CHAPTER XXXVI.
The “St. John,” and its sister ship, the “Dean Richmond,” are two of the finest steam-ships on the river. They are buildings rather than boats; terraces rise one above another, with galleries and verandahs. One would almost have thought it was a gardener’s floating plantation. There are twenty flag-staffs, fastened with iron tressings, which consolidate the whole building. The two enormous paddle-boxes are paintedal fresco, like the tympans in the Church of St. Mark, at Venice. Behind each wheel rises the chimney of the two boilers, the latter placed outside, instead of in the hull of the steam-ship, a good precaution in case of explosion. In the centre, between the paddles, is the machinery, which is very simple, consisting only of a single cylinder, a piston worked by a long cross-beam, which rises and falls like the monstrous hammer of a forge, and a single crank, communicating the movement to the axles of the massive wheels.
Passengers were already crowding on to the deck of the “St. John.” Dean Pitferge and I went to secure a cabin; we got one which opened into an immense saloon, a kind of gallery with a vaulted ceiling, supported by a succession of Corinthian pillars. Comfort and luxury everywhere, carpets, sofas, ottomans, paintings, mirrors, even gas, made in a small gasometer on board.
At this moment the gigantic engine trembled and began to work. I went on to the upper terraces. At the stern was a gaily painted house, which was the steersman’s room, where four strong men stood at the spokes of the double rudder-wheel. After walking about for a few minutes, I went down on to the deck, between the already heated boilers, from which light blue flames were issuing. Of the Hudson I could see nothing. Night came, and with it a fog thick enough to be cut. The “St. John” snorted in the gloom like a true mastodon; we could hardly catch a glimpse of the lights of the towns scattered along the banks of the river, or the lanterns of ships ascending the dark water with shrill whistles.
At eight o’clock I went into the saloon. The Doctor took me to have supper at a magnificent restaurant placed between the decks, where we were served by an army of black waiters. Dean Pitferge informed me that the number of passengers on board was more than four thousand, reckoning fifteen hundred emigrants stowed away inthe lower part of the steam-ship. Supper finished, we retired to our comfortable cabin.
At eleven o’clock I was aroused by a slight shock. The “St. John” had stopped. The captain, finding it impossible to proceed in the darkness, had given orders to heave-to, and the enormous boat, moored in the channel, slept tranquilly at anchor.
At four o’clock in the morning the “St. John” resumed her course. I got up and went out under one of the verandahs. The rain had ceased, the fog cleared off, the water appeared, then the shores; the right bank, dotted with green trees and shrubs, which gave it the appearance of a long cemetery; in the background rose high hills, closing in the horizon by a graceful line; the left bank, on the contrary, was flat and marshy.
THE FOG CLEARED OFF.
THE FOG CLEARED OFF.
THE FOG CLEARED OFF.
Dr. Pitferge had just joined me under the verandah.
“Good morning, friend,” said he, after having drawn a good breath of air; “do you know we shall not be at Albany in time to catch the train, thanks to that wretched fog. This will modify my programme.”
“So much the worse, Doctor, for we must be economical with our time.”
“Right; we may expect to reach Niagara Falls at night instead of in the evening. That is not my fault, but we must be resigned.”
The “St. John,” in fact, did not moor off the Albanyquay before eight o’clock. The train had left, so we were obliged to wait till half-past one. In consequence of this delay we were able to visit the curious old city, which forms the legislative centre of the State of New York: the lower town, commercial and thickly populated, on the right bank of the Hudson, and the high town, with its brick houses, public buildings, and its very remarkable museum of fossils. One might almost have thought it a large quarter of New York transported to the side of this hill, up which it rises in the shape of an amphitheatre.
At one o’clock, after having breakfasted, we went to the station, which was without any barrier or officials. The train simply stopped in the middle of the street, like an omnibus; one could get up and down at pleasure. The cars communicate with each other by bridges, which allow the traveller to go from one end of the train to the other. At the appointed time, without seeing either a guard or a porter, without a bell, without any warning, the brisk locomotive, a real gem of workmanship, started, and we were whirled away at the speed of fifty miles an hour. But instead of being boxed up, as one is in European trains, we were at liberty to walk about, buy newspapers and books, without waiting for stations. Refreshment buffets, bookstalls, everything was at hand for the traveller. We were now crossing fields without fences, and forests newly cleared, at the risk of a collision with the felled trees;through new towns, seamed with rails, but still wanting in houses; through cities adorned with the most poetic names of ancient literature—Rome, Syracuse, and Palmyra. It was thus the Mohawk Valley, the land of Fenimore, which belongs to the American novelist, as does the land of Rob Roy to Walter Scott, glided before our eyes. For a moment Lake Ontario, which Cooper has made the scene of action of his master-work, sparkled on the horizon. All this theatre of the grand epopee of Leather Stocking, formerly a savage country, is now a civilized land. The Doctor did not appreciate the change, for he persisted in calling me Hawk’s Eye, and would only answer to the name of Chingachgook.
At eleven o’clock at night we changed trains at Rochester; the spray from the Tennessee cascades fell over the cars in showers. At two o’clock in the morning, after having kept alongside the Niagara for several leagues without seeing it, we arrived at the village of Niagara Falls, and the Doctor conducted me to a magnificent hotel, grandly named “Cataract House.”
CHAPTER XXXVII.
The Niagara is not a stream, not even a river; it is simply a weir sluice, a canal thirty-six miles long, which empties the waters of the Lakes Superior, Michigan, Huron, and Erie into the Ontario. The difference in the level of these last two lakes is three hundred and forty feet; this difference uniformly proportioned the whole of the width would hardly have created a “rapid;” but the Falls alone absorb half the difference in level, whence their formidable power.
This Niagarine trench separates the United States from Canada. Its right bank is American and its left English; on one side policemen, on the other not the shadow of one.
On the morning of the 12th of April, at break of day, the Doctor and I walked down the wide street of Niagara Falls, which is the name of the village situated on the banks of the Falls. It is a kind of small watering-place, three hundred miles from Albany, built in a healthy and charming situation, provided with sumptuous hotels andcomfortable villas, which the Yankees and Canadians frequent in the season. The weather was magnificent, the sun warmed the cold atmosphere, a dull, distant roar was heard, and I saw vapours on the horizon which could not be clouds.
“Is that the Fall?” I asked of the Doctor.
“Patience!” replied Pitferge.
In a few minutes we were on the banks of the Niagara. The river was flowing peacefully along; it was clear, and not deep, with numerous projections of grey rock emerging here and there. The roar of the cataract grew louder and louder, but as yet we could not see it. A wooden bridge, supported by iron arches, united the left bank to an island in the midst of the current; on to this bridge the Doctor led me. Above, stretched the river as far as the eye could reach; down the stream, that is to say on our right, the first unevenness of a rapid was noticeable; then, at half a mile from the bridge, the earth suddenly gave way, and clouds of spray filled the air. This was the American fall, which we could not see. Beyond, on the Canadian side, lay a peaceful country, with hills, villas, and bare trees.
“don’t look! don’t look!” cried the Doctor to me; “reserve yourself, shut your eyes, and do not open them until I tell you!”
I hardly listened to my original, but continued to look. The bridge crossed, we set foot on the island known asGoat Island. It is a piece of land of about seventy acres, covered with trees, and intersected with lovely avenues with carriage drives. It is like a bouquet thrown between the American and Canadian Falls, separated from the shore by a distance of three hundred yards. We ran under the great trees, climbed the slopes, and went down the steps; the thundering roar of the falls was redoubled, and the air saturated with spray.
“Look!” cried the Doctor.
Coming from behind a mass of rock, the Niagara appeared in all its splendour. At this spot it meets with a sharp angle of land, and falling round it, forms the Canadian cascade, called the “Horse-shoe Fall,” which falls from a height of one hundred and fifty-eight feet, and is two miles broad.
NATURE HAS COMBINED EVERYTHING TO ASTONISH THE EYE
NATURE HAS COMBINED EVERYTHING TO ASTONISH THE EYE
NATURE HAS COMBINED EVERYTHING TO ASTONISH THE EYE
In this, one of the most beautiful spots in the world, Nature has combined everything to astonish the eye. The fall of the Niagara singularly favours the effects of light and shade; the sunbeams falling on the water, capriciously diversify the colour; and those who have seen this effect, must admit that it is without parallel. In fact, near Goat Island the foam is white; it is then a fall of snow, or a heap of melted silver, pouring into the abyss. In the centre of the cataract the colour of the water is a most beautiful sea-green, which indicates its depth, so that the “Detroit,” a ship drawing twenty feet and launched on thecurrent, was able to descend the falls without grazing. Towards the Canadian shore the whirlpool, on the contrary, looks like metal shining beneath the luminous rays, and it is melted gold which is now poured into the gulf. Below, the river is invisible from the vapours which rise over it. I caught glimpses, however, of enormous blocks of ice accumulated by the cold of winter; they take the form of monsters, which, with open jaws, hourly absorb the hundred millions of tons poured into them by the inexhaustible Niagara. Half a mile below the cataract the river again became tranquil, and presented a smooth surface, which the winds of April had not yet been able to ruffle.
“And now for the middle of the torrent,” said the Doctor to me.
I could not imagine what the Doctor meant by those words, until he pointed to a tower built on the edge of a rock some hundred feet from the shore, almost overhanging the precipice. This monument, raised in 1833, by a certain audacious being, one Judge Porter, is called the “Terrapin Tower.”
We went down the steps of Goat Island, and, coming to the height of the upper course of the Niagara, I saw a bridge, or rather some planks, thrown from one rock to the other, which united the tower with the banks of the river. The bridge was but a few feet from the abyss, and below itroared the torrent. We ventured on these planks, and in a few minutes reached the rock which supported Terrapin Tower. This round tower, forty-five feet in height, is built of stone, with a circular balcony at its summit, and a roof covered with red stucco. The winding staircase, on which thousands of names are cut, is wooden. Once at the top of the tower, there is nothing to do but cling to the balcony and look.
The tower is in the midst of the cataract. From its summit the eye plunges into the depths of the abyss, and peers into the very jaws of the ice monsters, as they swallow the torrent. One feels the rock tremble which supports it. It is impossible to hear anything but the roaring of the surging water. The spray rises to the top of the monument, and splendid rainbows are formed by the sun shining on the vapourized water.
By a simple optical illusion, the tower seems to move with a frightful rapidity, but, happily, in the opposite direction to the fall, for, with the contrary illusion, it would be impossible to look at the gulf from giddiness.
Breathless and shivering, we went for a moment inside the top landing of the tower, and it was then that the Doctor took the opportunity of saying to me,—
“This Terrapin Tower, my dear sir, will some day fall into the abyss, and perhaps sooner than is expected.”
“Ah! indeed!”
“There is no doubt about it. The great Canadian Fall recedes insensibly, but still, it recedes. The tower, when it was first built in 1833, was much farther from the cataract. Geologists say that the fall, in the space of thirty-five thousand years, will be found at Queenstown, seven miles up the stream. According to Mr. Bakewell, it recedes a yard in a year; but according to Sir Charles Lyell one foot only. The time will come when the rock which supports the tower, worn away by the water, will glide down the Falls of the cataract. Well, my dear sir, remember this: the day when the Terrapin Tower falls, there will be some eccentrics who will descend the Niagara with it.”
I looked at the Doctor, as if to ask him if he would be of that number, but he signed for me to follow him, and we went out again to look at the “Horse-shoe Fall,” and the surrounding country. We could now distinguish the American Fall, slightly curtailed and separated by a projection of the island, where there is another small central cataract one hundred feet wide; the American cascade, equally fine, falls perpendicularly. Its height is one hundred and sixty-four feet. But in order to have a good view of it it is necessary to stand facing it, on the Canadian side.
All day we wandered on the banks of the Niagara, irresistibly drawn back to the tower, where the roar of the water, the spray, the sunlight playing on the vapours, the excitement, and the briny odour of the cataract, holds youin a perpetual ecstasy. Then we went back to Goat Island to get the Fall from every point of view, without ever being wearied of looking at it. The Doctor would have taken me to see the “Grotto of Winds,” hollowed out underneath the central Fall, but access to it was not allowed, on account of the frequent falling away of the rocks.
At five o’clock we went back to the hotel, and after a hasty dinner, served in the American fashion, we returned to Goat Island. The Doctor wished to go and see the “Three Sisters,” charming little islets scattered at the head of the island; then, with the return of evening, he led me back to the tottering rock of Terrapin Tower.
The last rays of the setting sun had disappeared behind the grey hills, and the moon shed her soft clear light over the landscape. The shadow of the tower stretched across the abyss; farther down the stream the water glided silently along, crowned with a light mist. The Canadian shore, already plunged in darkness, contrasted vividly with the moon-lit banks of Goat Island, and the village of Niagara Falls. Below us, the gulf, magnified by the uncertain light, looked like a bottomless abyss, in which roared the formidable torrent. What effect! What artist could ever depict such a scene, either with the pen or paint-brush? For some minutes a moving light appeared on the horizon; it was the signal light of a train crossing the Niagara bridge at a distance of two miles from us. Here we remained silentand motionless on the top of the tower until midnight, leaning over the waters which possessed such a fascination. Once, when the moon-beams caught the liquid dust at a certain angle, I had a glimpse of a milky band of transparent ribbon trembling in the shadows. It was a lunar rainbow, a pale irradiation of the queen of the night, whose soft light was refracted through the mist of the cataract.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
The next day, the 13th of April, the Doctor’s programme announced a visit to the Canadian shore. We had only to follow the heights of the bank of the Niagara for two miles to reach the suspension bridge. We started at seven o’clock in the morning. From the winding path on the right bank we could see the tranquil waters of the river, which no longer felt the perturbation of its fall.
At half-past seven we reached the suspension bridge. It is the bridge, on which the Great Western and New York Central Railroads meet, and the only one which gives access to Canada on the confines of the State of New York. This suspension bridge is formed of two platforms; the upper one for trains, and the lower for carriages and pedestrians. Imagination seems to lose itself in contemplating this stupendous work. This viaduct, over which trains can pass, suspended at a height of two hundred and fifty feetabove the Niagara, again transformed into a rapid at this spot. This suspension bridge, built by John A. Roebling, ofTrentonTrenton(New Jersey), is eight hundred feet long, and twenty-four wide; the iron props fastened to the shore prevent it from swinging; the chains which support it, formed of four thousand wires, are ten inches in diameter, and can bear a weight of twelve thousand four hundred tons. The bridge itself weighs but eight hundred tons, and cost five hundred thousand dollars. Just as we reached the centre a train passed over our heads, and we felt the platform bend under its weight.
It is a little below this bridge that Blondin crossed the Niagara, on a rope stretched from one shore to the other, and not, as is generally supposed, across the falls. However, the undertaking was none the less perilous; but if Blondin astonished us by his daring, what must we think of his friend who accompanied him, riding on his back during this aerial promenade?
“Perhaps he was a glutton,” said the Doctor, “and Blondin made wonderful omelets on his tight-rope.”
We were now on Canadian ground, and we walked up the left bank of the Niagara, in order to see the Falls under a new aspect. Half an hour later we reached the English hotel, where the Doctor ordered our breakfast, whilst I glanced through the “Travellers’ Book,” where figured several thousand names: among the most celebrated Inoticed the following:—Robert Peel, Lady Franklin, Comte de Paris, Duc de Chartres, Prince de Joinville, Louis Napoleon (1846), Prince and Princess Napoleon, Barnum (with his address), Maurice Sand (1865), Agassis (1854), Almonte, Prince Hohenlohe, Rothschild, Bertin (Paris), Lady Elgin, Burkhardt (1832), &c.
“And now let us go under the Falls,” said the Doctor to me, when we had finished breakfast.
I followed Dean Pitferge. A negro conducted us to the dressing-room, where we were provided with waterproof trousers, macintoshes, and glazed hats. Thus equipped, our guide led us down a slippery path, obstructed by sharp-edged stones, to the lower level of the Niagara. Then we passed behind the great fall through clouds of spray, the cataract falling before us like the curtain of a theatre before the actors. But what a theatre! Soaked, blinded, deafened, we could neither see nor hear in this cavern as hermetically closed by the liquid sheets of the cataract as though Nature had sealed it in by a wall of granite.
THE CATARACT FALLING BEFORE US.
THE CATARACT FALLING BEFORE US.
THE CATARACT FALLING BEFORE US.
At nine o’clock we returned to the hotel, where they relieved us of our streaming clothes. Going back again to the bank, I uttered a cry of surprise and joy,—
“Captain Corsican!”
The Captain heard, and came towards me.
“You here!” he cried; “what a pleasure to see you again!”
“And Fabian? and Ellen?” I asked, shaking both his hands.
“They are here, and going on as well as possible; Fabian full of hope, almost merry; and our poor Ellen little by little regaining reason.”
“But how is it that I meet you at the Niagara?”
“The Niagara,” repeated Corsican. “Well, it is the principal resort of English and Americans in the warm months. They come here to breathe, to be cured by the sublime spectacle of the Falls. Our Ellen seemed to be struck at first sight by this glorious scenery, and we have come to stay on the banks of the Niagara. You see that villa, ‘Clifton House,’ in the midst of those trees, half way up the hill; that is where we all live, with Mrs. R——, Fabian’s sister, who is devoted to our poor friend.”
“Has Ellen recognized Fabian?” I asked.
“No, not yet,” replied the Captain. “You are aware, however, that at the moment when Drake was struck dead, Ellen had a brief interval of consciousness. Her reason became clear in the gloom which surrounded her, but this did not last long. At the same time, since we brought her to breathe this fresh air in this quiet place, the doctor has discovered a sensible improvement in her condition. She is calm, her sleep is tranquil, but there is a look in her eyes as though she were trying to think of something past or present.”
“Ah, my dear friend!” cried I, “you will cure her; but where are Fabian and his betrothed?”
“Look!” said Corsican, and he pointed towards the shore of the Niagara.
In the direction indicated by the Captain I saw Fabian, who had not yet noticed us. He was standing on a rock, and a few feet in front of him sat Ellen perfectly motionless, Fabian watching her all the time. This spot on the left bank is known by the name of “Table Rock.” It is a kind of rocky promontory jutting out into the river, which roars at a distance of four hundred feet below. Formerly it was more extensive, but the crumbling away of large pieces of rock has now reduced it to a surface a few yards square.
Ellen seemed absorbed in speechless ecstasy. From this place the aspect of the Falls is “most sublime,” as say the guides, and they are right. It gives a view of two cataracts; on the right the “Canadian Fall,” the crest of which, crowned with vapours, shuts in the horizon on one side, like the horizon of the sea. In front is the “American Fall,” and above, the elegant village of Niagara Falls, half hidden in the trees; on the left, the whole perspective of the river flowing rapidly between its high banks, and below the torrent struggling against the overthrown icebergs.
Corsican, the Doctor, and I went towards Table Rock,but I did not want to disturb Fabian. Ellen was as motionless as a statue. What impression was this scene making on her mind? Was reason gradually coming back to her under the influence of the grand spectacle? Suddenly I saw Fabian step towards her. Ellen had risen quickly, and was going near to the abyss, with her arms extended towards the gulf; but all at once she stopped, and passed her hand rapidly across her forehead, as if she would drive away some thought. Fabian, pale as death, but self-possessed, with one bound placed himself between Ellen and the chasm; the latter shook back her fair hair, and her graceful figure staggered. Did she see Fabian? No. One would have said it was a dead person coming back to being, and looking round for life!
Captain Corsican and I dared not move, although, being so near the abyss, we dreaded some catastrophe; but the Doctor kept us back.
“Let Fabian alone,” said he.
I heard the sobs which escaped from the young woman’s heaving breast, the inarticulate words which came from her lips; she seemed as though she were trying to speak, but could not. At last she uttered these words:—
“My God! my God! where am I, where am I?”
She was conscious that some one was near her, for she half turned round, and her whole face seemed transfigured.There was a new light in her eyes, as she saw Fabian, trembling and speechless, standing before her with outstretched arms.
“FABIAN! FABIAN!” CRIED SHE, “AT LAST.”
“FABIAN! FABIAN!” CRIED SHE, “AT LAST.”
“FABIAN! FABIAN!” CRIED SHE, “AT LAST.”
“Fabian! Fabian!” cried she, at last.
Fabian caught her in his arms, where she fell in an unconscious state. He uttered a piercing cry, thinking that Ellen was dead, but the Doctor interposed.
“Don’t be alarmed,” said he; “this crisis, on the contrary, will be the means of saving her!”
Ellen was carried to Clifton House and put to bed, where she recovered consciousness and slept peacefully.
Fabian, encouraged by the Doctor, was full of hope. Ellen had recognized him! Coming back to us, he said to me,—
“We shall save her, we shall save her! Every day I watch her coming back to life. To-day, to-morrow, perhaps she will be restored to me. Ah! the just God be praised! We will stay here as long as it is necessary for her, shall we not, Archibald?”
The Captain clasped Fabian in his arms; then the latter turned to the Doctor and me. He loaded us with thanks, and inspired us with the hope which filled his breast, and never was there better reason for hope—Ellen’s recovery was near at hand.
But we must be starting, and there was hardly an hour for us to reach Niagara Falls. Ellen was still sleepingwhen we left our dear friends. Fabian and Corsican bid us a last farewell, after having promised we should have news of Ellen by telegram, and at noon we left Clifton House.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Some minutes later we were descending a long flight of steps on the Canadian side, which led to the banks of the river, covered with huge sheets of ice. Here a boat was waiting to take us to “America.” One passenger had already taken his place in it. He was an engineer from Kentucky, and acquainted the Doctor with his name and profession. We embarked without loss of time, and by dint of steering, so as to avoid the blocks of ice, reached the middle of the river, where the current offered a clear passage. From here we had a last view of the magnificent Niagara cataract. Our companion observed it with a thoughtful air.
“Is it not grand, sir? Is it not magnificent?” said I to him.
“Yes,” replied he; “but what a waste of mechanical force, and what a mill might be turned with such a fall as that!”
Never did I feel more inclined to pitch an engineer into the water!
On the other bank a small and almost vertical railroad, worked by a rope on the American side, hoisted us to the top. At half-past one we took the express, which put us down at Buffalo at a quarter past two. After visiting this large new town, and tasting the water of Lake Erie, we again took the New York Central Railway at six o’clock in the evening. The next day, on leaving the comfortable beds of a “sleeping car,” we found ourselves at Albany, and the Hudson Railroad, which runs along the left bank of the river, brought us to New York a few hours later.
The next day, the 15th of April, in company with the indefatigable Doctor, I went over the city, East River, and Brooklyn. In the evening I bade farewell to the good Dean Pitferge, and I felt, in leaving him, that I left a friend.
Tuesday, the 16th of April, was the day fixed for the departure of the “Great Eastern.” At eleven o’clock I went to Thirty-seventh pier, where the tender was to await the passengers. It was already filled with people and luggage when I embarked. Just as the tender was leaving the quay some one caught hold of my arm, and turning round I saw Dr. Pitferge.
“You!” I cried; “and are you going back to Europe?”
“Yes, my dear sir.”
“By the ‘Great Eastern’?”
“Undoubtedly,” replied the amiable original, smiling; “I have considered the matter, and have come to the conclusion that I must go. Only think, this may be the ‘Great Eastern’s’last voyage; the one which she will never complete.”
The bell for departure had rung, when one of the waiters from Fifth Avenue Hotel came running up to me, and put a telegram into my hands, dated from Niagara Falls:—“Ellen has awakened; her reason has entirely returned to her,” said Captain Corsican, “and the doctor has every hope of her recovery.”
I communicated this good news to Dean Pitferge.
“Every hope for her indeed! every hope!” said my fellow-traveller, in a sarcastic tone. “I also have every hope for her, but what good does that do? Any one may have great hopes for you, for me, for all of us, but at the same time he may be just as much wrong as right.”...
Twelve days later we reached Brest, and the day following Paris. The return passage was made without any misfortune, to the great displeasure of Dean Pitferge, who always expected to see the great ship wrecked.
And now, when I am sitting at my own table, if I had not my daily notes before me, I should think that the “Great Eastern,” that floating city in which I lived for a month, the meeting of Ellen and Fabian, the peerless Niagara, allthese were the visions of a dream. Ah! how delightful is travelling, “even when one does return,” in spite of what the Doctor may say to the contrary.
For eight months I heard nothing of my original, but one day the post brought me a letter, covered with many-coloured stamps, which began with these words:—
“On board the ‘Corinquay,’ Auckland Rocks. At last we have been shipwrecked.”
And ended thus:—
“Was never in better health.”
“Very heartily yours,
Dean Pitferge.”
END OF “A FLOATING CITY.”
END OF “A FLOATING CITY.”
END OF “A FLOATING CITY.”