CATARACTS OF NIAGARA.
Now—on, on—over the Chute, and down the Rapid—leaping the Saults—through the rivers, over the islands—we glide—we glide—we rush—we fly. Ho! Ariel, beautiful spirit, riding on thy rainbow—shoot not thy silver arrows at us as we pass. Tricksy spirit—fare thee well—now far in the distance, fare—thee—well! Ha! ha!—Old frolic Puck—sweating, panting, holding thy lubbard sides—we race—we race—we pass thee too—in vain thou strugglest to o’ertake us. Farewell—farewell. Go pinch the housemaids—tickle with straws the snoring herdsmen—tumble about the dusty mows—sprinkle sweet hay before the ruminating cattle—clutch by the tail the cunning fox, as stealthily he crawls within the hen-roost—and anon rub thy hands in glee o’er the embers on the capacious kitchen hearth, and on all-fours cut antics with the glowering cat, as with bowed back and shining eyes she watches thee i’ th’ corner—peer into the kettles and into the jars—see whether the barm rises—whether the yeast doth work; till with clash—clatter—the metal lid slips from thy fingers on the hearth-stone, and villain-like, thou shoot’st up the chimney, with “Ho! ho! ho!” laughing at the sleepyyeoman, as half covered, with oaken cudgel grasped, shivering, he peers through the door-crack the cause o’ th’ uproar. Farewell, farewell, mirthful goblin—farewell, farewell. Ontario, we waft across thy surface. Queenstown, thy sanguinary heights, crowned with brave Briton’s monument, we pass, and now the rising mist-wreaths warn us of thy approach, Niagara. Huzza! huzza! now for a bath under the roaring Cataract. In what wild chaos of waters the clam’rous rapids, as if from the horizon, rush down upon us—jumping, leaping, boiling, in fierce confusion; and this frail bridge, how it groans and shakes in the torrent’s sweep! A slip from Mahomet’s sword edge o’er the awful Hades, would not consign us to more inevitable destruction, than would a treacherous plank or rotten beam from this shaking platform. We tread the deep green woods of Goat Island, their mossy trunks covered with love-marks of Orlandos and Rosalinds; and, amid the roar, descend the great Ferry stair-case—stop a moment at this landing—step out. How the solid earth shakes—jars and vibrates! How the wild winds rush by us, as the huge fluid arch stretches over with continuous plunge—and see that group of wild-flowers—scarlet, green, and purple—smiling in beauty beyond the reach of human hand, glistening in moisture midst the very spray in the rock cleft. But—haste—haste! Here is the boatman. Leap in—leap in! Now how, in our little cockle-shell bark, wewhirl and sport in the eddies, o’er the fathomless depths below, like wing-borne insects playing over the abyss.
We land—ascend the heights—we pass the sentry. At the tiring-house. We robe ourselves for the enterprise—tarpaulin coats—hats bound with old rope—trowsers of tow cloth—shoes of cowhide—ha! ha! But quick, descend the long spiral stair-case. Now, Guide—we follow. Beware you fall not on these sharp, slippery rocks. We approach. The Table Rock hangs over us. In grandeur the solid fluid mass falls precipitate. Prepare. Turn as you enter—hold down your head—repress your breath: are you ready? Rush! We are beneath the yawning chasm—soaked in an instant. Like furious rainstorm, and wind, and tempest all combined, this wild, frightful roar. What? Scream louder, louder. Hold firm by the guide—a slip from this narrow ledge—and—whew—splash—dead in our faces—almost suffocated. Turn to the dripping rock wall, and catch your breath till the wind rush again lifts the watery curtain. Slimy eels glide by—darkness deep above—dim light strives to reach us through the cataract sheets. We are at the extreme verge. Guide—guide—ha?—what indicates that motion of thy lips—closer—close in my ear. “Termination rock.” Turn—turn—splash—swash—drenched—suffocated—return, return. We see again the light. Rush! We stand once more in the clear open sunlight.Whew!—puff—dripping—dripping—a shower-bath worthy of old Neptune. How delightfully our nerves spring under its exhilarating influence. Take care—again these slippery stones. Beware! beware! Here we ascend again the stair-case. In the attiring-room. Towels—brushes—Christians once more.
Come—come! Now to the Table Rock. See with what treacherous glitter the wide Niagara stretches in perfect smoothness far towards Chippewa, till, descending upon us, it shoots the rapids o’er their rocky beds like things of life, and with wild rush around the island, sweeps resistless o’er the awful cataracts, a roaring hurricane of waters. Give me your hand—lean forward—look into the abyss—careful. Evil spirits take us at advantage at such times, and whisper us to leap forward. How lashed in milky whiteness the huge gulf boils and foams as the waters plunge fractured, disjointed, tumbling in masses—and the wild birds, how fearlessly they skim amid the white mist rising from its surface. How the earth shudders and trembles around us. You are already dizzy. Come back from the edge. How awful—how terribly sublime! How tame—how useless, helpless description! Would that I, with voice of inspiration, could command language adequate to pourtray the grandeur of the scene under stern Winter’s reign! Transcendantly beautiful once I saw it! A thaw and rain, followed by sudden chill and cold, had clothed all theforest—every hedge and shrub, with transparent coat of ice. Gnarled oaks, from massive trunk to their extremest twigs, became huge crystal chandeliers. The ever-green pines and hemlocks, with long lancing branches,—great emeralds; lithe willows, sweeping, glassy cascades; the wild vines, stiff in silvery trellices between them; the undergrowth, with scarlet, blue and purple berries, candied fruits. The pools of frozen water at their feet, dark sheets of adamant; and ever and anon, as the north wind passed o’er them, the forest was Golconda, Araby—one Ind of radiant gems, quivering with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, in glittering splendour; pearls, emeralds, hyacinths, chrysolites, falling in showers, as fractured from their crackling branches, they strewed the snowy bed stretched smooth around them. That wide, smooth river, far above the Rapids, ice-chained, a solid snow-white bed, gleaming in the midday sun. Yon tower, misshapen giant phantom, ice god, in frozen shroud and winding-sheet, firmly fixed ’mid the swift running waters:—huge stalactite icicles, Winter’s hoary beard, hanging in fantastic curtains from each rock ledge—pinnacle—projection; while on the black rapids, the vast ice-fields breaking in masses, piled in wild confusion, grinding and swaying on their treacherous holds, till gathering momentum, with slide and plunge—submerged, they swept onward ’mid the wild roar of the cataracts, which, with stern, resistless power, heldtheir terrific course. Those huge sheets, those watery arches, those green beryl masses, plunging in resistless fury, unabated vastness, with desperate leaps into the foaming abyss below, the spray falling in silver showers, pierced by the sun’s rays dancing around them in countless rainbows; while the ice avalanches, breaking from their grasps on the surrounding rocks and precipices, with booming plunge and uproar, fell crashing,—buried in the dark whirlpools, boiling in the fathomless depths below. The dark river, in torrents of copperas-hue, whirling in eddies, rushing o’er its deep rocky bed—in savage contrast with the snow-covered precipices that chained it to its course. Deep, resistless sweep of waters! black as despair—Sadoc here were to thee the waters of Oblivion—here that Lethe, which, till other worlds received thee, should blot existence from keenest memory.
The voice of the Unseen addressed the afflicted Patriarch from the whirlwind’s midst—us does it warn from this chained whirlwind of the waters. Sublime, terrible, indescribable, as is this scene by human tongue, how tamely all its grandeur sinks beneath the catastrophe, which the being of future ages shall survey,—or would, if with eagle’s wings he could soar high in the clouds above it,—when the narrow rock-belt which Niagara for by-gone centuries has been slowly wearing, severed, the light tract alluvial crumbling—the whole chain of inland oceans—Huron, Erie, Michigan,with awful wildness and destruction, sweep in second deluge o’er this outlet—the adamantine rocks sinking like snow-wreaths from their beds—all principalities, kingdoms, states—whate’er they shall be—between the Atlantic and the Alleghanies, the Labrador and Mexico—swept from existence, and in their place a heaving surge—wild waste of waters. Fool! revolve this scene terrific in thy heart—ponder it well—then, if thou canst, say, indeed, there is no God! Thy life, at best a flickering taper, shall soon meet extinguishment. Then shall there be an eternity to convince thee.