numerous, of addressing every new governor, and every descendant of the
first proprietary, welcoming him to the province, assuring him of their
fidelity, and praying a continuance of that favour and protection which
they had hitherto experienced. They had accordingly sent up an address
of this kind to our present governor (John Penn, Esq.) on his arrival;
but the same was scarcely delivered, when the unfortunate catastrophe
happened which we are about to relate. On Wednesday, the 14th December,
1763, fifty-seven men from some of our frontier townships, who had
projected the destruction of this little commonwealth, came all well
mounted, and armed with firelocks, hangers, and hatchets, having
travelled through the country in the night to Conestogoe manor. There
they surrounded the small village of Indian huts, and just at break of
day broke in upon them all at once. Only three men, two women, and a
young boy, were found at home; the rest being out among the neighbouring
white people—some to sell the baskets, brooms, and bowls, they
manufactured, and others on other occasions. These poor defenceless
creatures were immediately fired upon, stabbed, and hatcheted to death!
the good Shehaes among the rest cut to pieces in his bed!—all of them
were scalped, and otherwise horribly mangled. Then their huts were set
on fire, and most of them burned down. The magistrates of Lancaster sent
out to collect the remaining Indians, brought them into the town for
their better security against any further attempt, and, it is said,
condoled with them on the misfortune that had happened, took them by the
hand, and promised them protection. They were put into the workhouse, a
strong building, as the place of greatest safety. These cruel men again
assembled themselves; and hearing that the remaining fourteen Indians
were in the workhouse at Lancaster, they suddenly appeared before that
town on the 27th December. Fifty of them, armed as before, dismounting,
went directly to the workhouse, and, by violence, broke open the door,
and entered with the utmost fury in their countenances. When the poor
wretches saw they had no protection nigh, nor could possibly escape, and
being without the least weapon of defence, they divided their little
families, the children clinging to their parents; they fell on their
faces, protested their innocence, declared their love to the English,
and that, in their whole lives, they had never done them injury; and in
this posture they all received the hatchet! Men, women, and children,
were every one inhumanly murdered in cold blood!”
[Illustration]
LOCKPORT—ERIE CANAL.
* * * * *
This town, so suddenly sprung into existence, is about thirty miles from
Lake Erie, and exhibits one of those wonders of enterprise which
astonish calculation. The waters of Lake Erie, which have come thus far
without much descent, are here let down sixty feet by five double locks,
and thence pursue a perfectly level course, sixty-five miles, to
Rochester. The remarkable thing at Lockport, however, is a deep cut from
here to the Torenanta Creek, seven miles in length, and partly through
solid rock, at an average depth of twenty feet. The canal boat glides
through this flinty bed, with jagged precipices on each side; and the
whole route has very much the effect of passing through an immense
cavern.
This tract of country is very interesting to the antiquarian, from the
remains of fortifications, and other probable traces of a race who
existed, and whose arts perished before the occupation of the country by
the tribes who lately possessed it. On Seneca river, on the south side
of Lake Erie, in many different parts of the State of New York, and in a
long chain extending west through the valley of the Ohio, down that of
the Mississippi, and so westward through Mexico, are traces of a people
who were settled in towns defended by forts, and altogether far more
advanced in civilization than the Iroquois found here by Europeans. The
region in the neighbourhood of Lockport and Torenanta was visited with
reference to these remains by the Rev. Mr. Kirkland, missionary to the
Iroquois confederacy, in 1778. His account is very curious. At a
deserted Indian village, near the old Indian town of Kanawageas, he
discovered an ancient fort. It enclosed about six acres, and had six
gates. The ditch appeared to be eight feet wide, and in some places six
feet deep, and drawn in a circular form on three sides. The fourth side
was defended by nature with a high bank, at the foot of which is a fine
stream of water. The bank had probably been secured by a stockade, as
there appeared to have been a deep covered way in the middle of it down
to the water. Some of the trees on the bank and in the ditch appeared to
Mr. Kirkland to have been at the age of two hundred years. About half a
mile south of this, and upon a greater eminence, he traced the ruins of
another old fortified town, of less dimensions than the other, but with
a deeper ditch, and in a situation more lofty and defensible. Having
examined these fortifications, Mr. Kirkland returned to _Kanawageas_,
and thence renewed his tour westward, until he encamped for the night at
a place called _Joàika_, (i.e. Racoon,) on the river _Tanawànde_, about
twenty-six miles from _Kanawangeas_. Six miles from this place of
encampment, he rode to the open fields, and arrived at a place called by
the Senecas _Tegatàinèáaghgwe_, which imports a _double-fortified_ town,
or a town with a fort at each end. Here he walked about half a mile with
one of the Seneca chiefs, to view one of the vestiges of this
double-fortified town: they were the remains of two forts. The first
which he visited, as above, contained about four acres of ground: the
other to which he proceeded, distant from this about two miles, and
situated at the other extremity of the ancient town, enclosed twice that
quantity of ground. The ditch around the former, which he particularly
examined, was about five or six feet deep. A small stream of water and a
high bank circumscribed nearly one-third of the enclosed ground. There
were the traces of six gates, or avenues, round the ditch; and near the
centre a way was dug to the water. The ground on the opposite side of
the water was in some places nearly as high as that on which the fort
was built, which might render this covered way to the water necessary. A
considerable number of large thrifty oaks had grown up within the
enclosed ground, both in and upon the ditch; some of them appeared to be
at least two hundred years old, or more. The ground is of a hard
gravelly kind, intermixed with loam, and more plentifully at the brow of
the hill. In some places, at the bottom of the ditch, Mr. Kirkland ran
his cane a foot or more into the ground, from which circumstance he
concluded that the ditch was much deeper in its original state than it
then appeared to him. Near the northern fortification, which was
situated on high ground, he found the remains of a funeral pile, where
the slain were buried, in a great battle, which will be spoken of
hereafter. The earth was raised about six feet above the common surface,
and betwixt twenty and thirty feet diameter. The bones appeared on the
whole surface of the raised earth, and struck out in many places on the
sides. Pursuing his course towards Buffalo Creek, (his ultimate
destination,) Mr. Kirkland discovered the vestiges of another ancient
fortified town. He does not in his manuscript delineate them, but, from
the course he described, they might be easily ascertained. “Upon these
heights, near the ancient fortified town, the roads part; we left the
path leading to Niagara on our right, and went a course nearly
south-west for Buffalo Creek. After leaving these heights, which
afforded an extensive prospect, we travelled over a fine tract of land
for about six or seven miles; then came to a barren white oak-shrub
plain, and one very remarkable spot of near two hundred acres, and
passed a steep hill on our right, in some places near fifty feet
perpendicular, at the bottom of which is a small lake, affording another
instance of pagan superstition. The old Indians affirm that, formerly, a
demon, in the form of a dragon, resided in this lake, and had frequently
been seen to disgorge balls of liquid fire; and that, to appease his
wrath, many a sacrifice of tobacco had been made at that lake by the
fathers. The barren spot above mentioned is covered with small white
stone, that appears like lime and clay; in some spots, for a
considerable distance, there is no appearance of earth. Notwithstanding
its extreme poverty, there are many trees of moderate size. At the
extremity of this barren plain, we came again to the Tanawande river,
and forded it about two miles above the Indian town called by that name.
This village contains fourteen houses, or huts; their chief is called
Gashagaàle, nicknamed the _black chief_. On the south side of the
Tanawande Creek, at a small distance, are to be seen the vestiges of
another ancient fortified town.” Mr. Kirkland further remarks, that
there are vestiges of ancient fortified towns in various parts
throughout the extensive territory of the Six Nations, and, by Indian
report, in various other parts; particularly one on a branch of the
Delaware river, which, from the size and age of some of the trees that
have grown upon the banks and in the ditches, appears to have existed
nearly one thousand years.
[Illustration]
THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON.
MOUNT VERNON.
* * * * *
The current of life seems to be too rapid in America to allow time for
reflection upon any thing which can possibly be deferred. The monuments
are left unfinished on our battle-fields; the tombs of great men become
indistinguishable before marked with a stone; and the sacred places
where patriotism has dwelt, are rated by the value of their material,
and left to decay. It is difficult to visit Mount Vernon, and feel, from
any mark of care or respect visible about it, that America owes any
thing to the sacred ashes it entombs.
The family tomb at Mount Vernon has once been robbed by a sacrilegious
ruffian, whose ignorance alone preserved for us the remains of
Washington. It has been proposed to Congress to buy Mount Vernon, and
establish a guard over relics so hallowed. Why should not this be done,
and a sufficient sum be appropriated to enclose and keep in order the
whole estate, improve the execrable road leading to it from Alexandria,
and employ persons to conduct strangers over the place?
The vault in which the ashes of Washington repose, is at the distance
of, perhaps, thirty rods from the house, immediately upon the bank of
the river. A more romantic and picturesque site for a tomb can scarcely
be imagined. Between it and the Potomac is a curtain of forest-trees,
covering the steep declivity to the water’s edge, breaking the glare of
the prospect, and yet affording glimpses of the river, where the foliage
is thickest. The tomb is surrounded by several large native oaks, which
are venerable by their years, and which annually strew the sepulchre
with autumnal leaves, furnishing the most appropriate drapery for the
place, and giving a still deeper impression to the _memento mori_.
Interspersed among the oaks, and overhanging the tomb, is a copse of red
cedar, whose evergreen boughs present a fine contrast to the hoary and
leafless branches of the oak; and while the deciduous foliage of the
latter indicates the decay of the body, the eternal verdure of the
former furnishes a fitting emblem of the immortal spirit. The sacred and
symbolic _cassia_ was familiar to Washington, and, perhaps, led to the
selection of a spot where the evergreen flourished.
One of the most interesting associations with the tomb of Washington, is
La Fayette’s visit to it, as related by Levasseur:—
“After a voyage of two hours, the guns of Fort Washington announced that
we were approaching the last abode of the father of his country. At this
solemn signal, to which the military band accompanying us responded by
plaintive strains, we went on deck, and the venerable soil of Mount
Vernon was before us. At this view, an involuntary and spontaneous
movement made us kneel. We landed in boats, and trod upon the ground so
often trod by the feet of Washington. A carriage received General
Lafayette; and the other visitors silently ascended the precipitous path
which conducted to the solitary habitation of Mount Vernon. In
re-entering beneath this hospitable roof, which had sheltered him when
the reign of terror tore him violently from his country and family,
George Lafayette felt his heart sink within him, at no more finding him
whose paternal care had softened his misfortunes; while his father
sought with emotion for every thing which reminded him of the companion
of his glorious toils.
“Three nephews of General Washington took Lafayette, his son, and
myself, to conduct us to the tomb of their uncle: our numerous
companions remained in the house. In a few minutes the cannon,
thundering anew, announced that Lafayette rendered homage to the ashes
of Washington. Simple and modest as he was during life, the tomb of the
citizen hero is scarcely perceived among the sombre cypresses by which
it is surrounded. A vault, slightly elevated and dodded over—a wooden
door without inscriptions—some withered and green garlands, indicate to
the traveller who visits the spot, where rest in peace the puissant arms
which broke the chains of his country. As we approached, the door was
opened. Lafayette descended alone into the vault, and a few minutes
after re-appeared, with his eyes overflowing with tears. He took his son
and me by the hand, and led us into the tomb, where, by a sign, he
indicated the coffin. We knelt reverentially, and rising, threw
ourselves into the arms of Lafayette, and mingled our tears with his.”
[Illustration]
BLACK MOUNTAIN—LAKE GEORGE.
* * * * *
The mountains on the shore of this exquisite lake consist of two great
ranges, bordering it from north to south. The western range passes
westward of the north-west bay, at the head of which a vast spar,
shooting towards the south-east, forms the whole of the peninsula
between that bay and the lake. Both these ranges alternately approach
the lake, so as to constitute a considerable part of its shores, and
recede from it again to the distance sometimes of two or three miles.
The summits of these mountains are of almost every figure, from the
arch, to the bold, bluff, and sharp cone. In some instances, the loftier
ones are bald, solemn, and forbidding; in others, they are clothed and
crowned with verdure. It is the peculiarity of Lake George, that, while
all the world agrees to speak only of its loveliness, it is surrounded
by features of the highest grandeur and sublimity. The Black Mountain is
one of these; and there is every variety of chasm, crag, promontory, and
peak, which a painter would require for the noblest composition of
mountain scenery. The atmospheric changes here, too, are almost always
violent; and storms are so frequent, that there is scarce a traveller to
Lake George in the summer who has not seen it in a thunder-storm.
It was remarked to me on this lake by a foreigner, that, with all the
luxuriance of the vegetation, the trees seemed small; and it is a remark
that is frequently made by Englishmen, who compare the common trees in
the woods on the roadside with the oaks left to flourish for centuries
in venerating and venerable England. The best answer to this remark is
contained in a letter, addressed to a friend in England, by an able
writer of this country:—
“The soil of New England is naturally quite as rich and productive as
that of England: of this the thrifty growth and ultimate size of our
forest-trees is ample proof. _Few of them, indeed, can now be found of
this size: almost all the original forests of this country having been
long since cut down._ I have seen many of these trees, and have compared
them with the accounts given of forests in many parts of the globe, and
am assured that they will very rarely suffer by such comparison. It may
seem strange to you, accustomed as you are to see forest-trees planted
in great numbers, and preserved with great care, that the inhabitants of
this country should, so soon after its colonization, have cut down their
forests in this extensive manner. This is one of the ten thousand
subjects, presented to the mind by the existing state of things here,
about which a foreigner must necessarily misconceive. Should he travel
through New England he would naturally conclude that the forest-trees
failed of arriving at the size which they attain in Europe. He would,
indeed, see that they were tall, and apparently very thrifty, but small
in the girth. I do not mean that they are universally so; but that this
is extensively the fact throughout the southern division. For the reason
of it he would be at a loss, and most probably would attribute it,
notwithstanding the thrifty appearance of the trees, to sterility of
soil, or, in the mystic language of Buffon, to ‘a deficiency of matter.’
Should he be informed that the real cause was the age of the trees,
almost all of which are young, his perplexity would be increased. On the
one hand he would be astonished at the folly of destroying forests in
this wanton manner, without any apparent reason; and, on the other,
would be unable to comprehend how these forests renewed themselves
without the aid of planting. All this is, however, easily explicable.
The wood of this country is its fuel. An Englishman who sees the various
fires of his own country sustained by peat and coal only, cannot easily
form a conception of the quantity of wood, or, if you please, of forest
which is necessary for this purpose. To this quantity must be added the
timber for the uses of building, in a country where almost all buildings
are formed merely of timber; of fencing, furniture, and commerce; and a
prodigious mass annually destroyed in the recent settlements for the
mere purpose of clearing the ground. With these facts before him, he
will cease to wonder that forests are very extensively felled in New
England. All these forests renew themselves. The seeds of the
forest-trees spring more readily and successfully when left on the
surface than when buried in the ground, even at a very small depth. They
will not, however, germinate upon a sward: they demand a soil loose and
light. In this state the soil is always kept in forested ground by the
leaves deposited on the earth. These also supply the necessary moisture
for germination, and effectually shelter the seeds, particularly the
nuts and acorns, from the ravages of animals. In this manner, and by a
process totally superior to any contrived by the human mind, forests are
furnished by the Author of nature with the means of perpetual
self-restoration.
“But this is not the only mode, nor the most expeditious, nor that which
is principally relied on in this country. When a field of wood is, in
the language of our farmers, _cut clean_—i.e. when every tree is cut
down, so far as any progress is made, vigorous shoots sprout from every
stump; and having their nourishment supplied by the roots of the former
tree, grow with a thrift and rapidity never seen in stems derived from
the seed. Good grounds will thus yield a growth amply sufficient for
fuel, once in fourteen years. A multitude of farmers, therefore, cut
their wood in this manner; although, it must be confessed, there are
different opinions and practices concerning the subject. In these two
modes the forests in New England become, in a sense, ever-living, and
supply plentifully the wants of the inhabitants.”
[Illustration]
CONNECTICUT VALLEY, FROM MOUNT HOLYOKE.
* * * * *
The broad open lands, or _intervals_, as they are called in this
country, which border upon the Connecticut, contain some of the most
sunny and fertile pictures of cultivation to be found on our continent.
From the mouth of the river up to its rise beyond the White Mountains,
it is gemmed with beautiful rural towns, many of them among the first in
our country for prosperity, neatness, and cultivated society.
The history of these towns presents some of the bloodiest traits marked
on the early settlements of New England. The event which gave the name
to Bloody Brook, a small village near the southern extremity of
Dresfield, is among many sanguinary records of the difficulties and
dangers of the first settlers in this valley.
For a considerable number of years the inhabitants of the valley had
lived in as perfect harmony with the Indians among whom they had
settled, as was possible, with the great difference between their
characters, principles, and pursuits. They had purchased their lands at
an equitable price, and in all their transactions with them had observed
the strictest equity and humanity. This state of tranquillity was only
disturbed by the wide-spreading intrigues of the bold sachem, Philip,
whose discernment, comprehensiveness of views, and admirable address,
entitle him to the first rank of superiority among the aborigines known
in our history. By means of emissaries, and personal solicitation, and
eloquence, this renowned warrior succeeded in uniting all the numerous
tribes of Indians within the territories colonized by the whites, in one
extensive conspiracy of extermination. Though divided into many tribes,
hostile to each other and perpetually at war, they joined in this common
cause, and a general war broke out at once in every part of the country.
The first symptom in the Valley of the Connecticut, was an abandonment
by the Indians of their fortresses and houses. They were pursued by a
party of settlers, and overtaken about eight miles above Hatfield; where
a skirmish ensued, in which nine or ten whites were killed, and about
twenty-six Indians.
Several attacks upon the settlements in the valley immediately followed,
repelled always with loss of life; and on the 30th of May, 1676, a body
of six or seven hundred attacked Hatfield again. The men were abroad in
the fields, but, reinforced by a small band from Hadley, they broke
through the Indians, and joined the families who had fled to the
fortified houses for protection. After a prolonged contest, they
succeeded in driving the Indians from the settlement, which was never
again attacked.
The village of Deerfield was among those which had suffered most from
the first incursions of the Indians, the houses having been burnt, and
the town evacuated in consequence. Their harvest had been cut about two
months before, and having been stacked in the fields, escaped the
conflagration. About eighty men from the settlements below came up to
protect the harvesters in carting it in, and about three thousand
bushels of wheat were thrashed, loaded upon the waggons, and had been
drawn as far as the brook before mentioned without molestation. The
settlers stopped here to gather grasses, and while thus occupied, were
suddenly and furiously attacked by a body of eight hundred Indians.
Captain Lathrop, the leader of the party, ordered his men to fight the
Indians in their own manner, availing themselves of the protection of
the trees; but the natives, trained to run from tree to tree, and to
conceal themselves in this sort of warfare with unexampled address and
caution, fought at great advantage, and soon decided the battle in their
own favour. Lathrop was killed at the commencement of the attack; and of
the whole number of reapers and armed men, ninety were killed on the
spot.
Captain Mosely, who was at Deerfield when the enterprise was undertaken,
marched immediately with a small band to the relief of Lathrop; but,
when he arrived, the contest was over, and the savages, flushed with
success, were pillaging the dead. Forming his men into a close column,
and commanding them to keep their ranks, he charged the Indians with the
greatest intrepidity. Spite of their numbers, he drove them into a
swamp, and forced his way through the whole body. They then attempted to
hang upon his rear, but with great presence of mind he wheeled and broke
through them again. In this manner the fight was continued for five
hours. He drove them several miles, and, with only two men killed, and
five or six wounded, succeeded in killing ninety-six of their number,
and returned, unmolested, on his way to Deerfield.
The next morning, the little band went out to bury the dead, and found
the savages again stripping the bodies on the field of battle. Mosely
drove them once more before him, and then, having performed his
melancholy task, heaped a monument of loose stones over the victims, and
returned. The name of the stream, Bloody Brook, is, at present, the only
memorial of the catastrophe.
[Illustration]
VIEW ON THE ERIE CANAL, NEAR LITTLE FALLS.
* * * * *