plentifully with deer, who were hunted in rather a peculiar manner. The
huntsmen were divided into two parties, one of which started them from
their thickets on the edge of the lake. Upon hearing the approach of the
dogs, they invariably took to the water and crossed to the opposite
shore, from which a boat, directed by a boy stationed in a high tree,
put out to meet them. A few blows with an oar conquered them easily, and
they were towed ashore, or taken alive into the boat. Bears are hunted
in the same manner, except that, being more inconvenient to close with,
they are usually shot from the boat without ceremony.
The race of settlers who were to be found in these neighbourhoods not
many years ago—half hunters, half farmers—has disappeared, or gone
westward with the game. The celebrated theologian, Dr. Dwight, gives a
graphic account of one of this class, whom he met in a first visit to
Lake George, somewhere about the year 1800. Landing on a point to dine,
in his passage up the lake, he found a huntsman, with a buck lying
beside him. “Before our departure,” he says, “we heard the hounds
advancing near to us. Our new companion instantly took fire at the
sound. His eye kindled; his voice assumed a loftier tone; his stride
became haughty; his style swelled into pomp, and his sentiments were
changed rapidly from mildness to ardour, to vehemence, and to rage. I
was forcibly struck with the sameness of the emotions produced by
hunting and by war. The ardour of battle, the glitter of arms, and the
shock of conflict, could scarcely have produced in a single moment more
violent or fierce agitations than were roused in this man by the
approach of the hounds, the confident expectation of a victim, and the
brilliant prospect of a venatory triumph. To him who has been a witness
of both objects, it will cease to be a wonder that the savage should
make the chase a substitute for war, and a source of glory second only
to that acquired in battle. Our hunter was not exempted, however, from
the common lot of man. His partner came up with the hounds, but without
a deer! The magnificence of our companion dwindled in a moment. The fire
vanished from his eye; his voice fell to its natural key; and the hero
shrank into a plain farmer.”
No one, it has been well said, understands the character of the
aboriginal tenants of America, who has seen them only as _vitiated_ by
contact with the settlers. I say vitiated; for, if they are not made
better by proper protection and cultivation, they become much worse; as
human nature, left to itself, is more susceptible of the contagion of
vice, than of improvement in virtue. The Indian, thrown into temptation,
easily takes the vices of the white man; and, in such exposure, his race
melts away like the snow before a summer’s sun.
The wild Indian, however, whose contact with the European race has not
been enough to vitiate his habits, or subdue his self-importance—who
still prowls the forest in the pride of his independence—who looks upon
all nations and tribes, but his own, as unworthy of the contemptuous
glance of his eye—whose dreams of importance become to him a constant
reality, and actually have the same influence in the formation of his
character as if they were all they _seem_ to him—he regards himself as
the _centre_ of a world made purposely for him. Such a being (and the
wild Indian is much more than this) who is not a creature of the
imagination, but a living actor in the scenes of the earth, becomes at
least an interesting object, if not, also, a _problem_ yet to be solved
in both moral philosophy and politics, and in the nature and character
of man as a social being. His _bearing_ may be imagined from the
following description of the war-dance:—
“A hundred warriors now advance,
All dressed and painted for the dance;
And sounding club and hollow skin,
A slow and measured _time_ begin.
With rigid limb and sliding foot,
And murmurs low the time to suit,
For ever varying with the sound,
The circling band moves round and round.
Now slowly rise the swelling notes,
And every crest more lively floats.
Now tossed on high with gesture proud
Then lowly ’mid the circle bowed;
While clanging arms grow louder still,
And every voice becomes more shrill,
Till fierce and strong the clamour grows,
And the wild _war-whoop_ bids it close,
Then starts SKUNTONGA forth, whose band
Came far from Huron’s storm-beat strand,
And loud recounts his _hunting_ feats,
Whilst his dark club the measure beats.”—ONTWA.
Sabbath-day Point presents one of the most beautiful of the many views
upon the lake. It received its name from Lord Amherst, who landed there
with his suite to breakfast on a Sunday morning. It is about twenty-five
miles from the head of the lake.
END OF VOL. I.
PRINTED BY R. CLAY, BREAD-STREET-HILL.
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple
spellings of names occur, the majority spelling was used. Changes
include:
- Indian Fall to Indian Falls;
- Bull-Hill to Bull Hill;
- Horseshoe Fall to Horseshoe Falls;
- and Susquehannah to Susquehanna.
Inconsistencies in punctuation have been maintained.
Some illustrations have been moved to facilitate page layout.
A cover was created for this eBook.
[The end of _American Scenery; Volume I_, by N. P. (Nathaniel Parker)
Willis.]