[Illustration]
CATSKILL is more known as the landing-place for travellers bound to
the mountains above, than for any remarkable events in its own history,
or any singular beauties in itself. It is a thrifty town, in which the
most prosperous vocations are those of inn-keeper and stage-proprietor;
and during the summer months these two crafts at Catskill entertain and
transport to the hotel on the mountain half the population of the United
States,—more or less. The crowded steamers stop at the landing on their
way up and down; and a busier scene than is presented on the wharf daily
could not easily be found.
I have often thought, in passing, of the contrast between these numerous
advents and the landing of Hendrick Hudson on this very spot, in his
voyage of discovery up the river. He found here, he says, “a very loving
people and a very old man,” by whom he and his crew were very kindly
entertained. From the first step of a white man’s foot on the soil to
the crowded rush of passengers from a steam-boat; from a savage
wilderness to the height of civilization and science,—it is but a
little more than two hundred years of rapid history. Compare the old
Indian canoe in which Hudson went from his vessel to the land, with a
steamer carrying on its deck near a thousand souls; compare the
untutored population which then swarmed upon the shore, with the
cultivated and refined crowds who come and go in thousands on the same
spot,—and the contrast is as astonishing as the extinction of the
aboriginal race is melancholy.
It is surprising how few details connected with the races that inhabited
the older settlements of our country are reached even by the researches
of Historical Societies. The materials for the future poets and
historians of America are in this department singularly meagre, though
it might almost be supposed that the very tracks of the retreating
tribes might at this early day be still visible on the soil. Wherever
any particulars of the intercourse between the first settlers and the
Indians are preserved, they are highly curious, and often very
diverting. In a book on the settlements of this country, written by
Captain Nathaniel Uring, who visited it in 1709, there is an interesting
story connected with the history of one of the forts, built, by
permission of the Indians, to secure the settlers against sudden
incursion.
“It happened one day,” says the Captain, relating the story as it was
told to him by the Governor, “as the carpenter was cutting down a large
timber-tree for the use of the fort, that great numbers of Indians stood
round it, gazing, and admiring the wonderful dexterity of the carpenter,
and greatly surprised at the manner of cutting it,—having, before the
arrival of the Europeans, never seen an axe, or any such like tools. The
carpenter, perceiving the tree ready to fall, gave notice to the Indians
by language or signs to keep out of its reach when it fell; but either
for want of understanding the carpenter, or by carelessness of the
Indians, a branch of the tree in its fall struck one of them, and killed
him; upon which they raised a great cry. The carpenter, seeing them much
out of humor at the accident, made his escape into the fort; and soon
after, the Indians gathered together in great numbers about it and
demanded justice of the Europeans for the death of their brother, and
desired to have the man who was the occasion of his being killed, that
they might execute him, and revenge their brother’s death. The Governor
endeavored to excuse the carpenter, by representing to them that he was
not to blame; and told them that if their brother had observed the
notice given him by the carpenter, he had not been hurt. But that answer
would not satisfy the Indians; they increased their numbers about the
fort, and nothing less than the execution of the carpenter would content
them.
“The Europeans endeavored to spin out the time by treaty, and thought to
appease them by presents, hoping those, and time together, might make
them easy; but finding that would not do, and not being able longer to
defend themselves against such numbers as besieged them, they consulted
how to give the Indians satisfaction.
“The carpenter being a useful man, they considered that they could not
spare him without the greatest inconvenience; but seeing there was an
absolute necessity of doing something, they found out an expedient,
which was this: There was in the fort an old weaver, who had been
bed-rid a long time; _they concluded to hang up the weaver, and make the
Indians believe it was the carpenter_.
“Having come to this resolution, the Governor let the Indians know that
since nothing else would satisfy them, though their demand was unjust,
yet to show them how ready they were to live in amity and friendship
with them, in the morning they should see the carpenter hanging upon a
certain tree in their view.
“In the night they carried the poor old weaver and hanged him in the
room of the carpenter, which gave full satisfaction to the Indians; and
they were again good friends.”
[Illustration]