Danger of rural excursions—Sickness
It is by no means easy to enjoy the beauties of American scenery in the
west, even when you are in a neighbourhood that affords much to admire;
at least, in doing so, you run considerable risk of injuring your
health. Nothing is considered more dangerous than exposure to midday
heat, except exposure to evening damp; and the twilight is so short,
that if you set out on an expedition when the fervid heat subsides, you
can hardly get half a mile before “sun down,” as they call it, warns
you that you must run or drive home again, as fast as possible, for
fear you should get “a chill.”
I believe we braved all this more than any one else in the whole
country, and if we had not, we should have left Cincinnati without
seeing any thing of the country around it.
Though we kept steadily to our resolution of passing no more sylvan
hours in the forests of Ohio, we often spent entire days in Kentucky,
tracing the course of a “creek,” or climbing the highest points within
our reach, in the hope of catching a glimpse of some distant object. A
beautiful reach of the Ohio, or the dark windings of the pretty
Licking, were indeed always the most remarkable features in the
landscape.
There was one spot, however, so beautiful that we visited it again and
again; it was by no means free from mosquitoes; and being on the bank
of a stream, with many enormous trees lying on the half-cleared ground
around, it was just such a place as we had been told a hundred times
was particularly “dangerous;” nevertheless, we dared every thing for
the sake of dining beside our beautiful rippling stream, and watching
the bright sunbeams dancing on the grassy bank, at such a distance from
our retreat that they could not heat us. A little below the basin that
cooled our wine was a cascade of sufficient dimensions to give us all
the music of a waterfall, and all the sparkling brightness of clear
water when it is broken again and again by jutting crags.
To sit beside this miniature cascade, and read, or dream away a day,
was one of our greatest pleasures.
It was indeed a mortifying fact, that whenever we found out a
picturesque nook, where turf, and moss, and deep shade, and a crystal
stream, and fallen trees, majestic in their ruin, tempted us to sit
down, and be very cool and very happy, we invariably found that that
spot lay under the imputation of malaria.
A row upon the Ohio was another of our favourite amusements; but in
this, I believe, we were also very singular, for often, when enjoying
it, we were shouted at, by the young free-borns on the banks, as if we
had been so many monsters.
The only rural amusement in which we ever saw any of the natives
engaged was eating strawberries and cream in a pretty garden about
three miles from the town; here we actually met three or four
carriages; a degree of dissipation that I never witnessed on any other
occasion. The strawberries were tolerable strawberries, but the cream
was the vilest sky-blue, and the charge half a dollar to each person;
which being about the price of half a fat sheep, I thought “pretty
considerable much,” if I may be permitted to use an expressive phrase
of the country.
We had repeatedly been told, by those who knew the land, that the
_second summer_ was the great trial to the health of Europeans settled
in America; but we had now reached the middle of our second August, and
with the exception of the fever one of my sons had suffered from, the
summer after our arrival, we had all enjoyed perfect health; but I was
now doomed to feel the truth of the above prediction, for before the
end of August I fell low before the monster that is for ever stalking
through that land of lakes and rivers, breathing fever and death
around. It was nine weeks before I left my room, and when I did, I
looked more fit to walk into the Potter’s Field, (as they call the
English burying ground) than any where else.
Long after my general health was pretty well restored, I suffered from
the effect of the fever in my limbs, and lay in bed reading several
weeks after I had been pronounced convalescent. Several American novels
were brought me. Mr. Flint’s Francis Berrian is excellent; a little
wild and romantic, but containing scenes of first-rate interest and
pathos. Hope Leslie, and Redwood, by Miss Sedgewick, an American lady,
have both great merit; and I now first read the whole of Mr. Cooper’s
novels. By the time these American studies were completed, I never
closed my eyes without seeing myriads of bloody scalps floating round
me; long slender figures of Red Indians crept through my dreams with
noiseless tread; panthers flared; forests blazed; and which ever way I
fled, a light foot, a keen eye, and a long rifle were sure to be on my
trail. An additional ounce of calomel hardly sufficed to neutralize the
effect of these raw-head and bloody-bones adventures. I was advised to
plunge immediately into a course of fashionable novels. It was a great
relief to me; but as my head was by no means very clear, I sometimes
jumbled strangely together the civilized rogues and assassins of Mr.
Bulwer, and the wild men, women, and children slayers of Mr. Cooper;
and, truly, between them, I passed my dreams in very bad company.
Still I could not stand, nor even sit upright. What was I to read next?
A happy thought struck me. I determined upon beginning with Waverley,
and reading through (not for the first time certainly) the whole
series. And what a world did I enter upon! The wholesome vigour of
every page seemed to communicate itself to my nerves; I ceased to be
languid and fretful, and though still a cripple, I certainly enjoyed
myself most completely, as long as my treat lasted; but this was a
shorter time than any one would believe, who has not found how such
volumes melt, before the constant reading of a long idle day. When it
was over, however, I had the pleasure of finding that I could walk half
a dozen yards at a time, and take short airings in an open carriage;
and better still, could sleep quietly.
It was no very agreeable conviction which greeted my recovery, that our
Cincinnati speculation for my son would in no way answer our
expectation; and very soon after, he was again seized with the bilious
fever of the country, which terminated in that most distressing of all
maladies, an ague. I never witnessed is effects before, and therefore
made my self extremely miserable at what those around me considered of
no consequence.
I believe this frightful complaint is not immediately dangerous; but I
never can believe that the violent and sudden prostration of strength,
the dreadfully convulsive movements which distort the limbs, the livid
hue that spreads itself over the complexion, can take place without
shaking the seat of health and life. Repeatedly we thought the malady
cured, and for a few days the poor sufferer believed himself restored
to health and strength; but again and again it returned upon him, and
he began to give himself up as the victim of ill health. My own health
was still very infirm, and it took but little time to decide that we
must leave Cincinnati. The only impediment to this was, the fear that
Mr. Trollope, who was to join us in the Spring, might have set out, and
thus arrive at Cincinnati after we had left it. However, as the time he
had talked of leaving England was later in the season, I decided upon
running the risk; but the winter had set in with great severity, and
the river being frozen, the steam-boats could not run; the frost
continued unbroken through the whole of February, and we were almost
weary of waiting for its departure, which was to be the signal of ours.
The breaking up of the ice, on the Licking and Ohio, formed a most
striking spectacle. At night the river presented a solid surface of
ice, but in the morning it shewed a collection of floating icebergs, of
every imaginable size and form, whirling against each other with
frightful violence, and with a noise unlike any sound I remember.
This sight was a very welcome one, as it gave us hopes of immediate
departure, but my courage failed, when I heard that one or two
steam-boats, weary of waiting, meant to start on the morrow. The idea
of running against these floating islands was really alarming, and I
was told by many, that my fears were not without foundation, for that
repeated accidents had happened from this cause; and then they talked
of the little Miami river, whose mouth we were to pass, sending down
masses of ice that might stop our progress; in short, we waited
patiently and prudently, till the learned in such matters told us that
we might start with safety.