal, however, are too much divided, and it more
resembles the coal used by a blacksmith, than the Newcastle coal.
I have understood that bituminous coal has been lately discovered,
although in very small quantities, in Pennsylvania, on the eastern
side of the mountain. The anthracite coal throws out a very powerful
heat, but is very troublesome and unmanageable, requiring a long time
before it will kindle properly; burning without flame or smoke, and
creating an unpleasant and rather unhealthy dryness in the atmosphere
of a room. An experiment had been successfully tried in New York, by
which the anthracite coal had been rendered subservient to the purposes
of the steam-engine. It was contrived that a stream of hydrogen-gas,
generated by part of the engine, should flow constantly over the
burning coal, so that a powerful flame was thus fed under the boiler.
But in all cases where a manageable fire is required, the bituminous
coal is far preferable. By means of the Philipsburg rail-road, the
whole country will be supplied with this valuable mineral, at a very
moderate expense, from the inexhaustible stores on the western slope
of the Alleghany. The necessity of making cheaper iron is becoming
daily more imperative in the United States. For this end, to say
nothing of the carriage of timber, the Philipsburg rail-road will be
very advantageous, as it will bring down the coal to be converted into
coke, to be used in the smelting furnaces; and it will pass through
the midst of the Juniata iron district, where more than twenty forges
and furnaces already exist in full activity; and whose increasing
importance calls for a more adequate and expeditious mode of conveyance
than it at present commands. The whole country will be much benefited;
and independently of the real and lasting advantages to be gained by
the construction of the Philipsburg rail-road, an early attention to
the plan, from the proper quarter, will be but justice to the exertions
of a gentleman, who, with his brothers before him, has devoted time
and capital to the enterprise, and has called into existence a highly
respectable community, and the most thriving and useful settlement in
the back woods of Pennsylvania.
[Illustration:
G.T. Vigne delṭ
T. S. Engleheart, sculpṭ
NORTHUMBERLAND, ON THE SUSQUEHANNA, PENNSYLVANIA.
_Published by Whittaker & C^o. April 10, 1832._]
* * * * *
I left Philipsburg, and returned to Belfont, whence I took the
road to Northumberland. In about six hours I again came in sight
of the Susquehanna, flowing through an extensive valley, with its
lofty southern bank robed to the very summit by a covert so thickly
interwoven as to be absolutely impassable. I proceeded down the side
of the river till I arrived at the ferry at Dunnsburg. Here I met
with a piece of singular incivility and impudence. The insolent young
Charon allowed me to place my luggage in his leaky bark; but as I was
proceeding to take my seat, he “calkilated,” with the most disagreeable
twang (at least, I thought so) that I had yet heard, “that I must pay
him a fip (five-penny bit) before I put my foot into his boat.” It was
all in vain that I pointed to my portmanteau, intimating that it would
be “assets” for the payment of my passage to the other side. Nothing
would satisfy him but my fip beforehand; and I was obliged to pay it.
It appeared that some stage-passengers had gone off without paying, and
he did not wish to be cheated a second time. The guard who arrived with
the mail, was so enraged at his conduct, that he actually took out one
of the horses, crammed him through the river, and arrived safely on
the other side with the letter-bags.
Within a mile or two of Dunnsburg, are some Indian tumuli; but I did
not stop to see them. I travelled onward through a most delightful
country, abounding in black-oak; the bark of which is sent down the
river, and shipped off in great quantities for England, where it is
used in dying. I enjoyed a very fine view from the hill over which the
road passes near Moncey; but I afterwards saw the same prospect to
much greater advantage, from Northumberland. This place contains about
two thousand inhabitants, and is most delightfully situated on the
neck of land that separates the northern and western branches of the
Susquehanna. The celebrated Dr. Priestley spent the latter years of his
life in this place. He died about twenty-five years ago. I was assured
by an old and intimate friend of his, who was with him but a few
minutes before he died, that there was great foundation for a prevalent
belief, that for some months previously to his death, he changed his
opinions in favour of the divinity of Christ.
Good land, in a state of cultivation, is worth twenty, thirty, forty,
or even a hundred dollars the acre, in this part of the country. The
average profits of land amount to twelve and a half per cent. Thirty
bushels of wheat is a good crop. The wages of the married labourer are
fifteen dollars a month (the United States dollar is equal to 4_s._
6_d._). Single men, who board at the house of their employer, receive
but ten. Wherever I made inquiry, I found the rate of labourers’ wages
to be much the same throughout the States.
I crossed the western branch of the Susquehanna by a new and handsome
wooden bridge, built as usual on stone piers. Its length was 1316 feet,
and it cost 70,000 dollars. I then immediately ascended the heights
on the other side. From them I had a full view of both branches of
this “shining river,” an appellation which none deserves better than
the Susquehanna. I preferred the scenery around Moncey to that in
the direction of Wyoming. The sun was declining behind the precipice
on which I stood, which was thrown more and more into shade, as the
red rays glanced through the pines on its summit, and swept downward
into the broad and beautiful valley beneath me. The windings of the
river were visible to a great distance. Although considerably larger,
it strongly reminded me of the Thames seen from Richmond-hill. Its
tranquil lake-like stream meandered through the country, encircling
several islands: at one time gliding in silence through the forest,
or emerging to roll its waters over a rich and extensive meadow, it
freshened every thing in its course; and when it had fully performed
the task of ornament and usefulness allotted to it by nature, it seemed
to lose itself through a gap in the Blue Mountains, from which in
reality it issued.
Beautiful as it is, yet, were this England, I could not help thinking,
how different would be the appearance of the country! I am gazing on
a view, as splendid as any one of the same character I ever beheld in
any land,—I see before me a noble river, winding its way through an
exquisite landscape, of hill and dale, and wood and verdure, abounding
in every resource that could make a country life agreeable; but it is
in vain that my disappointed eye roves over the scene, and rests on the
most magnificent situations for park and palace: where, thought I, are
the “stately homes of England?”—where is the marble-fronted hall, and
the village church beside it, with its spire pointing to the heavens?
The powerless genius of embellishment wanders disconsolate along the
beautiful banks of the Susquehanna, and bitterly complains that he is
fettered by the spirit of democracy.
I am far from meaning to infer in the above passage, that there is
any lack of churches in the United States. On the contrary, they are
numerous. As an Englishman, I am here speaking merely with reference to
situation, and the association of ideas excited in my mind.
The Americans, in general, are not fond of comparisons between England
and their own country, except in cases where the balance is in their
favour; but still, I have often observed that there is no subject
of conversation more gladly discussed by an American gentleman, and
more particularly by those who have country houses of their own,
than the splendour of the seats of our nobility and gentry, and the
perfection of society which is enjoyed at them. There is nothing in
England so apt to elicit from them a remark of honest regret, as their
knowledge of the very remote probability, I may almost add, the utter
hopelessness, of their ever being able to boast of seats and villas
at all equal to those on this side of the Atlantic, so long as the
present form of government exists in full force. Who would build a
really splendid mansion, which, after his death, will probably either
become a ruin, or be sold, and converted into an hospital? or who would
clear and beautify a park of any extent, to be divided and ploughed
up by his needy successors? I have seen country houses in America,
whose delightful situation, and gentlemanly appearance, (although it
must be allowed, they often look their best at a distance), only serve
to render the prospect of division the more melancholy. I have been
kindly received at many of them: I have usually noticed a due attention
to comfort and elegance, and invariably, to kindness and hospitality;
but I have not been able to avoid a remark, that there did not appear
to be much difference in the size of the houses, or the extent of the
grounds, as if there existed a general and mournful acknowledgment,
that a just medium was to be observed between the expense incurred with
reference to present enjoyment, and the probability of an ultimate loss
of capital, when the future was regarded. I could name a few, but very
few, exceptions.
Whatever the Americans may think of their institutions in other
respects, there are many sensible Americans—and I have met with
them—who will acknowledge the inefficacy of these to counteract
the disadvantages, not to say miseries, sometimes arising from
the non-existence of the law of primogeniture. The object is, to
exclude the preponderance of wealth, because it tends to generate
an aristocracy of political power. The non-existence of the law of
primogeniture is, I think, with great deference, but lamely defended
by Chancellor Kent, in his admirable Commentaries on American Law,
and which, by the way, are most richly deserving of a place in every
library, if it be merely on account of the learned dissertations
on the history of every republic of note that has ever existed. He
quotes Adam Smith in support of his opinions; the Marquess Garnier,
his French translator; and the Baron de Stael Holstein,—and although
he acknowledges the attendant evils, yet he says it would be an error
to suppose that they have been already felt. But surely there are
some which he does not contemplate in his work; but which must be
acknowledged to have a miserable effect upon the state of society. A
sale, not unattended with sacrifice, takes place at the decease of
nearly every person who dies in possession of landed property. This
is followed by a minute division of the proceeds amongst the next of
kin. As to the law of dower, it is much the same as that of England
generally; but where the sale has been made, the produce is considered
as real estate so far, and the widow receives an annuity from one
third in lieu of her dower. This does not effect the distribution of
the remainder, which is divided as in England. It often happens, that
the share of each person, if young, is just enough to purchase his
destruction.
Very frequently, but in some States more than others, its most
prominent application is detected by the effects of a vicious
indulgence in ardent spirits, principally among the second and
lower classes. Drunkenness still prevails to an alarming extent,
notwithstanding the benign presence of the temperate societies. I
have heard the most melancholy and appalling accounts of its ravages
in private life; and in one place I was informed of its disgusting
influence over judicial morality. The root of the evil is in the
expectations which are formed: it is the certainty of actual possession
of property at a future time, accompanied by ignorance as to its
amount, that so often cherishes in the children the most dissolute
habits of idleness, with all their attendant evils. Supposing both
of them in the same easy circumstances as country gentlemen, and
fathers of families, how different must of necessity be the sentiments
of an American and an Englishman, when they survey their respective
fire sides! Both see around them their wives and children, in the
possession of affluence and comfort, and happy in the enjoyment of
each other’s society. But in the event of his death, how gloomy may be
the picture drawn by the one, in opposition to that contemplated by
the other! A divided estate and a dispersed family, present themselves
to the mind of the American; or perhaps a small part of them living
together, but unable to command any share of the luxuries, and not many
of the comforts they enjoy during his lifetime, in consequence of a
secession of property by marriage, or decrease of it from dissipation.
The Englishman feels a debt of gratitude to the constitution of his
country: in the event of his death, his house, in the possession of
his eldest son, will be a home for his widow and a place of meeting
for his children. His younger sons have been brought up under the idea
that they are to be the architects of their own fortunes, and such a
doctrine has not rendered them unhappy, because it has enforced the
virtue of contentment. The law of primogeniture perpetuates, through
the eldest son, a species of parental affection and authority; and
where there is a title to descend, there is a further inducement to
the eldest son to emulate the virtues or the actions of an illustrious
father; or, if that father has brought disgrace upon a distinguished
name or sullied the escutcheon of a distinguished family (which, be
it added, is sometimes the case), the son may be naturally desirous
of wiping away the stain, and of giving the benefit of his example
to society, by his imitation of the character of a nobler ancestor.
There is yet a further deficiency of inducement to exertion existing
in the American, and in every other democracy. In England, a young man
in the enjoyment of a sufficient income, and who is consequently not
obliged to labour at any profession with a view to its increase, yet
with the possibility of obtaining a title, will exert his abilities to
the utmost; but in America, the stimulus of titled distinction being
unknown, it must often happen that the finest talents are doomed to
remain unemployed.