place from the edge of the Mohawk, is one of the most beautiful of the
many beautiful features disclosed to the voyager on this great outlet of
the West. No traveller sees a greater variety of fine objects within the
same distance than the follower of the Canal from Schenectady to
Buffalo; and certainly none sees them with more ease and comfort to
himself. The packet-boats are long drawing-rooms, where he dines,
sleeps, reads, lolls, or looks out of the window; and if in want of
exercise, he may at any time get a quick walk on the tow-path, and all
this without perceptible motion, jar, or smell of steam. Of all the
modes of travelling in America, the least popular and the most
delightful, to our thinking, is travelling on the Canal.
One of the descriptions of scenery through which the Canal passes, and
one which is, we believe, peculiar to our country, is what are called
_openings_. When one of these plains is seen at a little distance, a
traveller emerging from the forest naturally concludes that it is the
commencement of a settled country; and as he advances towards it, is
instinctively led to cast his eye forward to find the town or village of
which it is the outskirt. From this impression he will be unable to free
himself; for though given up, the thought will recur again, spite of his
conviction, that he is in the heart of a wilderness. At the same time a
sense of stillness and solitude, a feeling of absolute retirement from
the world, deeper and more affecting than any he has ever felt before,
will be forced upon him while roving in these sequestered regions. No
passage out of them is presented to his eye. Yet, though the tract
around him is seemingly bounded every where, the boundary is every where
obscure, being formed of trees, thinly dispersed, and retired beyond
each other at such distances, that, while they actually limit the view,
they appear rather to border dim, indistinct openings into other tracts
of country. Thus he always feels the limit to be uncertain, and until he
is actually leaving one of these plains, will continually expect to find
a part of the expansion still spreading beyond the reach of his eye. On
every side, a multitude of chasms conduct his eye beyond the labyrinth
by which he is surrounded, and present an imaginary passage back into
the world from which he is withdrawn, bewildering him with expectation
continually awakened to be continually disappointed. Thus, in a kind of
romantic rapture, he wanders over these plains with emotions similar to
those with which, when a child, he roamed through the wildernesses
created in Arabian tales.
The origin of the peculiar appearance of these grounds, Dr. Dwight
supposes, is probably this. The Indians annually, and sometimes oftener,
burned such parts of the North American forests as they found
sufficiently dry. In every such case, the fuel consists chiefly of the
fallen leaves, which are rarely dry enough for an extensive combustion,
except on uplands; and on these only when covered with a dry soil. Of
this nature were always the oak and yellow pine grounds, which were
therefore usually subjected to an annual conflagration. The beech and
maple grounds were commonly too wet to be burned. Hence, on these
grounds, the vegetable mould is from six inches to a foot in depth,
having been rarely or never consumed by fire; while on the oak and pine
grounds, it often does not exceed an inch. That this is the effect of
fire only, and not of any diversity in the nature of the trees, is
evident from the fact, that, in moist soils, where the fire cannot
penetrate, the mould is as deep on the oak as on the maple grounds. This
mould is combustible, and by an intense fire is wholly consumed.
The object of these conflagrations was to produce fresh and sweet
pasture, for the purpose of alluring the deer to the spots on which they
had been kindled. Immediately after the fires, a species of grass
springs up, sometimes called _fire-grass_, because it usually succeeds a
conflagration. Either from its nature, or from the efficacy of the fire,
it is remarkably sweet, and eagerly sought by the deer. All the
underwood is at the same time consumed, so that these animals are easily
discovered at considerable distances—a thing impracticable where the
forests have not been burned. To supply himself with timber for a
wigwam, and with wood for fuel, was the only use which the Indian could
make of the forest; and the earth furnished him with nothing but a place
for his residence, his garden, and his game. While, therefore, he
destroyed both the forest and the soil, he converted them to uses most
profitable for himself.
When these grounds had been often burned, the seeds and nuts whence
future trees would have germinated, were, of course, destroyed by fire.
The small number scattered over these plains, or _openings_, grew on
spots which were less ravaged by fire, because they were moist, or
because they were less covered with leaves.
[Illustration]
HUDSON HIGHLANDS, FROM BULL HILL.
* * * * *
This view out from the gorge of the highlands presents a foreground of
cliff and shadow, with their reflections almost folded across in the
bosom of the river, and a middle ground of the village of Newburgh and
the gently-undulating country in the rear. The blue and far-off line of
the Kaatskills shuts in the horizon.
There is some very romantic scenery hidden among the undulations just
mentioned, embracing several small rivers, and a romantic stream, called
Murderer’s Creek, a tributary of the Hudson. Mr. Poulding, in his “New
Mirror for Travellers,” gives the following interesting legend in
explanation of the name:—
“Little more than a century ago, the beautiful region watered by this
stream was possessed by a small tribe of Indians, which has long since
become extinct, or been incorporated with some other savage nation of
the West. Three or four hundred yards from where the stream discharges
itself into the Hudson, a white family, of the name of Stacey, had
established itself in a log-house, by tacit permission of the tribe, to
whom Stacey had made himself useful by his skill in a variety of little
arts highly estimated by the savages. In particular, a friendship
existed between him and an old Indian, called Naoman, who often came to
his house and partook of his hospitality. The Indians never forgive
injuries or forget benefits. The family consisted of Stacey, his wife,
and two children, a boy and girl, the former five, the latter three
years old.”
The legend goes on to say, that Naoman, in grateful friendship, gave the
wife of Stacey a secret warning, that a massacre of the whites was
resolved on, exacting from her a solemn pledge of secrecy, and advising
instant escape across the river.
“The daily visits of old Naoman, and his more than ordinary gravity, had
excited suspicion in some of the tribe, who had accordingly paid
particular attention to the movements of Stacey. One of the young
Indians, who had kept on the watch, seeing the whole family about to
take their boat, ran to the little Indian village, about a mile off, and
gave the alarm. Five Indians collected, ran down to the river side,
where their canoes were moored, jumped in, and paddled after Stacey, who
by this time had got some distance out into the stream. They gained on
him so fast, that twice he dropped his paddle, and took up his gun. But
his wife prevented his shooting, by telling him, that if he fired, and
they were afterwards overtaken, they would meet no mercy from the
Indians. He accordingly refrained, and plied his paddle, till the sweat
rolled in big drops down his forehead. All would not do; they were
overtaken within a hundred yards of the shore, and carried back with
shouts of yelling triumph.
“When they got ashore, the Indians set fire to Stacey’s house, and
dragged himself, his wife, and children, to their village. Here the
principal old men, and Naoman among the rest, assembled to deliberate on
the affair. The chief among them stated that some one of the tribe had
undoubtedly been guilty of treason, in apprising Stacey, the white man,
of the designs of the tribe, whereby they took the alarm, and had well
nigh escaped. He proposed to examine the prisoners as to who gave the
information. The old men assented to this, and Naoman among the rest.
Stacey was first interrogated by one of the old men, who spoke English,
and interpreted to the others. Stacey refused to betray his informant.
His wife was then questioned, while at the same moment two Indians stood
threatening the two children with tomahawks in case she did not confess.
She attempted to evade the truth, by declaring she had a dream the night
before which had alarmed her, and that she had persuaded her husband to
fly. ‘The Great Spirit never deigns to talk in dreams to a white face,’
said the old Indian: ‘woman! thou hast two tongues and two faces: speak
the truth, or thy children shall surely die.’ The little boy and girl
were then brought close to her, and the two savages stood over them,
ready to execute their bloody orders.
“‘Wilt thou name,’ said the old Indian, ‘the red man who betrayed his
tribe? I will ask thee three times.’ The mother answered not. ‘Wilt thou
name the traitor? This is the second time.’ The poor mother looked at
her husband, and then at her children, and stole a glance at Naoman, who
sat smoking his pipe with invincible gravity. She wrung her hands and
wept, but remained silent. ‘Wilt thou name the traitor? ’Tis the third
and last time.’ The agony of the mother waxed more bitter; again she
sought the eye of Naoman, but it was cold and motionless. A pause of a
moment awaited her reply, and the next moment the tomahawks were raised
over the heads of the children, who besought their mother not to let
them be murdered.
“‘Stop!’ cried Naoman. All eyes were turned upon him. ‘Stop!’ repeated
he in a tone of authority. ‘White woman, thou hast kept thy word with me
to the last moment. I am the traitor. I have eaten of the salt, warmed
myself at the fire, shared the kindness of these christian white people,
and it was I that told them of their danger. I am a withered, leafless,
branchless trunk; cut me down if you will. I am ready.’ A yell of
indignation sounded on all sides. Naoman descended from the little bank
where he sat, shrouded his face with his mantle of skins, and submitted
to his fate. He fell dead at the feet of the white woman by a blow of
the tomahawk.”
[Illustration]
VILLA ON THE HUDSON, NEAR WEEHAWKEN.
* * * * *
From this admirably chosen spot, the Bay of New York appears with every
accessory of beauty. The city itself comes into the left of the picture
to an advantage seen from no other point of view, the flocks of
river-craft scud past in all directions, men-of-war, merchantmen,
steamers, and ferry-boats, fill up the moving elements of the panorama;
and far away beyond stretches the broad harbour, with its glassy or
disturbed waters, in all the varieties of ever-changing sea-view. It was
on this side that Hudson, who had felt the hostility of the Manhattan
Indians, found a friendlier tribe, and made his first amicable visit on
shore. The Indian tradition, springing from that visit,[2] and
describing the first intoxication they had ever experienced, is
extremely amusing.
“A long time ago, before men with a white skin had ever been seen, some
Indians, fishing at a place where the sea widens, espied something at a
distance moving upon the water. They hurried ashore, collected their
neighbours, who together returned and viewed intensely this astonishing
phenomenon. What it could be, baffled all conjecture. Some supposed it
to be a large fish or animal, others that it was a very big house,
floating on the sea. Perceiving it moving towards land, the spectators
concluded that it would be proper to send runners in different
directions to carry the news to their scattered chiefs, that they might
send off for the immediate attendance of their warriors. These arriving
in numbers to behold the sight, and perceiving that it was actually
moving towards them (_i.e._ coming into the river or bay), they
conjectured that it must be a remarkably large house, in which the
Manitto (or Great Spirit), was coming to visit them. They were much
afraid, and yet under no apprehension that the Great Spirit would injure
them. They worshipped him. The chiefs now assembled at York Island, and
consulted in what manner they should receive their Manitto: meat was
prepared for a sacrifice; the women were directed to prepare the best of
victuals; idols or images were examined and put in order; a grand dance
they thought would be pleasing, and, in addition to the sacrifice, might
appease him, if angry. The conjurers were also set to work, to determine
what this phenomenon portended, and what the result would be. To these,
men, women, and children, looked up for advice and protection. Utterly
at a loss what to do, and distracted alternately by hope and fear, in
this confusion a grand dance commenced. Meantime fresh runners arrived,
declaring it to be a great house, of various colours, and full of living
creatures. It now appeared certain that it was their Manitto, probably
bringing some new kind of game. Others arriving, declared it positively
to be full of people, of different colour and dress from theirs, and
that one, in particular, appeared altogether _red_. This then must be
the _Manitto_. They were lost in admiration; could not imagine what the
vessel was, whence it came, or what all this portended. They are now
hailed from the vessel in a language they could not understand; they
answer by a shout or yell in their way. The house (or large canoe, as
some render it) stops. A smaller canoe comes on shore, with the red man
in it; some stay by his canoe, to guard it. The chiefs and wise men form
a circle, into which the red man and two attendants approach. He salutes
them with friendly countenance, and they return the salute after their
manner. They are amazed at their colour and dress, particularly with him
who, glittering in red, wore something (perhaps lace, or buttons) they
could not comprehend. He _must_ be the great Manitto, they thought; but
why should he have a _white skin_? A large elegant _hockhack_ (_gourd_,
_i.e._ bottle, decanter, &c.) is brought by one of the supposed
Manitto’s servants, from which a substance is poured into a small cup or
glass, and handed to the Manitto. He drinks, has the glass refilled, and
handed to the chief near him; he takes it, smells it, and passes it to
the next, who does the same. The glass in this manner is passed round
the circle, and is about to be returned to the red-clothed man, when one
of them, a great warrior, harangues them on the impropriety of returning
the cup unemptied. It was handed to them, he said, by the Manitto, to
drink out of as he had; to follow his example would please him—to
reject it might provoke his wrath; and if no one else would, he would
drink it himself, let what would follow; for it was better for one even
to die, than a whole nation to be destroyed. He then took the glass,
smelled at it, again addressed them, bidding adieu, and drank the
contents. All eyes were now fixed (on the first Indian in New York who
had tasted the poison which has since affected so signal a revolution in
the condition of the native Americans). He soon began to stagger; the
women cried, supposing him in fits; he rolled on the ground; they bemoan
his fate; they thought him dying. He fell asleep. They at first thought
he had expired, but soon perceived he still breathed. He awoke, jumped
up, and declared he never felt more happy; he asked for more; and the
whole assembly imitating him, became intoxicated.”
In descending the river, after he had penetrated to Albany, Hudson ran
his little craft ashore at Weehawken; but the ground was a soft ooze,
and she was got off without damage, and proceeded to sea.
-----
[2] It is disputed whether this scene of intoxication took place on the
present site of New York, on the Jersey side, or at Albany.
[Illustration]
VIEW OF MEREDITH, NEW HAMPSHIRE.
* * * * *
This beautiful town stands between the two lakes Winipiseogee and
Sullivan and is deeply surrounded on every side with the most luxuriant
rural beauty. The neighbourhood of these exquisite lakes, studded
throughout with small green islands, burdened with foliage,—the lofty
mountains, near and distant,—the fertility of the soil, and the
healthiness of the spot, form a nucleus of attraction which gives
Meredith great preference over other towns in New Hampshire. The
Winipiseogee communicates, by the river of the same name, with the
Merrimack River, and is near five hundred feet above the level of the
sea.
This is the only part of New England, as far as we are aware, in which
Indians were regularly hunted by parties who went out for the purpose,
and received a bounty for their scalps. We have alluded elsewhere to
Captain Lovewell, who surprised and killed a large party of sleeping
Indians, and was killed himself afterwards, in the famous “Lovewell
fight.” The following tragedy, which took place on the Merrimack, in
what was, in those days, the neighbourhood of Meredith, shows the
provocation to this apparent inhumanity.
In the year 1697, a party of Indians, arrayed in their war dresses,
approached the house of Mr. Dustan. This man was abroad at his usual
labour. Upon the first alarm, he flew to the house, with a hope of
hurrying to a place of safety his family, consisting of his wife, who
had been confined a week only in child-bed; her nurse, a Mrs. Mary Jeff,
a widow from the neighbourhood; and eight children. Seven of his
children he ordered to flee, with the utmost expedition, in the course
opposite to that in which the danger was approaching; and went himself
to assist his wife. Before she could leave her bed, the savages were
upon them. Her husband, despairing of rendering her any service, flew to
the door, mounted his horse, and determined to snatch up the child with
which he was unable to part, when he should overtake the little flock.
When he came up to them, about two hundred yards from his house, he was
unable to make a choice, or to leave any one of the number. He therefore
determined to take his lot with them, and to defend them from their
murderers, or die by their side. A body of the Indians pursued, and came
up with him; and from near distances fired at him and his little
company. He returned the fire, and retreated, alternately. For more than
a mile he kept so resolute a face to his enemy, retiring in the rear of
his charge, returned the fire of the savages so often, and with so good
success, and sheltered so effectually his terrified companions, that he
finally lodged them all safe from the pursuing butchers, in a distant
house. When it is remembered how numerous his assailants were, how bold
when an overmatch for their enemies, how active, and what excellent
marksmen, a devout mind will consider the hand of Providence as
unusually visible in the preservation of this family. Another party of
the Indians entered the house, immediately after Mr. Dustan had quitted
it, and found Mrs. Dustan, and her nurse, who was attempting to fly with
the infant in her arms. Mrs. Dustan they ordered to rise instantly; and
before she could completely dress herself, obliged her and her companion
to quit the house, after they had plundered it and set it on fire. In
company with several other captives, they began their march into the
wilderness; she feeble, sick, terrified beyond measure, partially clad,
one of her feet bare, and the season utterly unfit for comfortable
travelling. The air was chilly and keen, and the earth covered,
alternately, with snow and deep mud. Her conductors were unfeeling,
insolent, and revengeful: murder was their glory, and torture their
sport. Her infant was in her nurse’s arms; and infants were the
customary victims of savage barbarity. The company had proceeded but a
short distance, when an Indian, thinking it an incumbrance, took the
child out of the nurse’s arms, and dashed its head against a tree. Such
of the other captives as began to be weary, and lag, the Indians
tomahawked. The slaughter was not an act of revenge or of cruelty; it
was a mere convenience; an effort so familiar as not even to excite an
emotion. Feeble as Mrs. Dustan was, both she and her nurse sustained,
without yielding, the fatigue of the journey. Their intense distress for
the death of the child, and of their companions, anxiety for those whom
they had left behind, and unceasing terror for themselves, raised these
unhappy women to such a degree of vigour, that notwithstanding their
fatigue, their exposure to cold, their sufferance from hunger, and their
sleeping on damp ground, under an inclement sky, they finished an
expedition of about one hundred and fifty miles, without losing their
spirits, or injuring their health. The _weekwarm_ to which they were
conducted, and which belonged to the savage who had claimed them as his
property, was inhabited by twelve persons. In the month of April this
family set out, with their captives, for an Indian settlement still more
remote; and informed them, that when they arrived at the settlement,
they must be stripped, scourged, and run the gauntlet, naked, between
two files of Indians, containing the whole number found in the
settlement; for such, they declared, was the standing custom of their
nation. This information made a deep impression on the minds of the
captive women, and led them irresistibly to devise all the possible
means of escape. On the 31st of the same month, very early in the
morning, Mrs. Dustan, while the Indians were asleep, having awaked her
nurse, and a fellow-prisoner (a youth taken some time before, from
Worcester), despatched, with the assistance of her companions, ten of
the twelve Indians; the other two escaped. With the scalps of these
savages, they returned through the wilderness; and, having arrived
safely at Haverhill, and afterwards at Boston, received a handsome
reward for their intrepid conduct, from the legislature.”
[Illustration]
BALLSTON SPRINGS.
* * * * *
These celebrated springs rise in a valley formed by a branch of the
Kayaderosseras Creek. In this valley, and on its acclivities, is built
the village called Ballston Spa. The medicinal character of the waters
was discovered (as was said of Saratoga) by the beaten track of the deer
to the springs at certain seasons. Ballston is now a populous village
during the summer, and, since the rail-road has connected it with
Saratoga, these two resorts have become like one, and, together,
assemble, during certain months, the greater proportion of the moving
population of the country. A description of the kind of life led at
these springs accompanies another drawing in this Series.