him and kindled our fire, that we might see his glittering eyes and
antic postures, as he hobbled round the fire. Sometimes he would turn
the buffalo’s hair on one side, that we might take a better view of his
ill-favoured phiz. When he had tired himself, (which was some time after
he had well tired us,) the boy that attended him struck two or three
smart blows on the floor, at which the hobgoblin seemed surprised; and,
on repeating them, he jumped fairly out of doors and disappeared.
“I suppose this was to divert us, and get some tobacco; for, as he
danced about, he would hold out his hand to receive this gratification,
for which, as often as he received it, he would return an awkward
compliment. After this farce, we endeavoured to compose ourselves to
sleep, but towards morning were again disturbed by a drunken squaw
coming into the cabin, frequently complimenting us and singing.”
We doubt if any traveller’s journal on the Mauch Chunk rail-road can
show as diverting a page. There are no incidents now-a-days short of a
boiler bursting.
[Illustration]
GENESSEE FALLS, ROCHESTER.
* * * * *
In the three thousand miles between the Atlantic and the Rocky
Mountains, there may be said to be three water-steps formed by the
different levels of Lake Ontario, Lake Erie, and Lake Superior. Niagara
and the Genessee river fall over the middle step, the edge of which is
formed by the brow of a bed of limestone, computed to be four hundred
and ten feet above the level of Lake Ontario. Saint Lawrence may thus be
said to take but three leaps from the Rocky Mountains to the ocean—an
agility which, one would suppose, might have saved the holy martyr from
his gridiron.
The ledge over which these two celebrated falls are precipitated, comes
out of Canada from an immense distance, and keeps its course along the
shore of Lake Ontario, in a direction nearly due east. At the Genessee
Falls, as at Niagara, the descent to the lake is between the walls of a
tremendous ravine, the grandeur of which seems to have had no terror for
the souls of manufacturers. The thriving village of Rochester stands
round the lip of the fall; and if you talk to the inhabitants of the
beauty of the cascade, they stop your mouth, and strike calculation
dumb, with the number of sledge-hammers, nail-cutters, mill-stones, and
cotton-jennies, it carries; the product _per diem_; the corresponding
increase of population, _et cetera et cetera_—the only instance in the
known world of a cataract turned, without the loss of a drop, through
the pockets of speculators.
The Genessee river rises in the Alleghany Mountains, and it is not for
want of poetical names on its banks that it is not a poetical river. Its
source is ten miles below _Nunda_, between the head waters of the
_Owago_ and the _Cawanisque_ rivers; and it runs one hundred and fifty
miles, receiving tribute from the _Canassaraga_ and _Angelica_ creeks,
and the _Canesus_ and _Honcoye_ outlets. It has a great reputation for
fertility; and along its valley lies the celebrated farm of Mr.
Wadsworth, the agriculturist, who holds in this country the place
occupied in England by Mr. Coke of Holkham—now Earl of Leicester.
The Rapids of the Genessee commence a mile above the Fall at Rochester,
and descend, when there is much water, with great swiftness and beauty.
The first pitch of the stream is ninety-seven perpendicular feet; after
which it goes sullenly on down the ravine—black, where it is not
covered with foam—till, forty rods below, it takes another leap of one
hundred and six feet, at a place called Carthage. We suggested to the
landlord that the fall at Carthage should be called after Marius, but he
did not see the propriety of it very clearly.
The Genessee Fall, like Niagara, is gradually _backing up_. It is
computed that the latter wears back a rood every three years—the former
much less, of course. There is little doubt among the geologists, that
the Genessee at one time ran directly into Lake Ontario without much of
a cascade, but that, on the retreat of the lake, the surface of which
has perceptibly lowered, the stream began to wear back with the
attrition of the fall, and they are now three miles asunder. An aqueduct
of the great Erie canal runs close across the head of the Fall at
Rochester, and is built in full confidence that the cascade will
continue the sobriety and order it has hitherto preserved in its
retreat. If it were to take a long step up stream of a sudden, that
great vein of the west would breathe more freely than is provided for by
the “weirs and feeders.” This aqueduct at Rochester is a work of some
pretension. It is seven hundred and fifty feet in length, and has twelve
piers and eleven arches, two of which are over Mill-races. A path is
railed off on the side of the canal, and it forms a picturesque
promenade across the bed of the river.
The country about the Falls of the Genessee was a wilderness in 1812.
Now it contains nearly twenty thousand inhabitants, and is one of the
most flourishing towns in the world. In 1830, it supported one daily,
two semi-weekly, and three weekly newspapers; and in the single year of
1826, (an age ago, by the Rochester reckoning,) it exported two hundred
and two thousand nine hundred barrels of flour. It seems to grow visibly
before your eyes; the eternal hammering and clipping of bricks, and
heaps of rubbish, remind the traveller so pertinaciously that it is in a
state of transition only. The hotels are excellent, and the inhabitants
famed for their public spirit, hospitality, and enterprise—the latter,
of course.
[Illustration]
VIEW OF THE FERRY AT BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
* * * * *
Brooklyn is as much a part of New York, for all purposes of residence
and communication, as “the Borough” is of London. The steam ferry-boats
cross the half-mile between it and the city every five minutes; and in
less time than it usually takes to thread the press of vehicles on
London Bridge, the elegant equipages of the wealthy cross to Long Island
for the afternoon drive; morning visits are interchanged between the
residents in both places—and, indeed, the east river is hardly more of
a separation than the same distance in a street.
Brooklyn is the shire-town of King’s County, and by this time, probably,
is second in population only to New York. Land there, has risen in value
to an enormous extent within the last few years; and it has become the
fashion for business-men of New York to build and live on the fine and
healthy heights above the river, where they are nearer their business,
and much better situated than in the outskirts of the city itself. The
town of Brooklyn is built on the summit and sides of an elevation
springing directly from the bank of the river, and commanding some of
the finest views in America. The prospect embraces a large part of East
River, crowded with shipping, and tracked by an endless variety of
steamers, flying through the channel in quick succession; of the city of
New York, extending, as far as the eye can see, in closely piled masses
of architecture; of the Hudson, and the shore of Jersey, beyond; of the
bay and its bright islands, and of a considerable part of Long and
Staten Islands, and the Highlands of Neversink. A more comprehensive,
lively, and interesting view is nowhere to be found.
Historically, Brooklyn will long be remembered for the battle fought in
its neighbourhood between the British and Hessians under the command of
General Howe, and the Americans under the immediate command of Generals
Putnam and Sullivan. It was a contest of a body of ill-disciplined
militia against twice their number of regular troops, and ended in
defeat; but the retreat conducted by General Washington saved the army,
and relieved a little the dark fortunes of the day.
The American forces were composed of militia and raw recruits, and
without even dragoons to serve as videts. They were stationed on a chain
of eminences running from Yellow Hook towards Hempstead; and the
British, from the Ferry between Staten and Long Islands, through the
level country to the village of Flatland. From the last-mentioned place,
a strong column, led by General Clinton and Lord Percy, marched into the
Jamaica Road, through an unoccupied pass in this chain of hills on the
right, and turned the left of the American army. General Grant at the
same time attacked the right of the Americans under the command of Lord
Sterling, posted near the Ferry; while the fleet commenced a powerful
cannonade upon a battery at Red Hook, to draw off the attention of the
Americans from the main attack directed by Sir Henry Clinton.
As soon as the Americans perceived that the enemy had gained the rear,
they were thrown into confusion, and attacks were made on the centre,
commanded by General Sullivan, and the right, commanded by Lord
Stirling, and both divisions completely routed. A gallant attempt was
made by the latter officer, which, though unavailing, facilitated the
retreat of part of the troops under his command. He was himself taken
prisoner, as were also Generals Sullivan and Woodhull. The number of
Americans killed is estimated at four hundred, and the wounded and
prisoners at a thousand.
General Washington, who had passed over from New York to Brooklyn during
the heat of the action, perceived that nothing could be done to turn the
fortune of the day, and that the only thing to be accomplished was a
retreat. The British were only waiting for a wind to move their shipping
into the East River, and the next morning might find the ferry in their
possession. The British were encamped within six hundred yards of him;
and the wind, until eleven o’clock, was unfavourable. At that hour it
lulled, and a thick fog covered the bosom of the river. The army
commenced their embarkation under this fortunate protection; and the
whole of the forces, with their ammunition, provision, horses, waggons,
&c. crossed undisturbed. The retreat was discovered by the British half
an hour after the evacuation. The sound of their pickaxes was distinctly
heard within the American lines during the embarkation.
[Illustration]
VIEW OF THE RAIL-ROAD TO UTICA,
TAKEN AT LITTLE FALLS.
* * * * *
Before the completion of the Rail-road, when travellers to the West were
contented with the philosophic pace of the canal-boat, one might take up
a novel at Little Falls, and come fairly to the sequel by the time the
steersman cried out “Bridge!” at Utica. There were fifteen miles between
them in those days; but now (to a man of indistinct ideas of geography,
at least, and a traveller on the Rail-road) they are as nearly run
together as two drops on the window-pane. The intermediate distance is,
by all the usual measurements of wear and time, annihilated.
All this is very pleasant to people in a hurry; and as most people in
our busy country come under that category, it is a very pleasant thing
for the white man altogether. There is a class of inhabitants of the
long valley of the Mohawk, however, of whose sufferings, by the advance
of the white man’s enterprise, this is not the first, though it may be
the least, and last. The poor half-naked Oneida, who ran by the side of
the once crowded canal-boat for charity, has not time, while the
rail-car passes, even to hold out his hand!
The Oneidas have not long been beggars by the road side. They were one
of the five tribes confederated under the name of the Iroquois, who
gloried in having fought their way into the country of the Mohawks, and
kept their place and possessions in the midst of them; the latter tribe
enjoying the undisputed honour of being an original people on the soil.
Though merged in a confederacy, however, the Oneidas had their own
chiefs; and a mythology of their own, which is not a little curious. It
will not be _mal-apropos_, accompanying drawings of the towns that have
usurped their ancient seat, to give some account of their ideas upon the
origin of the earth and the human race.
According to the Oneida, an unlimited expanse of water once filled the
space now occupied by the world which we inhabit. At this time the human
family dwelt in a country situated in the upper regions of the air,
abounding in every thing conducive to the comfort and pleasure of life.
The inhabitants were strangers to death, and its harbingers, pain and
disease; whilst their minds were free from the corroding passions of
jealousy, hatred, and revenge.
At length, however, an event occurred which interrupted their
tranquillity, and introduced care and anxiety, until then unknown. A
certain youth was noticed to withdraw himself from the circle of their
social amusements: the solitary recesses of the grove became his
favourite walks. Care and chagrin were depicted in his countenance, and
his body, from long abstinence, presented to the view of his friends the
mere skeleton of a man. Anxious solicitude in vain explored the cause of
his grief; until, at length, debilitated both in body and mind, he
yielded to the importunity of his associates, and promised to disclose
the cause of his trouble on condition that they would dig up by the
roots a certain white pine-tree, lay him in his blanket by the margin of
the hole, and seat his wife by his side. In a moment all hands were
ready. The fatal tree was taken up by the roots; in doing which, the
earth was perforated, and a passage opened into the abyss below. The
blanket was spread by the hole, the youth laid upon it, and his wife,
then in a state of pregnancy, took her seat by his side. The multitude,
eager to learn the cause of such strange and unusual conduct, pressed
around; when, on a sudden, to their horror and astonishment, he seized
upon the woman, and precipitated her headlong into the regions of
darkness below; then, rising from the ground, he informed the assembly,
that he had for some time suspected the chastity of his wife, and that,
having now disposed of the cause of his trouble, he should soon recover
his usual health and vivacity.
All those amphibious animals which now inhabit this world then roamed
through the watery waste to which the woman, in her fall, was hastening.
The Loon first discovered her coming, and called a council in haste to
prepare for her reception; observing, that the animal which approached
was a human being, and that earth was indispensably necessary for its
accommodation. The first subject of deliberation was, who should support
the burden.
The sea-bear first presented himself for a trial of his strength.
Instantly the other animals gathered round and scrambled on his back;
while the bear, unable to support the weight, sank beneath the surface
of the water, and was, by the whole assembly, judged unequal to the task
of supporting the earth. Several others in succession presented
themselves as candidates for the honour, with similar success. Last of
all the turtle modestly advanced, tendering his broad shell as the basis
of the earth now about to be formed. The beasts then made a trial of his
strength to bear, heaping themselves on his back; and finding their
united pressure unable to sink him below the surface, adjudged to him
the honour of supporting the world.
A foundation being thus provided, the next subject of deliberation was,
how to procure earth. Several of the most expert divers plunged to the
bottom of the sea, and came up dead; but the mink, at last, though he
shared the fate of the others, brought up in his claws a small quantity
of earth. This was placed on the back of the turtle.
In the mean time, the woman continued falling, and, at length, alighted
on the turtle’s back. The earth had already grown to the size of a man’s
foot, where she stood, with one foot covering the other. Shortly, she
had room for both feet, and was soon able to sit down. The earth
continued to expand; and when its plain was covered with verdure, and
traced with streams, which poured into the ocean, she erected her
habitation on the sea-shore.
Not long after, she was delivered of a daughter, and was supported by
the spontaneous productions of the earth, till the child arrived to
womanhood. She was then solicited in marriage by several animals,
changed into the forms of young men; but they were rejected successively
by the mother, until the turtle offered himself as a suitor, and was
received. After she had laid herself down to sleep, the turtle placed
two arrows on her body, in the form of a cross—one headed with flint,
the other with the rough bark of a tree. In due time she was delivered
of two sons, but died in child-birth.
The grandmother, enraged at her daughter’s death, resolved to destroy
them, and threw them into the sea. Scarcely had she reached her wigwam,
when the children overtook her at the door. She then concluded to let
them live; and, dividing the corpse of her daughter in two parts, she
threw them up towards the heavens, where one became the sun, the other
the moon. Then first began the succession of day and night. The children
speedily became men, and expert archers. The elder had the arrow of the
turtle which was pointed with flint; the younger had the arrow headed
with bark. The former was, by his malignant disposition, and his skill
and success in hunting, a favourite with his grandmother. They lived in
the midst of plenty, but would not permit the younger brother, whose
arrow was insufficient to kill any thing larger than birds, to share in
their abundance.
As this young man was wandering one day along the shore, he saw a bird
perched on a bough, projecting over the water. He attempted to kill it;
but his arrow, till that time unerring, flew wide of the mark, and sank
in the sea. He determined to recover it, and plunged to the bottom.
Here, to his astonishment, he found himself in a small cottage. A
venerable old man, sitting there, received him with a smile, and thus
addressed him:—“My son, I welcome you to the habitation of your father!
To obtain this interview, I directed all the circumstances which have
conspired to bring you hither. Here is your arrow, and here is an ear of
corn. I have watched the unkindness of your brother, and command you to
take his life. When you return home, collect all the flints you can
find, and hang up all the bucks’-horns. These are the only things which
will make an impression on his body, which is made of flint.”
Having received these instructions, the young man took his leave, and,
in a quarrel with his brother, drove him to a distant region, far beyond
the Savannahs, in the south-west, where he killed him, and left his huge
form of flint on the earth. The great enemy to the race of the turtle
being thus destroyed, they sprang from the ground in human form, and
multiplied in peace.
The grandmother, roused to furious resentment for the loss of her
favourite son, resolved to be revenged. For many days successively she
caused the rain to descend from the clouds in torrents, until the whole
surface of the earth, and even the highest mountains, were covered. The
inhabitants escaped by fleeing to their canoes. She then covered the
earth with snow; but they betook themselves to their snow-shoes. She
then gave up the hope of destroying them at once, and has ever since
employed herself in inflicting lesser evils on the world, while her
younger son displays his benevolence by showering blessings on his race.
The reader will have traced the analogy between this and the Scripture
account of the deluge, &c.
[Illustration]
UTICA.
* * * * *
This long tradition has left us little room for Utica, which truly is
among those spots (said to be the happiest in the world) with no
striking events in its history. It is a pretty and thriving town, half
way between Lake Ontario and the Susquehanna, and on the great routes by
canal, road, and rail-road, to the west; and in the centre of these
radii of communication is fast becoming a focus of wealth and
refinement. A high reputation for the latter, however, its society has
long and deservedly enjoyed.
[Illustration]
THE LANDING ON THE AMERICAN SIDE.
(FALLS OF NIAGARA.)
* * * * *
The cliff and staircase at this Landing would be considered highly
picturesque any where but at the side of Niagara. The hundred stairs
clinging to the rock, the wild vines overgrowing the temporary shed
under which travellers take shelter from the spray, the descending and
ascending figures, and the athletic boatmen, whose occupation of pulling
across this troubled ferry requires herculean strength and proportions,
all form a subject for the painter, which could only be disregarded amid
the engrossing scenes of Niagara.
There is another staircase extending down the precipitous front of Goat
Island, between the two cataracts, which is less picturesque in itself,
but much more daring in its position. One marvels at first how it ever
was constructed; but a story told in an old book of travels, published
in London in 1750, shows that human feet have stood on the isolated and
quaking cliff below, and returned again to the summit without the aid of
mechanical science. The narrator is a Mr. Peter Kalm, a Swedish
gentleman, then on his travels in America:—
“It was formerly thought impossible for any body living to come at the
island that is in the middle of the Fall; but an accident that happened
twelve years ago made it appear otherwise. The history is this:—Two
Indians of the Six Nations went out from Niagara Fort to hunt upon an
island that is in the middle of the river, or strait, some miles above
the great Fall, on which there used to be abundance of deer. They took
some French brandy with them from the fort, which they tasted several
times as they were carrying their canoe around the Fall; and when they
were in the canoe, they now and then took a dram, and so went along up
the strait toward the island where they proposed to hunt; but growing
sleepy, they laid themselves down in the canoe, which getting loose,
drove back with the stream farther and farther down, till it came nigh
that island that is in the middle of the Fall. Here, one of them,
awakened by the noise, cries out to the other that they were gone!—yet
they tried if possible to save life. This island between the Falls was
nighest, and with much working they got there. At first, they were glad;
but when they had considered every thing, they thought themselves hardly
in a better state than if they had gone down the Fall, since they had
now no other choice than either to throw themselves down the same, or to
perish with hunger: but hard necessity put them on invention. At the
lower end of the island the rock is perpendicular, and there is a break
in the fall. The island having plenty of wood, they went to work
directly and made a ladder, or shrouds, of the bark of linden tree,
which is very tough and strong, so long, that it would reach to the edge
of the water below. One end of this bark ladder they tied fast to a
great tree that grew at the side of the rock above the Fall, and let the
other end down to the water.
“So they went down their new-invented stairs; and when they came to the
bottom in the middle of the Fall, they rested a little; and as the water
next below the Fall is not rapid, they threw themselves out into it,
thinking to swim on shore. Hardly had the Indians began to swim, before
the waves of the eddy threw them with violence against the rock from
whence they started. They tried it several times, but at last were
weary, and being often thrown against the rock they were much bruised,
and the skin of their bodies torn in many places. So they were obliged
to climb up their stairs again to the island, not knowing what to do.
After some time they perceived Indians on the opposite shore, to whom
they cried out. These two pitied them, but gave them little hopes of
help; yet they made haste down to the fort, and told the French
commander where two of their brethren were. He persuaded them to try all
possible means of relieving the two poor Indians; and it was done in
this manner. The water that runs on the east side of the island is
shallow, and breaks in rapids over the rocks. The commandant caused
poles to be made and pointed with iron: two Indians determined to walk
to this island by the help of these poles to save the others, or perish.
They took leave of their friends as if they were going to death. Each
had two such poles in his hands to set against the bottom of the stream
to keep them steady: so they went and got to the island, and having
given poles to the poor Indians there, they all returned safely to the
main. The unfortunate creatures had been nine days on the island, and
were almost starved to death.”
A bridge is now thrown across where these adventurous Indians made their
passage. If the story be true, it is one of the most gallant feats on
record.
[Illustration]
VIEW FROM MOUNT WASHINGTON.