description on record, was John de Verrazzano, a Florentine, in the
service of Francis the First. This bold navigator had been for some time
in command of four ships, cruising against the Spaniards. But his little
fleet being separated in a storm, Verrazzano determined, with one of
them, the Dauphin, to take a voyage in search of new countries. He
arrived on the American coast, somewhere near North Carolina, and first
proceeded south as far as “the region of palm-trees,” probably Florida.
He then turned, and proceeded north till he entered a harbour, which he
describes thus, in a passage of a letter addressed by him to his Royal
master:—
“This land is situated in the paralele of Rome, in forty-one degrees and
two terces; but somewhat more colde by accidentall causes. The mouth of
the haven lieth open to the south, half a league broad; and being entred
within it, between the east and the north, it stretcheth twelve leagues,
where it wareth broader and broader, and maketh a gulfe about twenty
leagues in compass, wherein are five small islands, very fruitfull and
pleasant, full of hie and broad trees, among the which islands any great
navie may ride safe without any feare of tempest or other danger.”
In this harbour Verrazzano appears to have remained about fifteen days.
He and his men frequently went on shore to obtain supplies and see the
country. He says in another part of his letter—“Sometimes our men
stayed two or three daies on a little island neere the ship for divers
necessaries. We were oftentimes within the land five or six leagues,
which we found as pleasant as is possible to declare, very apt for any
kind of husbandry, of corne, wine, and ayle. We entered afterwards into
the woods, which we found so thicke that any army, were it never so
great, might have hid itself therein; the trees whereof are okes,
cypresse-trees, and other sortes unknown in Europe.”
These were probably the first European feet that ever trod on any part
of the territory now included in the State of New York. Verrazzano and
his crew seem to have had considerable intercourse with the natives, and
generally to have been treated well, though by his own account he did
not always deserve it. Speaking of an excursion made by his men
somewhere on the coast, he says:—“They saw only one old woman, with a
young maid of eighteen or twenty yeeres old, which, seeing our companie,
hid themselves in the grasse for feare. The old woman carried two
infants on her shoulders, and the young woman was laden with as many. As
soone as they saw us, to quiet them and win their favours, our men gave
them victuals to eate, which the old woman received thankfully, but the
young woman threw them disdainfully on the ground. _They took a child
from the old woman to bring into France; and going about to take the
young woman, which was very beautiful, and of tall stature_, they could
not possibly, for the great outcries that she made, bring her to the
sea; and especially having great woods to pass thorow, and being far
from the ship, we proposed to leave her behind, _bearing away the child
only_.”
In a subsequent part of his narrative, Verrazzano presents a very
favourable picture, not only of the amenity, but of the discretion of
the aborigines. “They came in great companies of their small boats unto
the ship, with their faces all bepainted with divers colours, and
bringing their wives with them, whereof they were very jealous; they
themselves entring aboard the ship, and staying there a good space, but
causing their wives to stay in their boats; and for all the entreatie
that we could make, offering to give them divers things, we could never
obtaine that they would suffer them to come aboard the ship. And
oftentimes one of the two Kings comming with his Queene, and _many
gentlemen_ for their pleasure to see us, they all stayed on shore 200
paces from us, sending us a small boat to give us intelligence of their
comming; and as soon as they had answere from us they came immediately,
and wondered at hearing the cries and noyses of the mariners. The Queene
and her maids staied in a very light boat at an island a quarter of a
league off, while the King abode a long space in our ship, uttering
divers conceits with gestures, viewing with great admiration the
furniture of the shippe. And sometimes our men staying one or two days
on a little island near the ship, he returned with seven or eight of
_his gentlemen_ to see what we did; then the King drawing his bow, and
running up and down with _his gentlemen_, made much sport to gratify our
men.”
The sail-studded bay of New York at this day presents another scene; and
one of these same “_gentlemen_” is now almost as much a curiosity here
as was John de Verrazano, only three centuries ago, to the rightful
lords of this fair land and water.
[Illustration]
PEEKSKILL LANDING.
* * * * *
Like most of the _landings_ on the Hudson, Peekskill is a sort of
outstretched hand from the interior of the country. It is about eighty
miles from New York, and the produce from the country behind is here
handed over to the trading sloops, who return, into the waiting palm,
the equivalent in goods from the city. A sort of town naturally springs
up at such a spot, and, as a river-side is a great provocative of
idleness, all the Dolph Heyligers of the country about seem to be
collected at the landing.
The neighbourhood of this spot is interesting from its association with
the history of the Revolution. The head-quarters of General Washington
were just below, at Verplank’s Point; and the town of Peekskill, half a
mile back from the river, was the depôt of military stores, which were
burnt by General Home in 1777. “On my return southward in 1782,” says
the translator of Chastellux, who has not given his name, “I spent a day
or two at the American camp at Verplank’s Point, where I had the honour
of dining with General Washington. I had suffered severely from an ague,
which I could not get quit of, though I had taken the exercise of a
hard-trotting horse, and got thus far to the north in the month of
October. The General observing it, told me he was sure I had not met
with a good glass of wine for some time,—an article then very
rare,—but that my disorder must be frightened away. He make me drink
three or four of his silver camp cups of excellent Madeira at noon, and
recommended to me to take a generous glass of claret after dinner; a
prescription by no means repugnant to my feelings, and which I most
religiously followed. I mounted my horse the next morning, and continued
my journey to Massachusetts, without ever experiencing the slightest
return of my disorder.
“The American camp here presented the most beautiful and picturesque
appearance. It extended along the plain, on the neck of land formed by
the winding of the Hudson, and had a view of this river to the south.
Behind it, the lofty mountains, covered with wood, formed the most
sublime back-ground that painting could express. In the front of the
tents was a regular continued portico, formed by the boughs of the trees
in full verdure, decorated with much taste and fancy. Opposite the camp,
and on distinct eminences, stood the tents of some of the general
officers, over which towered predominant that of Washington. I had seen
all the camps in England, from many of which drawings and engravings
have been taken; but this was truly a subject worthy the pencil of the
first artist. The French camp, during their stay in Baltimore, was
decorated in the same manner. At the camp at Verplank’s Point we
distinctly heard the morning and evening gun of the British at
Knightsbridge.”
The curiosity seizes with avidity upon any accidental information which
fills up the bare outline of history. The personal history of Washington
more particularly, wherever it has been traced by those who were in
contact with him, is full of interest. Some of the sketches given by the
Marquis of Chastellux, who passed this point of the Hudson on his way to
Washington’s head-quarters below, are very graphic.
“The weather being fair on the 26th,” he says, “I got on horseback,
after breakfasting with the General. He was so attentive as to give me
the horse I rode on the day of my arrival. I found him as good as he is
handsome; but, above all, perfectly well broke and well trained, having
a good mouth, easy in hand, and stopping short in a gallop without
bearing the bit. I mention these minute particulars, because it is the
General himself who breaks all his own horses. He is an excellent and
bold horseman, leaping the highest fences, and going extremely quick
without standing upon his stirrups, bearing on the bridle, or letting
his horse run wild; circumstances which our young men look upon as so
essential a part of English horsemanship, that they would rather break a
leg or an arm than renounce them.”
After passing some days at head-quarters, this young nobleman thus
admirably sums up his observations on Washington:—
“The strongest characteristic of this great man is the perfect union
which reigns between his physical and moral qualities. Brave without
temerity, laborious without ambition, generous without prodigality,
noble without pride, virtuous without severity; he seems always to have
confined himself within those limits beyond which the virtues, by
clothing themselves in more lively but more changeable colours, may be
mistaken for faults. It will be said of him hereafter, that _at the end
of a long civil war he had nothing with which he could reproach
himself_. His stature is noble and lofty, he is well made and exactly
proportioned; his physiognomy mild and agreeable, but such as to render
it impossible to speak particularly of any of his features; so that on
quitting him, you have only the recollection of a fine face. He has
neither a grave nor a familiar air; his brow is sometimes marked with
thought, but never with inquietude; in inspiring respect he inspires
confidence, and his smile is always the smile of benevolence.”
[Illustration]
LIGHTHOUSE NEAR CALDWELL’S LANDING.
* * * * *
This picturesque object is seen to great effect by the passenger in the
evening boat from New York to Newburgh. Leaving the city at five in the
summer afternoon, she makes the intervening forty miles between that
hour and twilight; and while the last tints of the sunset are still in
the sky, the stars just beginning to twinkle through the glow of the
west, the bright light of this lofty beacon rises up over the prow of
the boat, shining apparently on the very face of the new-starred heaven.
As he approaches, across the smooth and still purpled mirror of the
silent river is drawn a long and slender line of light, broken at the
foot of the beacon by the mild shrubbery of the rock on which it stands;
and as he rounds the point, and passes it, the light brightens and looks
clearer against the darker sky of the east, while the same cheering line
of reflection follows him on his way, and is lost to sight as he
disappears among the mountains.
The waters of the river at this point were the scene of the brief and
tragic drama enacted so fatally by poor André. Four or five miles below
stands Smith’s house, where he had his principal interview with Arnold,
and where the latter communicated to him his plans for the delivery of
West Point into the hands of the English, and gave him the fatal papers
which proved his ruin.
At Smith’s house Mrs. Arnold passed a night, on her way to join her
husband at West Point, soon after he had taken command. The sufferings
of this lady have excited the sympathy of the world, as the first
paroxysms of her distress moved the kind but firm heart of Washington.
There seems to have arisen a doubt, however, whether her long and
well-known correspondence with André had not so far undermined her
patriotism, that she was rather inclined to further than impede the
treason of Arnold; and consequently could have suffered but little after
Washington generously made every arrangement for her to follow him. In
the “Life of Aaron Burr,” lately published, are some statements which
seem authentic on the subject. It is well known that Washington found
Mrs. Arnold apparently frantic with distress at the communication her
husband had made to her the moment before his flight. Lafayette, and the
other officers in the suite of the commander-in-chief, were alive with
the most poignant sympathy; and a passport was given her by Washington,
with which she immediately left West Point to join Arnold in New York.
On her way she stopped at the house of Mrs. Prevost, the wife of a
British officer, who subsequently married Colonel Burr. Here “the
frantic scenes of West Point were renewed,” says the narrative of Burr’s
biographer, “and continued so long as strangers were present. As soon as
she and Mrs. Prevost were left alone, however, Mrs. Arnold became
tranquillized, and assured Mrs. Prevost that she was heartily sick of
the theatrics she was exhibiting. She stated that she had corresponded
with the British commander; that she was disgusted with the American
cause, and those who had the management of public affairs; and that,
through great persuasion and unceasing perseverance, she had ultimately
brought the General into an arrangement to surrender West Point to the
British. Mrs. Arnold was a gay, accomplished, artful, and extravagant
woman. There is no doubt, therefore, that, for the purpose of acquiring
the means of gratifying her vanity, she contributed greatly to the utter
ruin of her husband, and thus doomed to everlasting infamy and disgrace
all the fame he had acquired as a gallant soldier, at the sacrifice of
his blood.”
It is not easy to pass and repass the now peaceful and beautiful waters
of this part of the Hudson, without recalling to mind the scenes and
actors in the great drama of the revolution, which they not long ago
bore on their bosom. The busy mind fancies the armed guard-boats, slowly
pulling along the shore; the light pinnace of the Vulture plying to and
fro on its errands of conspiracy; and not the least vivid picture to the
imagination, is the boat containing the accomplished, the gallant André
and his guard, on his way to his death. It is probable that he first
admitted to his own mind the possibility of a fatal result, while
passing the very spot presented in the drawing. A late biographer of
Arnold gives the particulars of a conversation between André and Major
Tallmadge, the officer who had him in custody, and who brought him from
West Point down the river to Tuppau, the place of his subsequent
execution.
“Before we reached the Clove” (a landing just below the beacon
represented in the drawing,) “Major André became very inquisitive to
know my opinion as to the result of his capture. When I could no longer
evade his importunity, I remarked to him as follows:—‘I had a
much-loved classmate in Yale College, by the name of Hale, who entered
the army in 1775. Immediately after the battle of Long Island,
Washington wanted information respecting the strength of the enemy. Hale
tendered his services, went over to Brooklyn, and was taken, just as he
was passing the outposts of the enemy on his return.’ Said I, with
emphasis, ‘Do you remember the sequel of this story?’ ‘Yes,’ said André,
‘he was hanged as a spy. But you surely do not consider his case and
mine alike?’ I replied, ‘Yes, precisely similar, and similar will be
your fate.’ He endeavoured to answer my remarks, but it was manifest he
was more troubled in spirit than I had ever seen him before.’
[Illustration]
HARPER’S FERRY.
(FROM THE POTOMAC SIDE.)
* * * * *
Perhaps it will not be uninteresting to the reader, to vary a little the
monotony of description which is entailed upon us by the character of
the work, and give some account of the varieties of sporting on the
Potomac.
This noble river abounds in fish, of which the principal are the white
shad, the herring, and the sturgeon. The latter is taken in a way that,
as far as we know, is entirely peculiar to this part of the country. The
sturgeon is a noble denizen of the waters, weighing from seventy-five to
one hundred and fifty pounds. His enormous leaps out of the water, and
his alacrity at mounting a cascade, are accomplishments for which he is,
as the advertisements phrase it, “favourably known.” He has a habit,
however, of scratching himself against any stationary object he finds in
the river, which has been detected by the Potomac fishers, and employed,
very successfully, to his detriment. A stout line, with a weight
attached to it, is lowered from a boat, and a large hook, of peculiar
contrivance, but without a bait, fastened to the extremity. The rubbing
of the sturgeon against the line informs the fisherman of his
neighbourhood, and, with a little skill, he succeeds in hooking him
under the belly. The fish makes off with prodigious speed; the fisherman
pays out line, and casts loose his painter; and away flies the boat with
a speed and suddenness that seems like magic. A mile or so of this hard
work is enough for the sturgeon, who gives out exhausted, and is easily
drawn in. Some years ago, a negro, celebrated for his skill in this
fishery, incautiously tied the line to his leg. The sudden jerk of the
hooked fish pulled him overboard, and away he went down the stream,
sometimes above, and sometimes under water, to the extreme astonishment
of some people accidentally passing on the shore. He was an expert
swimmer, however, and a heavy-limbed athletic fellow, and by remarkable
coolness and courage he succeeded in bringing the sturgeon ashore. It is
a singular fact, that this fish is only good in certain rivers: those of
the Delaware, for example, being considered unfit to eat; and those of
the rivers on either side of it, the Hudson and the Potomac, considered
a great delicacy. It is recorded, by the way, that one of these enormous
fish descended from an aerial leap into a ferry-boat, during the
revolutionary war, and falling into the lap of an officer, seated on the
gunwale, broke his thigh. Every passenger up this fine river has seen
the sturgeon leaps; and an ascent of eight or ten feet above the water
is not uncommon.
The shad and herring are taken by thousands, in nets, very much in the
usual way.
The wild birds that frequent the bosom and shores of the Potomac, are
very numerous. Among them are the swan, the wild goose, the red-head
shoveler, the black-head shoveler, the duck and mallard, the black duck,
the blue-winged teal, the green-winged teal, the widgeon, and, last not
least, the far-celebrated _canvass-back_. This duck, which we believe is
unrivalled in the world for richness of flavour, is one of a class
called _drift fowl_, from their habit of floating in the middle of the
river when at rest. The two species of shoveler have the same habit, and
are scarcely inferior in flavour. The canvass-back breeds, it is
supposed, on the borders of the northern lakes, or on the shores of
Hudson’s Bay; and in their migrations confine their pasture almost
exclusively to the Chesapeake and Potomac. They feed, it is well
ascertained, on the bulbous root of a grass which grows on the flats in
these rivers, and which is commonly known as wild celery. It is said,
that during a hard winter, some forty years ago, a strong wind blew so
much of the water off the flats of James river, that the remainder froze
to the bottom, enclosing the long tops of this grass so closely in the
ice, that when it broke up, and was floated off in the spring, it tore
whole fields of it up by the roots, and destroyed the pasture. Since
that time, the canvass-back has never been seen on the river.
The bald duck feeds very frequently among these water-fowl; and not
having the power to dive entirely under water in search of food, he
watches for the rising of the canvass-back, and, by his superior
quickness on the wing, seizes on the celery the moment it appears above
the surface, and escapes with it to the shore.
The canvass-back is often shot from behind blinds of brush, which
conceal the sportsman, in the midst of their feeding ground. There is a
practice, however, of _tolling them in_, as it is called, by shaking a
coloured handkerchief tied to the branch of a decayed tree. On what
propensity of the bird the success of this manœuvre is founded, it would
be difficult to say. There is no doubt of the fact, however, that they
are thus decoyed within gun-shot; and it is related of an old sportsman
on the Potomac, that a long queue of red hair, which he wore in a brush,
and shook over his shoulder, served the purpose admirably well. Perhaps
we have yet to discover that birds have _curiosity_.
Among the many varieties of wild fowl found on the Potomac, below
Harper’s Ferry, is the wild swan. The young bird is considered a great
delicacy; while the old one is hard and without flavour. In a book on
the District of Columbia, by Mr. Elliott, there are some curious
particulars respecting their habits, and the manner of taking them.
“This noble bird,” says the author, “is seen floating near the shores,
in flocks of some two or three hundred, white as the driven snow, and
from time to time emitting fine sonorous, and occasionally melodious
songs; so loud, that they might be heard, on a still evening, two or
three miles. There are two kinds, so called from their respective
notes—the one the trumpeter, and the other the hooper; the trumpeter is
the largest, and when at full size will measure from five to six feet
from the bill to the point of the toe, and from seven to eight feet from
the tip of one wing to the tip of the other, when stretched and
expanded. They are sagacious and wary, and depend more on the sight than
on the sense of smell. On a neck nearly three feet in length, they are
enabled to elevate their heads so as to see and distinguish, with a
quick and penetrating eye, objects at a great distance; and by means of
this same length of neck they feed in slack tides, by immersing, as is
their habit, nearly all of the body, and throwing only their feet and
tails out in three or four feet water, and on the flatty shores they
frequent, generally beyond gun-shot; the sportsman availing himself,
however, of a peculiar propensity (of which we shall presently speak
more particularly) prevailing with them, and some of the other water
fowl, often _toll_ them within reach of their fire. The swans remain
here the whole winter, only shifting their ground in severe weather,
from the frozen to the open part of the river, and dropping down into
the salts, where it is rarely frozen. They get into good condition soon
after their arrival in autumn, and remain fat until toward spring, when,
a few weeks before their departure (about the first of March), they
gradually become thinner in flesh; and in the latter part of their
sojourn here, are found so poor and light, that when shot the gunner
gets nothing fit for use but the feathers. Whether this circumstance be
owing to their having exhausted the means of subsistence at their
feeding-places, or that they are taught by Him who rules the universe,
in small as well as great things, thus by abstaining, to prepare
themselves for the long aerial voyages they are about to undertake, we
pretend not to determine with certainty; there is nothing more wonderful
in this, than in the fact, which is notorious, that they, by exercise,
regularly and assiduously fit themselves for this continuous effort, to
bear themselves through the air to the distance of perhaps a thousand
miles or leagues. Large flocks are seen every day rising from the river,
and taking a high position, flying out of sight, and apparently moving
in a circuit to a considerable distance, again returning to or near the
same place, during the last two or three weeks of their stay.