A PICTORIAL TOUR OF THE EASTERN STATES.
[Illustration: WINOOSKI RIVER GORGE, VERMONT.]
As explained in the preceding chapter, one of our photographers was
despatched into Canada from Ogdensburg, and instructed to take views of
the most pleasing scenery of the Dominion, after which to make a tour of
the Eastern States and join the others at New York upon the completion
of his labors in that section. While Canada is not a part of the United
States, its contiguous scenery, some of which is very beautiful, and the
intimate relations subsisting between the two countries justify this
brief departure from our original design, particularly as the most
direct route from the West to Northern New Hampshire and Vermont, is
through the southern part of Canada, where the most interesting and
accessible scenery is found. Crossing the St. Lawrence at Ogdensburg to
Prescott, our artist proceeded to Ottawa, fifty-four miles distant, by
the Canadian Pacific Railroad, for the purpose of taking views of
Chaudiere Falls, which are famous alike for their size and grandeur. The
city of Ottawa extends for a distance of two miles along Ottawa River,
and is one of the most picturesque sites in Ontario, located as it is on
the banks of a beautiful stream, and in the center of a region that is
famous for its charming scenery. The Rideau River debouches into the
Ottawa at Chaudiere (Caldron) Falls, and its bluffy shores, 160 feet
high, are ornate with splendid buildings. The Rideau Canal, which skirts
the east side of Parliament Hill, separates the higher from the lower
town, and south of this point is the vast lumber interests, manifested
by the large number of saw-mills operated principally by power derived
from the falls. But it is about Chaudiere Falls that chief attraction
clusters, particularly of visitors, for a more entrancing sight can
hardly be found in any part of North America. Ottawa River is a stream
of considerable magnitude, both in width and depth, but at the point
where the falls appear it is contracted to a width of 200 feet and then
plunges over a precipice forty feet high, at the mouth of Rideau River.
But the verge of the ledge is so ragged and curved that the stream is
broken, and pours down in a swirling motion, which forms a very
charybdis below, into which it is dangerous for crafts to enter. The
volume discharged is almost as great as that of Niagara, and the power
displayed is wonderful to behold. Beautiful, grand and amazing as they
are in summer, it is during winter that the sublime magnificence of the
falls is impressed upon the visitor. Several views, from different
points of observation, were taken by our photographer, but these were
rejected to give place to the winter scene here presented, since it
affords a more perfect idea of the falls in their glory, when the Ice
King has frozen them into a vision of superlative splendor.
Three hundred miles northeast of Ottawa, Montreal River, a small but
noisy stream that is the outlet of a chain of lakes far up in the
British possessions, flows into the Ottawa River, and twenty miles above
its mouth are Montreal Rapids, a picture of which was obtained from a
local photographer at Ottawa, and is here reproduced as affording an
idea of the scenery in that great northern and almost unexplored region.
[Illustration: TOBOGGAN SLIDE AT MONTREAL.]
From Ottawa the trip was continued by boat one hundred miles to
Montreal. This route affords a view of Lake St. Louis, Nun’s Island, and
Lachine Rapids, the most dangerous part of St. Lawrence River, yet it is
every day traversed by pleasure steamers, of which a traveler has thus
graphically written: “In the descent of these rapids we are wrought to a
feverish degree of excitement, exceeding that produced in the passage of
the Long Sault. It is an intense sensation, and though perfectly safe,
is terrible to the faint-hearted, exhilarating to the brave. Opposite
Lachine is the quaint Indian village of Caughnawago, where still reside
descendants of the once-powerful Iroquois Nation. The immense steel
bridge spanning the St. Lawrence at this point is justly considered one
of the engineering triumphs of the century. It was built by the Canadian
Pacific Railway, is about a mile long, with two channel spans of 408
feet, and lofty enough to allow free passage to the largest steamers.
From this bridge a fine view is obtained of the rapids, villages on
either shore, loftiest structures in Montreal, and the distant
mountains.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
CHAUDIERE FALLS, NEAR OTTAWA, CANADA, IN WINTER.—These celebrated
falls are at the junction of the Rideau and Ottawa Rivers, in the
immediate vicinity of the city of Ottawa. The volume of water as it
thunders over swirling precipice is almost as great as that of
Niagara, and the power displayed is wonderful to behold. Beautiful,
grand and amazing as these falls are in summer, it is during the
winter that their sublimest magnificence is impressed upon the
visitor, when the Ice King has frozen them into a vision of
ravishing splendor.
]
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[Illustration: MONTMORENCI FALLS, NEAR QUEBEC.]
Montreal is the metropolis of Canada, having a population of about
220,000, and being at the head of ship navigation, has improved its
advantages and become the chief commercial port of the Dominion. The
name is derived from Mount Royal, which rises 700 feet above the river,
the eminence which Jacques Cartier ascended in 1535, and looked with
startled eyes upon the palisaded Indian town of Hochelaga, surrounded by
vast fields of grain, at the west base of the mountain. Sixty years
later, when Samuel de Champlain made his way up the St. Lawrence and
climbed to the summit of Mount Royal, he looked in vain for the town
which Cartier had discovered and described. Only two of the native
Indians of Hochelaga were found, from whom was learned the tragic
history of the place, the inhabitants of which had been exterminated and
the town destroyed by a rival tribe.
Montreal is situated on an island of the same name, and the eminences
about it were so important as vantage-places that during the French and
Indian wars (in 1665), the mount was fortified by the French, and in
1722 a citadel was erected on a height now laid out as Dalhousie Square.
In its early history, therefore, the city was the scene of many
incidents of Indian warfare, and was on disputed ground until the
surrender of Quebec, in 1759, when the English gained permanent
possession of the place.
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[Illustration:
REPRESENTATIONS OF WINTER CARNIVAL SCENES AT MONTREAL.—Winter is the
carnival season at Montreal, and for some years the city has been
specially distinguished by the brilliant fêtes which her leading
citizens have provided, notably that of 1888. On this occasion there
were many scenes of extraordinary splendor, exceeding, in the
magnificent sights afforded, the carnivals that take place on the
frozen waters of the Neva River, before the Russian capital of St.
Petersburg, famous alike in song and story. The great ice palace was
a most exquisite imitation of mediæval architecture, rivaling in its
imposing and charming appearance the finest castles of the Old
World.
]
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[Illustration: ST. ANNE FALLS, NEAR QUEBEC.]
The scenery in the neighborhood of Montreal is pleasant, but not
particularly attractive; yet the severity of the weather and the long
reaches of graceful hills thereabout afford opportunity for the most
enjoyable winter sports. Tobogganing is a favorite pastime in season,
and the most charming scenes imaginable may be witnessed by a visit to
the west side slide when a heavy snow has prepared the ground for the
host of red-cheeked merry-makers, who flock there by thousands with
their toboggans, and fly down the hill in long lines of variegated
color. Winter is the carnival season, and for some years Montreal has
been specially distinguished by the brilliant fetes which her leading
citizens have provided notably that of 1888. On this occasion the city
was a scene of extraordinary splendor, exceeding, in the magnificent
sights afforded, the carnivals that take place on the frozen waters of
the Neva River, before the Russian capital of St. Petersburg, famous
alike in song and story. The great ice-palace, of which an illustration
is here given, was a most exquisite imitation of mediæval architecture,
rivaling in its imposing and charming appearance the finest castles of
the old world. When illuminated by thousands of lights, the palace
presented a scene which must ever remain fadeless in the memory of those
who witnessed it. But to increase the beautiful effect, the city’s
population turned out in the gayest of winter attire, filling the
spacious ball-room of the palace with a marvelous display of color in
graceful evolution, while outside the gay revelers sported as jolly
maskers and filled the air with songs of glee. A similar carnival was
held at St. Paul in 1889, and an ice-palace of equal proportions was
constructed in honor of the Frost King, with grand illuminations and
display of fire-works at night, as illustrated in a previous chapter,
but no fete ever given on the western continent is believed to have been
so magnificent as that of Montreal in 1888.
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[Illustration:
SCENERY ALONG THE LINE OF THE CANADIAN PACIFIC RAILWAY.—The finest
scenery along the line of this railway is to be found in the distant
Northwest, where it passes over the Rocky Mountain range; but in
many other places there are views both splendid and imposing. The
lakes and the mountains photographed in this page belong to the
Rocky Mountain region, and they are part of a series of views that
would do credit to the most famous scenic regions of the world. They
are in the midst of perpetual snow and vast glaciers, where all the
wonders of the Swiss Alps are reproduced on a gigantic scale.
]
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[Illustration: WINOOSKI FALLS, VERMONT.]
From Montreal the journey was continued over the Canadian Pacific
Railroad to Quebec, distant one hundred and thirty-five miles, and along
the north shore of the St. Lawrence, in sight of that river most of the
way, so that the view is a very attractive one. Quebec, the third
largest city in the Dominion of Canada, with a population of 70,000, has
much to recommend it, both commercially and scenically, for it is the
center of vast lumber and mining interests, the head of navigation for
the largest steamers of the line, and is advantageously located on a
headland commanding the St. Lawrence. A large part of the city lies
under what is known as Cape Diamond Promontory, upon the summit, of
which, 350 feet above the river, is the Citadel, a fortification so
nearly impregnable that Quebec has been called the American Gibraltar, a
designation more deserved because of the many attacks which its
garrisons have repulsed. The Plains of Abraham are southwest of the
suburb of St. Louis, and from that eminence a wide and truly magnificent
view is obtained, extending to the Green Mountains on the south and the
Laurentian Range on the north, with glimpses of numerous rivers and
lakes between.
The entire province of Quebec is remarkably well watered and timbered,
with sections of forests so dense that much of it still remains to be
explored. Eight miles from the city are the famous Montmorenci Falls,
which have a leap over natural steps of 250 feet and pour down an
immense volume, whose roaring may be heard on calm days for a distance
of many miles. Near the falls is a hotel called the Haldimand House,
which was once the residence of Queen Victoria’s father, the Duke of
Kent. Sixty miles north, and reached by the Quebec and Lake St. John
Railroad, is Lake St. John, a large and pellucid body of water whose
outlet is the Saguenay River, and one of the most wonderful streams on
earth. Bayard Taylor says of it: “It is not properly a river, but a
tremendous chasm, like that of the Jordan Valley and the Dead Sea, cleft
for sixty miles through the heart of a mountainous wilderness.
Everything about it is hard, naked, stern, silent. Dark-grey cliffs of
granite gneiss rise from the pitch-black water; firs of gloomy green are
rooted in their crevices and fringe their summits; loftier ranges of a
dull indigo hue show themselves in the background, and over all bends a
pale, cold, northern sky.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
A SYLVAN STREAM IN VERMONT.—Vermont is rich in scenery as well as
historic and classic associations. The Green Mountains, extending
through the entire State from north to south, with their many spurs
and outlying peaks, and the numerous lakes and small streams in the
intervening valleys, afford a variety of scenery of the most
pleasing and picturesque character. There is a wealth of splendid
views along the Winooski River, whose source is in the spurs of the
Green Mountains, whence it flows northwestwardly, cleaving the range
near its junction with the Waterbury River, and then speeds through
a wild gorge until it empties into Lake Champlain a few miles
distant.
]
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[Illustration: PEACOCK FALLS, GREEN MOUNTAINS.]
The Saguenay is sometimes called the River of Death, on account of its
sombre waters and the deep gorge through which it sluggishly moves. Its
depth is also remarkable, ranging from 100 to 1000 feet, and along its
course are several pretty falls, where the stream suddenly contracts,
and rapids where it expands and the occasional shoals appear. The
country about Quebec is pleasingly diversified, and abounding with
forests and lakes is a very paradise for hunters and fishers, as well as
affording views worthy of the artist’s best efforts. Some ten miles
above the city, and forming an outlet for Lake Megantic, on the south
side of the St. Lawrence, is Chaudiere, or Boiling River, an impetuous,
but noble stream, whose erratic course is interrupted by Chaudiere
Falls, where the river takes a plunge over a precipice 125 feet high and
350 feet wide. Having expended its vigor in this violent exercise, the
river flows on thenceforth in a subdued and gentle manner, in remarkable
contrast with the character which it displays above the falls.
Other famous falls in the vicinity of Quebec are those of the Scuzzie,
near North Bend, and St. Anne Falls, on the north shore of the St.
Lawrence, twenty miles below the city, where the river St. Anne, a small
confluent of that stream, breaks over a brink one hundred feet high, and
pours through crevices worn in the Laurentian rocks in a succession of
cascades of great beauty. While the scenery of Southern Canada is very
charming, it is the boundary outposts of very much more magnificent
landscapes towards the south, and it was towards the mountainous
districts of Vermont and New Hampshire that our artist bent his way
after concluding a tour of the vicinity of Quebec. The journey was,
therefore, by way of the Grand Trunk and Vermont Central Railroad into
the heart of Green Mountains. This route took our photographer by the
Enosburgh Falls, St. Albans and Essex Junction, from which latter place
a detour was made down the famous Winooski River to embalm some of the
remarkable scenery along that stream. Its source is in the spurs of
Green Mountains, whence it flows northwestwardly, cleaving the range
near its junction with Waterbury River, and then speeds through a chasm
until it empties into Lake Champlain. This wild gorge is particularly
wonderful some four or five miles from the lake, the walls rising at
places fully one hundred feet and exhibiting the same cleavage and
jagged precipices that distinguish Ausable Chasm, on the opposite side
of the lake. At the town of Winooski, the river flows over a dam two
hundred feet wide and twenty-five feet high, but before the dam was
constructed, to afford power for several mills, the river here was a
long stretch of cascades and cataracts, a condition which is still
continued below the falls and to its place of outlet. From Essex
Junction the Vermont Central follows the Winooski to Montpelier, passing
the beautiful town of Waterbury, which is the pass of Green Mountains
and the center of some of the finest scenery in the State. From
Waterbury it is only ten miles by stage to Mount Mansfield, which is the
loftiest peak in the range (4,389 feet), and from the summit of which a
splendid view is had of lovely valleys, gushing streams and battalions
of graceful mountains. In this same vicinity, checkered by many mountain
streams, are Peacock Falls, Bingham Falls, Moss-Glen Falls, Morrisville
Falls, and others of lesser note but equal beauty. At the base of
Mansfield Peak is a stage station, called Stowe, from which the crown of
the mountain is plainly observable, exhibiting the distinct features of
a giant, whose forehead, nose and chin are formed by two rents in the
summit, making the proportions, as well as the outlines, so perfect that
visitors are quick to discover the likeness even before a guide calls
attention to it. Camel’s Hump is another mountain, five miles from
Waterbury, the second highest in the range (4,000 feet), but its surface
is so broken that no wagon-road has as yet been made to the summit, but
a horse may be ridden to the top, and the ascent, accomplished at
whatever expense of effort, is well repaid by the magnitude and
magnificence of the scenery thus brought into view. Balton Falls are
within five miles of the Hump, and are a shrine of beauty to which
hundreds of summer visitors pay the tribute of admiration.
[Illustration: CLARENDON GORGE, VERMONT.]
[Illustration: WINOOSKI RIVER, NEAR MIDDLESEX, VERMONT.]
From Montpelier the Vermont Central turns south, following a tributary
of the Winooski to Roxbury, thence it strikes the valley of White River,
down which it continues to the Connecticut River; but this latter region
is more subdued than the section just described. The scenery, while not
so grand and mountainous, possesses a beauty to excite the fancy of a
poet and day-dreamer, for the views are of gentle meandering streams
roaming through woods where fairies might love to dwell, singing their
lonesome lullabies to the deep coverts that bend low along the shores.
Dainty waterfalls, murmuring rapids, sylvan shades, distinguish the way
of many brooks that roll out of mountain springs and run down to the
sea, giving drink to the farmers’ herds, trundling old water-mills, and
doing many kind offices on the way.
Another branch of the Vermont Central runs due south from Essex Junction
and Burlington, on the shore of Lake Champlain, and passes through many
thriving villages, such as New Haven, Middlebury, Brandon and Rutland.
At this latter point, which is on a considerable stream called Otter
Creek, some very charming scenery occurs, not entirely confined to the
creek, which, however, is a stream almost as remarkable as the Winooski.
At a place called Clarendon Gorge the creek flows through a chasm some
thirty feet deep and so narrow that when the foliage of the banks is
heaviest the stream is almost entirely hidden by the overlacing branches
of opposite trees. Here the stream makes a sharp turn, and in doing so
has cut deeply into the rock-shore against which it strikes, and formed
a deep pool in which fish fairly swarm, and hence at all seasons the
angler here may find the choicest sport. The Green Mountain Range is
within five miles of Rutland, and several outlying peaks are much
nearer, such as Paco, Killington, Shrewsbury and Bald Peaks, which are
of sufficient altitude to give the summit-observer a good view of Lake
George and the Adirondacks. The road continues southwest from Rutland
through a pass in the Green Mountains at Healdville and joins the more
eastern section at Bellows Falls, on the Connecticut River.
[Illustration: A RURAL SCENE IN VERMONT.]
At Montpelier our photographer proceeded due east over the Montpelier
and Wells River Railroad to Woodsville, a route which follows a third
confluent of the Winooski for some miles to Marshfield station, where it
makes an elbow-turn southwest by Peabody’s Lake, and thence keeps close
to the bank of Wells River, a small stream that discharges into the
Connecticut at Woodsville. The region thus traversed is somewhat broken,
but is highly cultivated; and the farm scenes along the way are
particularly charming. Agriculture in the Eastern States exhibits a
striking contrast with that in the West, and in Vermont and New
Hampshire the dissimilarity of method and the size of farm is especially
great. The soil down east, in the sections named, has to be reclaimed,
not from the forests so much as from the rocks, for it is essentially a
rocky country. The fences are usually made of stumps and stones,
material which is plentifully at hand, so that the barb-wire trust has
no grip upon New England agriculturists. The farms, too, are what
Westerners would call “small acre-patches,” but they are so
industriously and intelligently tilled that every foot of ground is made
to yield its full capacity. Frugal, yet hospitable—poor, maybe, yet
refined—the down-east farmer is a hard worker, a lover of books,
patient, contented, and, withal, a generous man, philosophic and
industrious enough to extract happiness out of harsh natural conditions.
[Illustration: FALLS OF THE AMMOONOOSUC, IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.]
Woodsville is at the junction of the Ammoonoosuc with the Connecticut
River, along the valley of which former stream the railroad runs until
it strikes the White Mountains, into which region of world-famous
scenery our artist journeyed. A branch of the road extends south to a
terminus at Profile House, which is at the base of Profile Mountain, in
the Franconia Range. This peak, which is 4,000 feet above the sea,
possesses two remarkable features that have served to make it known
throughout the world. At the crown there are several colossal stones, so
distributed by chance that when viewed from Profile Mountain House they
resemble a mounted cannon, on which account the peak is often called
Mount Cannon. But a greater natural curiosity occurs to visitors after
1,200 feet of the ascent is made, for suddenly there appears the bold
and exceedingly well-defined features of “The Old Man of the Mountains,”
formed by three masses of rock so disposed that its ninety feet of face
exhibits the clean-cut characteristics of forehead, nose, lips and chin
perfectly outlined against the sky. A few feet below the point of
observation, where the old man’s face is exposed, the stone giant
changes his features like a magician and becomes “a toothless old woman
in a mop-cap.” Hawthorne has used this wonderful image to excellent
effect in his “Twice-Told Tales,” in which the Great Stone Face is made
the subject of a weird theme. Still nearer the base of the mountain is
an exquisite lakelet known as the “Old Man’s Wash-bowl,” just large
enough for the purpose, but full of fish, and from the shore of which a
splendid view of Eagle Cliff may be had. In the immediate neighborhood
is the lofty peak of Mount Lafayette, 5,269 feet above the sea, from
whose wind-swept head a landscape of marvelous diversity and beauty may
be surveyed, including miles of the Green Mountain Range and the entire
aggregation of White Mountain peaks.
[Illustration: THE FLUME, NEAR PROFILE HOUSE, FRANCONIA MOUNTAINS.]
Less than one mile from Profile House, and reached by a perfect
carriage-road, is Franconia’s chiefest marvel, known as the Flume. Six
hundred feet of cascades go churning their way through a fissure whose
vertical walls are sixty feet high and less than twenty feet apart. In
this chasm is the Flume, along the narrow confines of which a plank-walk
has been built to permit visitors to observe more closely the wonders
that nature has planted along this mountain brook. One mile south are
the Georgianna Falls, the largest yet discovered in the mountainous
districts of the State, plunging in successive leaps over two
precipices, each eighty feet in height, and scattering their spray into
vapor that keeps the vicinity drenched. Other mountain or detached peaks
near-by are Lincoln, Liberty, Flume, and Big Coolidge; while further
towards the east, yet in sight, are North, and South, Twin, Lowell,
Carrigan and Huntington, from any of which magnificent views are
obtainable.
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[Illustration:
ELEPHANT’S HEAD AND MOUNT WEBSTER, NEAR CRAWFORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE.—
Standing on the piazza of the hotel at Crawford’s Notch one observes
a splendid view of that celebrated natural wonder, Elephant’s Head.
The enormous head and trunk seem to be just emerging from the deep
woods near the entrance to the pass, and the gray of the granite
slope serves to heighten the illusion. The resemblance is so perfect
and striking that even a stranger who had never heard of this marvel
would need no introduction to be made fully aware of the fact that
he was in the presence of the colossal counterpart of the great
beast.
]
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[Illustration: CRAWFORD HOUSE NOTCH, NEW HAMPSHIRE.]
Turning back north from Profile House, our artist proceeded west from
Bethlehem Junction over the Maine Central Railway, and after a short
ride reached Fabyan’s, where the scenery of the White Mountains broke
upon his enraptured vision in all its glory. Two miles below is
Crawford’s Notch, the natural pass into the range, and here the visitor
has his surprise as well as admiration quickened by a sight of the
“Elephant’s Head.” Standing on the piazza of a hotel at Crawford’s, the
enormous head and trunk seem to be just emerging from the deep woods
near the entrance to the pass, and the gray of the granite slope serves
to strengthen the illusion. From the Elephant’s Head Hotel there is a
particularly fine view of the Notch, a gigantic cleft through which the
Titans may have forced a way, but which is now utilized by the railroad.
It is from this point that excursions to the summit of Mount Washington,
by way of the bridle-path opened by Thos. J. Crawford in 1840, are made.
A great majority of persons prefer the easier ascent by means of the
cog-wheel railroad, which was completed in 1869, and requires one and
one-half hours to make the trip, the fare being $6.00. The summit of
Mount Washington is 6,293 feet above sea level; and as the rail distance
is three miles, the grade is very great, in one place being a rise of
one foot in three, or 33 per cent. To secure perfect safety the track is
composed of three rails bolted to a trestle of heavy timbers, the center
rail being an immense wrought-iron ladder, with rounds four inches
apart, into which the cogs of the locomotive drive-wheels fit, and thus
drag the train up the steep, as well as control it in making the
descent, though automatic air-brakes are used in emergencies. But though
the rail route, in swinging seats, is more comfortable and expeditious,
if time be any consideration, the carriage-road is almost as popular
with travelers, who, as a rule, are willing to make sacrifices, if by so
doing they obtain the recompense of grander sights. As our artist had
made the ascent of Pike’s Peak by car, he concluded to take in the
larger experience of gaining the summit of Mount Washington by stage,
that he might be better able to report the contrast. Though the distance
by rail is only three miles, by wagon-road it is ten, so winding is the
way, and to add to the distress of the latter journey, the first four
miles is toilsome without revealing any scenery worth the effort of a
glance. But above the four-mile point the dreary, tame and desolate
aspect is succeeded by a landscape that cannot be excelled for
magnificence. It is here that the creaking stage emerges from the woods
that hides the prospect and moves out upon the bare crags, and the Ledge
House, or Half-Way Station, is reached, where a stop is made to rest the
horses and give passengers opportunity and time to drink in the glories
of the wondrous view that is thus presented. Far down below yawns the
measureless void of a tremendous gulf, while above is a colossal pile of
granite that supports the dome of Washington and a wide-spreading
wilderness of tumult. Looking off in the distance from this natural
observatory, the presidential peaks of Mounts Adams, Jefferson and
Madison are plainly visible, whose aged sides are cloven by deep
crevasses and their feet are hidden in gorges of tremendous depths;
while a glance downward over the ragged tops of the forest trees
discovers Peabody Glen and river, with a white spot in the fading
distance that by aid of glass is found to be the Crawford House.
Following the vale out to its entrance upon the Androscoggin Meadows,
the vision sweeps up Mount Moriah, and traversing the Confederate Peaks
to the summit of Mount Carter, finally rests upon the brow of
Washington, which is almost overhead.
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[Illustration:
MOUNT WASHINGTON AND COG-WHEEL RAILROAD, WHITE MOUNTAINS.—The summit
of Mount Washington is 6293 feet above the sea-level, and as the
distance by rail is only three miles the grade is very steep, in
some places as much as one foot in three. To secure perfect safety
in ascending and descending such a tremendous grade, the track is
composed of three rails bolted to a trestle of heavy timbers, the
centre rail being an immense wrought-iron ladder, with rounds four
inches apart, into which the cogs of the locomotive drive-wheel fit,
and thus drag the train up the steep as well as control it, with aid
of air-brakes, in making the descent. One and a half hours are
consumed in making the round trip, and the fare is six dollars, but
the view from the summit is so magnificent that it fully justifies
the expense.
]
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[Illustration: SQUAM LAKE, NEW HAMPSHIRE.]
From the Ledge the road continues its zigzag way up the steep and around
dangerously narrow terraces, over which a party of excursionists in a
six-horse wagon tumbled to their death on the 3d of July, 1880, the only
accident that has ever occurred in making the remarkable descent here,
however perilous appears the passage; and this tragedy was due to a
drunken driver. In describing the ascent above Midway House, Mr. Drake
thus writes: “A sharp turn around a ledge, and the southeast wall of
Tuckerman’s Ravine rose up like a wraith out of the forest. Nearer at
hand was the Head of Huntington’s, while to the right the cone of
Washington loomed up gradually, more than a thousand feet higher. A
little to left you look down into the gloomy depths of Pinkham defile,
the valley of Ellis River and the Saco Valley to North Conway. The blue
course of the Ellis, which is nothing but a long cascade, the rich green
of the Conway intervales, the blanched peak of Chocurua, the sapphire
summits of Ossipee Mountains were presented in conjunction with the
black and humid walls of the ravine, and the iron-gray moss of the great
dome. The crag on which I stood leans out over the mountain like a
bastion, from which the spectator sees the deep-entrenched valleys, the
rivers which wash the feet of the monarch, and the long line of summits
which partake of his grandeur while making it all the more impressive.
From here the striking spectacle of four great northern peaks, their
naked summits, their sides seamed with old and new slides, and flecked
with snow, constantly enlarged. There were some terrible rents in the
side of Clay, red as half-closed wounds, and in one place the mountain
seemed riven to its center. It was this gulf that the first climber said
it was such a precipice he could scarce discern the bottom. The rifts in
the walls of the ravine, the blasted fir-trees leaning over the abyss,
and clutching the rocks with a death-grip, the rocks themselves,
tormented, formidable, impending, astounded by their vivid portrayal of
the formless, their suggestions of the agony in which these mountains
were brought forth.”
[Illustration: UPPER JACKSON FALLS, WILD-CAT RIVER, NEW HAMPSHIRE.]
But if there be grandeur in the chaotic landscape which spreads out
before the startled vision of the spectator on the mountain breast, what
must be the sensation inspired by the tremendous view that is afforded
from the summit? It is the feeling of complete separation from the
earth, of suspension in the sky and looking down upon the world below.
The exhilaration that comes from conquering a mighty thing; the
solemnity of being face to face with infinity. But gradually an orderly
array of magnificence and comprehensible grandeur appears, as peak upon
peak is resolved into definable chains, clusters, or detached masses.
Hills draw apart, valleys open, streams and cascades sparkle in their
tortuous beds, while the skirts of the mountains are dotted with rich
colors and the meadow-lands become a fringe of emerald encompassing
their irregular bases. Almost independent of the will, the eye wanders
from summit to summit, making a slow circuit of the crenated horizon,
until it is arrested by a vast spread of gleaming white that at first
sight may be mistaken for a luminous cloud in the southeast. More
careful observation reveals that it is the ocean, one hundred miles
away, and by the help of telescope vessels may be distinguished, and
even the number of sails which each craft carries.
[Illustration: LIGHT-HOUSE IN THE HARBOR OF PORTLAND, MAINE.]
Amazing, splendid, and even thrilling as the view unquestionably is from
the top of White Mountain, yet it cannot compare, for either extent or
grandeur, with that obtained from the summit of Pike’s Peak. Not so
great in altitude as its nobler rival of the Rockies, it is wanting in
other conditions to make it equal, chief of which is the usually heavy
and hazy atmosphere that is due to proximity to the sea, thus
interfering with the range of vision, and more frequently interposing
clouds to shut off the view entirely.
On the highest point of Mount Washington the Government has built an
observatory and signal station, and a very excellent hotel has also been
added, for the accommodation of those who desire to spend a night at
this great height, and to experience the sensation of a snow-storm in
mid-summer. A curiosity recently added to the other attractions of the
summit is an electric search-light of 100,000 candle-power, at a cost of
$7,000, which is controlled from the foot of the tower by electric
motors. Telegraphic signals flashed by this monster light have been
interpreted at Portland, Maine, which is eighty-five miles distant.
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[Illustration:
LOWER GATEWAY TO CRAWFORD’S NOTCH, WHITE MOUNTAINS, NEW HAMPSHIRE.—It
was through this Notch, in 1840, that Thomas J. Crawford opened a
bridle-path to the summit of Mount Washington. It is now utilized by
a railroad, and the rocks and cliffs along the way have been
disfigured and besmeared with patent medicine advertisements. The
Notch is a gigantic cleft through the mountains, with treasures of
splendid scenery along the way on either side. Hills draw apart,
valleys open, streams and cascades sparkle in their tortuous beds,
while the skirts of the mountains are dotted with rich colors, and
the meadow-lands become a fringe of emerald encompassing their
irregular bases.
]
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[Illustration: MINOT’S LEDGE LIGHT HOUSE, OFF COHASSET, MASSACHUSETTS.]
From Mount Washington, the tourist who delights to revel among the
wonderful scenes of this tumultuary and anarchistic region, where nature
is in disarrangement through the operation of forces that long since
have spent themselves, usually proceeds west by Thorn Hill, through
Carter Notch, and thus arrives at the village of Jackson, the center of
another district of great scenic interest. The town is but a handful of
pretty white cottages, but it is in the quiet isolation of a mountain-
engirdled vale, and the very lonesomeness of its situation gives the
place an inexpressible fascination, for it is like meeting cheerful
company in the valley of desolation. The largest house, commanding
respect by reason of its size, and exciting reverence for its holy
purposes, is a frame church, in whose belfry the pigeons swarm,
undisturbed by the deep tones of the bell that summons the hamlet to
worship. How mournfully it peals out the first stroke, as if awakening
the town from sleep, so still is the place; but from a toll it becomes a
chime, as the notes reverberate from hill to hill, until the noise is
reassuring, that however lifeless things may have seemed, the church-
bell has power to stir the people into mental if not physical activity.
All about are mountains, Eagle, Wild-Cat, Tin, Iron and Thorn, the sides
of which have been cleared of their forest growths and stone, and
brought under cultivation, which add materially to the picturesque
landscape of which the village is the natural center.
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[Illustration:
PROSPECT FROM THE SUMMIT OF WHITE MOUNTAINS, NEW HAMPSHIRE.—If there
be grandeur in the chaotic landscape which spreads out before the
startled vision of the spectator along the mountain sides, what must
be the sensation inspired by the glorious panorama unfolded from the
summit? It produces a feeling of complete separation from the earth,
as if one were suspended in the sky and looking down upon the world
below. It is the exhilaration that comes from conquering a mighty
thing; the solemnity of being face to face with infinity.
]
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[Illustration: COG-WHEEL RAILWAY UP MT. WASHINGTON.]
[Illustration: MONUMENT AT PLYMOUTH ROCK, MASSACHUSETTS.]
Wild-Cat River cuts the town of Jackson in twain, a stream which is in
fact a mountain cataract, filling the air about with its incessant roar.
Within less than two hundred yards of the place the river makes a swift
descent over granite ledges, which it has washed to almost whiteness,
and near the bridge it is divided by a large bowlder into two cascades
that are half-concealed by the rich foliage that bends down to receive
the refreshing spray. The crest of the falls is split by huge stones and
the main stream has overcome the obstacles in its way by cutting a
passage under the rocks, after which it shoots down the ledge and
becomes a faithful servant to a miller, who has utilized its power.
Besides these cataracts there are several others, principal among which
is Goodrich Falls, at which point the river pours its restless flood
over a precipice eighty feet high. Bridal Veil Cascades are a mile
further up the river, but there is a pleasant bridle-path all the way,
and visitors to this district rarely fail to pay their respects to this
very interesting part of the stream. The bed of the river is full of
enormous bowlders, and its flow takes, accordingly, an erratic course;
in fact, in every direction save upward. At the cascades the stream is
parted by an elevation in the center of the ledge, and thus falls in a
double sheet at almost right angles, where, gathering new force again,
it goes rushing away to join the Androscoggin, which bears its waters to
the sea. A tour of the mountains having been completed, our photographer
doubled upon his tracks and returned to the Profile House, from which
road-terminus he crossed the twelve-mile interval to North Woodstock,
and there took train on the Concord and Montreal Railroad for points of
attraction towards the southwest. The mountain region, however, was not
yet entirely passed, for many prominent elevations, such as Mounts
Moosilauke, Tecumseh, Tri-pyramid, Welch, Fisher, Stinson, Irael, and
others, continued in view until Ashland was reached, at which place a
stop was made to visit Squam Lake, one of the most exquisite sheets of
water in the world. It is irregular in shape, but about six miles long
by half as many broad. The expanse is not great, but the beauties which
it presents are charming in the extreme. Over its bosom are scattered
numerous islands which are very bowers of beauty, green with thickets of
hazel and margined with mosaics of wild flowers. The waters are of such
limpid purity that they swarm with fish, which may be seen frisking and
playing tag twenty feet below the surface. The shores are banked but
level, and along the edge is a perfect carriage-road, making a circuit
of twenty-one miles, affording the finest excursion that can be made by
vehicle. Squam Lake is separated from Lake Winnipiseogee by a strip of
land two miles wide, and the village of Center Harbor lies on the west
shore of the latter, where steamer may be taken for a ride to
Wolfborough, twelve miles distant. The trip is a delightful one through
narrow channels between islands of exceeding beauty, so thickly strewed
over the water as to make the way appear like a labyrinth. Six miles
northwest of the lake is an eminence over two thousand feet high, known
as Red Hill, which is annually visited by many hundreds of tourists.
There is a good carriage-road to the base, but the ascent is so steep
and rugged that by foot or horse-back is the only means for gaining the
summit. Though not nearly so lofty as a score or more of the mountains
we have mentioned, yet visitors maintain that the view afforded from its
peak exceeds in extent and magnificence that obtained from the
observatory of Mount Washington or the summits of any of its brothers.
This superiority is due to the absence of intervening peaks, as Red Hill
is isolated, and overlooks a comparatively level district, in which
Squam and Winnipiseogee Lakes are conspicuously visible, with their
ragged shore-lines and lovely islands clearly definable.
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[Illustration:
BRIDAL VEIL CASCADE, WHITE MOUNTAINS.—Wild Cat River, inaptly named in
the pioneer times of New England, is an enchanting stream for the
tourist and the painter. Its course is broken by many ravishingly
beautiful waterfalls and cascades, each presenting new and charming
features. At Bridal Veil Cascade the bed of the river is full of
immense boulders, upon which the descending stream is broken into a
thousand forms of diversified loveliness. At the summit the stream
is parted by an elevation in the centre of the ledge, and thus falls
in a double sheet at almost right angles, greatly enhancing the
charming features of the delightful scene.
]
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[Illustration: THE OLD TOWER AT NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND.]
From Wolfborough the route was east by the Maine Central Railroad to
Portland, and thence by steamer to Boston. There are many beautiful
places in the vicinity of Portland, and particularly about the popular
summer resorts of Mount Desert Island and Bar Harbor; but much must be
sacrificed to the limit of space, for no one book can ever contain
pictures of all the natural scenery that is worthy to be reproduced.
Among other photographs taken in and about Portland, we have room for
only one, viz.: the light-house on Cape Elizabeth, in the harbor, a
dreary desolation of stone, where the ocean is treacherous and a warning
to incoming vessels is indispensable.
Boston is historic ground, around which are many sacred spots
perpetuated in patriotic memories. It is a great city; but the traveled
visitor is indifferent to municipal sights, and is restless to pay his
tribute of respect and curiosity to those shrines that keep in mind the
reverent character of the Puritan, and the heroism of the Revolutionary
soldier. It is hard to resist this infectious temptation to photograph
monuments and battle-fields, when one is walking upon the very famous
dust, and reading inscriptions recording the valor of those who fought
for our National Independence; but this is a volume devoted to American
scenery rather than to American history, a subject which ought to
inspire equal patriotic sentiment, and monumental tributes must
therefore be omitted, or casually mentioned by incidental reference, as
may appear proper.
From Boston our artist proceeded by a train on the Old Colony Railroad
to Cohasset, a town which it has been truthfully said marks one of the
most interesting, most wildly beautiful bits of nature on any coast.
“This town,” let it be said, “marks one of the most interesting, most
wildly beautiful bits of nature on any known coast. In this situation
are to be found all the beauties and all the terrors which ocean scenes
can compass. The history of Cohasset, for the past two hundred and fifty
years, has in it an element personal to every civilized people on the
globe, since all have sent their ships and their travelers this way, and
added names to the death-roll hereabouts. The crags and ledges along
these shores have taken part in ocean tragedies for generations, and
have witnessed more of human suffering and the extremity of distress
than often falls to the lot of natural scenes. Upon their faces the
ocean surges have never ceased to dash themselves since the morning of
creation. Here the whiteness never goes out of the line of surf; and
often the conditions are of shattered waters flying in the air, of
roaring breakers crashing into fragments along the rocks, of great
masses of billows lashed into fury, and resistless in their commonest
attacks by all except the natural barriers to their progress here set
up.”
[Illustration: THE CLIFFS AT NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND.]
Beautiful, commanding, stirring as the scenes are about Cohasset’s
bounding shores, yet the tragedies which have occurred in the
treacherous approaches to the harbor are both numerous and heart-
appalling. On these very rocks, where the waters usually play in such
happy abandon, more than seven score of persons from a single ship—the
_St. John_, in October, 1849—were dashed to their deaths, and disasters
attended by less mortality became so common that the Government erected
a lighthouse at Minot’s Ledge, which is two miles off Cohasset Point,
where the hidden rocks are most dangerous to shipping.
From Cohasset the trip was south, by the Old Colony, along the Atlantic
shore, passing many points of great interest, though for scenery there
is nothing but marshes and a waste of sandy beach. But on the way,
Daniel Webster’s farm is pointed out, located on a level strip between
the railroad and Marshfield Neck, where it would appear that raising
clams might be more profitably pursued than the growing of grain or
vegetable. Quaint scenes, reminders of the olden times when stage-
coaching was the most luxurious mode of travel, and pot-hooks and
hangers were adjuncts of the crane that rendered the fire-place the sole
convenience for cooking, pass in review and are a source of the greatest
interest to those of a retrospective and reflective turn of mind. Here
and there we observe old Puritan churches and equally old-fashioned
people, whose appearances indicate that they have not been widely
distributed since the Mayflower landed. There is a Miles Standish, John
Alden and Priscilla in every village, and the houses, in many cases,
tell of a time quite as remote. Indeed, in the little but ancient hamlet
of Greenbush, which is within a half-dozen miles of Cohasset, and twice
as far to Nantasket, an intensely fashionable resort, one may see the
identical old oaken bucket and the crazy sweep by which “dripping with
coolness it rose from the well,” which inspired Woodworth’s immortal lay
in 1817. There, too, is the same old house, hiding behind a clump of
trees, under which the poet sat and drank from the “full blushing
goblet,” which, alas for human weakness, he really coveted less than a
beaker of good wine.
[Illustration: PURGATORY CHASM, NEAR NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND.]
Twenty-five miles south of Cohasset is the historic town of Plymouth,
and right in front of it is a harbor made by a long neck of land,
parallel with the shore, and known as the Cow-Yard, in which the
Mayflower came to anchor with her precious cargo of forefathers, on a
bleak December day in 1620. Mr. Samuel Adams Drake has written:
“Plymouth is the American Mecca. It does not contain the tomb of the
prophet, but the rock of the forefathers, their traditions and their
graves. The first impressions of a stranger are disappointing, for the
oldest town in New England looks as fresh as if built within the
century. There is not much that is suggestive of the old life to be seen
there. Except the hills, the heaven, and the sea, there is nothing
antique; save a few carefully cherished relics, nothing that has
survived the day of the Pilgrims.” And another writer of recent times
declares “it would be difficult to name any other place in America with
such a profoundly interesting historical event as that which has made
the name of Plymouth Rock forever famous in the annals of devotion and
freedom. Upwards of fifty thousand persons come here every summer,
making reverent pilgrimages to the cradle of American civilization. For
these, and for all who love the antique and historic, Plymouth has well-
nigh unrivaled attractions. Here is the renowned rock, down by the
water-side, overarched by a stately granite canopy, in whose top are the
bones of several of the Pilgrims. Up in the village rises the massive
structure of Pilgrim Hall, consecrated to relics and memorials of the
first colonists. Near this shrine is the court-house, with rare records
and documents of the seventeenth century. On a noble hill rises the
Pilgrim National Monument, a vast pile of carved granite crowned by a
very impressive statue of Faith, forty feet high, and the largest stone
figure in the world.
[Illustration: NEGRO-HEAD CLIFFS, NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND.]
“Burial Hill is one of the most interesting localities in New England.
On every side are the tombs and monuments of the founders of the State
and their descendants. Above these sacred graves the pleased eye wanders
over an exquisite panorama of sea and shore, lonely islands, far-
reaching promontories, and distant blue hills, out across the blue sea
to where the sandy strand of Cape Cod bounds the view, low down on the
horizon. On this bleak summit stood the fortified log-church and watch-
tower, the former bearing six three-pound cannon on its flat roof, and
the latter occupied by vigilant sentinels.”
It is about forty miles from Plymouth to Newport, Rhode Island, one of
the ultra-fashionable summer seaside resorts, and thither our artist
repaired to take views of that vicinity. Newport is not only famous for
its fine bathing beach, elegant villas, and its harbor specially adapted
for yacht-racing; there is much more to recommend the city to visitors
than these means of recreation and pleasant vanities. Commercially,
Newport is a metropolis of looms; historically, it is a city of great
consequence; and scenically, a place of extraordinary interest. The Old
Tower at Newport has been for centuries an object of curious inquiry and
patient investigation. For many years the opinion obtained generally
that it was a relic of the Norsemen’s discovery and occupation of the
country, five hundred years before the time of Columbus, and that in
some way the building was connected with Druidic worship. The Druids of
England and France performed their religious ceremonies under oak trees
and always in the open air, but this fact did not affect the belief
current for so long a time that the Stone Tower was the remains of
either an edifice or a monument erected by the Druids. When this opinion
finally changed to the more reasonable though equally false one that the
tower was the relic of a fort built by Norsemen sea-kings about the year
985, historians appeared to be satisfied and inquiry ceased for a long
while. Finally, investigation of the Runic inscriptions on the Dighton
Rock, in Massachusetts, revived curiosity in the tower, and the result
of the last investigation is the opinion that it is the ruins of a wind-
mill that was built some time in the seventeenth century. The truth,
however, may as well be told, that notwithstanding what historians say
to the contrary, no one knows, or is likely ever to know, when, by whom,
or for what purpose the so-called tower was built. It is a question
about which there can be nothing but speculation.
[Illustration: SOLDIERS’ MONUMENT ON EAST ROCK, NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT.]
Newport is located on a peninsula on the east shore of Narragansett Bay,
which is a splendid harbor, having an anchorage of thirty feet in low
water. The scenery about the place, too, is very fine, and is brought
into advantageous view by a charming drive-way that extends along the
beach and entirely around the city. A part of the sea-shore line is very
rocky and precipitous, and the assaults of terrific breakers for many
ages have worn these cliffs into wonderful shapes. Purgatory Chasm is,
perhaps, the most remarkable example of wave force in this vicinity,
though the agency of water has, no doubt, been reinforced by some other
natural power, such as glacier, earthquake or volcano. Near-by are
Hanging Rocks, where Berkeley is said to have composed his _Minute
Philosophy_; and less than three hundred yards distant is Spouting Cave,
where the surf dashes into a grotto and thence through a hole in the
roof to a height at times of fifty feet, affording a beautiful
spectacle. Other points of interest along the cliffs are individualized
by such names as Eastman’s, Green’s End, Lime Rock, Negro-Head Cliffs,
the Flints, the Dumplings, Cockle-Shell Ledge, etc. After a brief
circuit of Newport’s attractions, our artist departed for Western
Connecticut and thence to Albany, there to take boat down the Hudson for
New York City. The route lay through New Haven, where a short stop was
made to take a picture of East Rock and the Soldiers’ Monument thereon.
East Rock is a bluff 360 feet high, on the north side of the city, to
which a beautiful carriage-road leads, and from its summit a wide extent
of charming landscape is presented, taking in a part of the Connecticut
Valley towards the west, Yale College on the east, and spanning Long
Island Sound on the south, so that when the weather is clear the low
banks of Long Island may be distinguished.
[Illustration: BALANCED ROCK, NEAR PITTSFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS.]
From New Haven the route was north and west over the Housatonic system
to Pittsfield, Massachusetts, in the Berkshire region, a city of some
17,000 people, and noted for its many interesting buildings of national
reputation, as well as for the lovely scenery that environs it. The
place is elegantly situated on a high plateau, with the Taconic
Mountains on the west and the Hoosac Range commanding the eastern view.
It will be remembered by students of history that Fighting Parson Allen,
of Revolutionary fame, was pastor of the First Methodist Church in
Pittsfield, and they will be gratified to know that the building is
still standing and that it exhibits little impairment from age. The
Agassiz Association, with an enrolled membership of 20,000, has its
headquarters in the city, and the place is also the seat of many
prominent historical and educational institutions. But it is the scenery
thereabout that interests us most. Waconah Falls is a pretty cascade ten
miles from the city, and still nearer is Roaring Brook, that rushes down
the side of a mountain in torrential flow, through a gap known as
Tories’ Cave, and contributes its waters to Ashley Pond, whence the
city’s supply is obtained. Lake Onota is a picturesque sheet two miles
west of Pittsfield, and near-by is Balanced Rock, one of the greatest
natural curiosities in America. It is a tremendous bowlder, as the
illustration shows, the estimated weight of which is 480 tons, and is
balanced on a point that is only one foot square. So unstable is its
appearance, resting on such a slender foundation, that it looks as if a
zephyr might topple it over, yet so firmly poised that an army of giants
could hardly disturb its equilibrium.
[Illustration: CROSS ROCK, NEAR PITTSFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS.]
In a rocky field three miles from the city is another great natural
curiosity known as Cross Rock, which has been singularly cleft, by some
unknown agency, into the form of a perfect cross, to which a few
superstitious people formerly attributed remarkable healing virtues, but
which no one any longer regards.
Four miles east of Pittsfield is the village of Dalton, where immense
quantities of paper are manufactured, and on the Pittsfield line is
located the mill that produces all the Government bank-note paper. West
Pittsfield, about five miles from the city proper, is also an
interesting place, reposing under the shadows of Taconic Mountains, and
celebrated as being the national headquarters of what is known as the
“United Society of Believers in Christ’s Second Appearing.” This curious
sect of Shakers, disciples of Ann Lee, founded the village more than a
century ago, and their “Millennial” church, which was built soon after,
still stands as one of the most conspicuous buildings in New England.
Massachusetts has been famous as the home of religious denominations
possessing peculiar tenets almost since the landing of the Pilgrims; but
from the days of Salem witchcraft to the present, few sects have adopted
more curious beliefs and ceremonials than the Shakers. Yet, to their
credit let it be spoken, they are good citizens, honest, generous,
faithful, industrious and kindly in all their intercourse with the world
as well as among themselves.
From Pittsfield our artist proceeded to New Albany, and thence by boat
to New York, where he joined the two other photographers, the route of
the third having been east by way of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad,
which now remains to be described.
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