SCENE AMONG THE HIGHLANDS,
ON LAKE GEORGE.
Having dwelt upon the scenery of this celebrated Lake in other pages of this work, let us glance here at the events which took place upon its borders during the war between the French and the British colonies, in 1755.
The Baron de Dieskau had arrived from France, in company with De Vaudreuil, Governor General of Canada, bringing with him three thousand regular troops, destined to make war on the English colonies. Landing at Quebec, his first instructions were to reduce Osnego, but intelligence reaching the Governor that a considerable force was collecting at Lake Sacrament (now Lake George) with the probable intention of invading Canada, Baron Dieskau changed his route, and proceeded up Lake Champlain.
The provincial army was commanded by Colonel, afterwards Sir William, Johnson; and it was in alliance with a considerable body of Indians, under the command of the celebrated chief Hendrick, the great Mohawk Sachem. In Johnson’s official report he is called “a valiant warrior, and a faithful friend.”
After a fruitless attempt to surprise and take Fort Edward, Dieskau advanced toward the head of Lake George. On the first intimation of his approach, a council of war was called by Colonel Johnson, and it was determined that a party should go out to meet him. The number of men fixed upon was mentioned by Johnson to Hendrick. The Sachem replied, “If they are to fight, they are too few; if they are to be killed, they are too many.” The number was accordingly increased. General Johnson, also, proposed to divide them into three parties. Hendrick took three sticks, and putting them together, said to him, “Put these together, and you cannot break them; take them one by one, and you will break them easily.” The hint succeeded, and Hendrick’s sticks probably saved the whole army from destruction.
The detached party consisted of twelve hundred, commanded by Colonel Williams. He met the enemy about four miles from Lake George. Dieskau had been informed of his approach by scouts, and arranged his men on both sides of the road in a half-moon, to receive him. The whole country was a forest, and Williams impetuously marched directly into the hollow. At the same instant, a tremendous fire was opened on him in front, and on both his flanks; and Johnson and Hendrick fell among the heaps of the slain, the latter displaying the highest courage and valour. His death was embittered by the disgrace of receiving the mortal wound in his back, and his last breath was spent in lamenting it.
The overpowered detachment fell back in good order upon the entrenchments, and the enemy advanced to the position of General Johnson, which was upon the shore of Lake George. They began the engagement by firing in platoons upon the centre, but did little injury. After an hour or two of manœuvering and skirmishing, the English leaped over their breast-works, and charged upon the enemy. They broke, and fled in every direction; and Dieskau was found by a soldier, resting on a stump, with scarcely an attendant. As he was feeling for his watch to give it to the soldier, the man, thinking he was feeling for a pistol, discharged his musket through his hips. He was carried into camp in a blanket by eight men, with the greatest care and tenderness, but in extreme agony. For some reason or other, the flying enemy was not pursued, and few were taken prisoners. They had fought with great bravery, and had kept the field till one-third of their number was cut down—a thousand being left dead on the field.
On their retreat, the French army was met by a party of provincial militia, amounting in all to a hundred and fifty men. With the loss of only six men, (among whom was the second in command, Captain M’Ginnes,) this small body of men succeeded in driving the French from their ground, and possessing themselves of all the ammunition and baggage of the flying army. His Majesty was so well pleased with the result of this battle, that he created General Johnson a baronet, and Parliament voted him a present of 5000l.
The Sachem Hendrick had lived a life of unsullied bravery, and died fighting gallantly. He was at this time from sixty to seventy years of age. His head was covered with white locks, and, what is uncommon among Indians, he was corpulent. Immediately before the march, he mounted a rock and addressed his people. He had a voice of great depth and power, and could be heard distinctly half a mile. His eloquence is represented as fiery and impressive to a degree, unusual even among this nation of orators. It is said, that when his death was announced to his son, the young chief gave a single groan; but immediately recovered himself, and striking his hand on his breast, rose with great dignity and said, his father was still alive in his son’s bosom.
Dieskau was conveyed from Albany to New York, and thence to England, where he soon after died.
SCHUYLKILL WATER-WORKS, AT PHILADELPHIA.
The Water-works of Philadelphia rank among the most noble public undertakings of the world. The paucity of water in the city first set to work the sagacious mind of Dr. Franklin, who, by will, bequeathed a portion of a long accumulated legacy to bring a greater supply of this necessary element from Wissahiccon Creek. This was found, after a while, to be insufficient; and a plan was proposed, and carried into operation, to form a reservoir on the east bank of the Schuylkill, from which water was to be thrown by a steam-engine into a tunnel, conveyed to a central position, and raised by a second engine to a higher reservoir, which supplied all the pipes in the city. An experience of ten years satisfied the corporation that a sufficient supply could not be obtained by this method. The steam-engines were liable to frequent accidents, and the derangement of one stopped the supply of the whole city. After several other futile experiments, the present extensive yet simple water-works were proposed, and three hundred and fifty thousand dollars voted at once by the city corporation for the commencement of the undertaking.
The Schuylkill opposite Philadelphia, is about nine hundred feet in breadth. It is subject to suddenfreshets, (an American word, unknown in this use in England, and meaning an overflow of a river current,) but its average depth is thirty feet at high water. It was necessary to back the river up about six miles; and a dam was then created by cribs and masonry, running diagonally across, with several ingenious contrivances to prevent damage by ice and spring freshets. A overfall of one thousand two hundred and four feet, forming a beautiful feature of the scenery, is thus created, and a water-power upon the wheels sufficient to raise eleven millions of gallons in twenty-four hours. The reservoirs, elevated above the top of the highest house in the city, crown the ornamental hill which overhangs the river at this place; and water can thus be conveyed to every quarter of Philadelphia, and made to spring, as if by a magic touch, in the highest chamber of the inhabitant. It is of a deliciously soft and pleasant quality; and those who are habituated to wash in the “city of brotherly love,” are spoiled for the less agreeable lavations afforded by other towns in America.
Fair Mount is a beautiful spot; and standing, as it does, just on the skirt of the town, it serves the additional use of a place of pleasant and healthful public resort. The buildings containing the pump-rooms have considerable pretensions to architecture; and thefaçadesand galleries extend along the river, forming a showy object from every point of view, but from the absence of any grand design in the whole, failing of a general fine effect, and presenting what a Londoner would call rather a teagardenish appearance. Steps and terraces conduct to the reservoirs, and thence the view over the ornamented grounds of the country seats opposite, and of a very picturesque and uneven country beyond, is exceedingly attractive. Below, the court of the principal building is laid out with gravel walks, and ornamented with fountains and flowering trees; and within the edifice there is a public drawing-room, of neat design and furniture; while in another wing are elegant refreshment-rooms—and, in short, all the appliances and means of a place of public amusement.
It may as well be remarked here, that this last advantage is less improved in America than it would be in any other country. The Water-works of Fair Mount, though within fifteen minutes’ walk of every citizen’s dwelling in Philadelphia, are (comparatively to its capacities) unfrequented. In several visits made to them in fine weather, we scarce saw more than three or four persons in the grounds; and those seemed looking for other company, more than enjoying the refreshing fountains and lovely prospects around them. As a people, we have no habit of amusement in America. Business and repose are the only two states of existence we know. How far Europeans have the better of us in this respect—how much our morals improve, or our health suffers, from the distaste for places of public relaxation and resort, are questions the political economists have not yet condescended to settle.
VIEW OF THE UNITED STATES BANK,
PHILADELPHIA.
This is one of those chaste and beautiful buildings which have given the public architecture of Philadelphia a superiority over that of every other city of our country. It needs but that its fair marble should be weather-fretted and stained, to express perfectly to the eye the model of one of the most graceful temples of antiquity. The severe simplicity of taste which breathes through this Greek model, however, is not adapted to private buildings; and in a certain kind of simplicity, or rather of want of ornament, lies the fault found by every eye in the domestic architecture of this city. The chess-board regularity of the streets, so embarrassing to a stranger, as well as tiresome to the gaze, require a more varied, if not a more ornate style. The hundreds of houses that resemble each other in every distinguishable particular, occasion a bewilderment and fatigue to the unaccustomed eye, which a citizen of Philadelphia can scarcely comprehend.
The uniformity and plainness which William Penn has bequeathed in such an abiding legacy to Philadelphia, however, is seen but by a faintpenumbrain the dress of the inhabitants, or in their equipages, style of living, and costliness of furniture and entertainment. A faint shadow of original simplicity there still certainly exists, visible through all the departures from the spirit of Quakerism; and it is a leaven of taste and elegance in the ferment of luxury which has given Philadelphia emphatically a character for refinement. A more delightful temper and tone of society, a more enjoyable state of the exercise and mode of hospitality, or a more comfortable metropolis to live in, certainly does not exist this side the water. A European would prefer Philadelphia to every other residence in the United States.
Is it possible to realize, that, on the site of this refined capital, only a hundred and fifty years ago, lived a people in such strong contrast to the above, (save only in hospitality,) as are described by William Penn in the following terms!—
“The natives I shall consider in their persons, language, manners, religion, and government, with my sense of their original. For their persons, they are generally tall, straight, well-built, and of singular proportion; they tread strong and clever, and mostly walk with a lofty chin. Of complexion, black, but by design, as the gypsies in England: they grease themselves with bear’s fat, clarified; and using no defence against sun or weather, their skins must needs be swarthy. Their eye is little and black, not unlike a straight-looked Jew. The thick lip and flat nose, so frequent with the East Indians and Blacks, are not common to them; many of them have fine Roman noses.
“Their language is lofty, yet narrow; but like the Hebrew, in signification full. Like short-hand in writing, one word serveth in the place of three, and the rest are supplied by the understanding of the hearer; imperfect in their tenses, wanting in their moods, participles, adverbs, conjunctions, and interjections.
“Of their customs and manners there is much to be said: I will begin with children. So soon as they are born, they wash them in water; and while very young, and in cold weather, they plunge them in the rivers, to harden and embolden them. The children will go very young—at nine months, commonly: if boys, they go a fishing till ripe for the woods, which is about fifteen; then they hunt, and after having given some proofs of their manhood by a good return of skins, they may marry; else it is a shame to think of a wife. The girls stay with their mothers, and help to hoe the ground, plant corn, and carry burdens: and they do well to use them to that young, which they must do when they are old; for the wives are the true servants of the husbands, otherwise the men are very affectionate to them.
“When the young women are fit for marriage, they wear something upon their heads for an advertisement, but so as their faces are hardly to be seen but when they please. The age they marry at, if women, is about thirteen and fourteen; if men, seventeen and eighteen; they are rarely elder.
“Their houses are mats, or barks of trees, set on poles, in the fashion of an English barn, but out of the power of the winds, for they are hardly higher than a man: they lie on reeds, or grass. In travel, they lodge in the woods, about a great fire, with the mantle of duffils they wear by day wrapt about them, and a few boughs stuck round them.
“Their diet is maize, or Indian corn, divers ways prepared; sometimes roasted in the ashes; sometimes beaten and boiled with water, which they callhomine; they also make cakes not unpleasant to eat. They have likewise several sorts of beans and peas that are good nourishment; and the woods and rivers are their larder.”
BROCK’S MONUMENT
FROM THE AMERICAN SIDE.
Lewiston is seldom seen to advantage by the traveller, who, in his eagerness to reach Niagara, if going thither, or in the fulness of his recollections, if returning, pays it very little attention. The village itself is as dull and indifferent-looking a place as one would chance to see; but it stands at the outlet of Niagara river into Lake Ontario, and its neighbourhood on all sides is picturesque and beautiful.
Across the river, on the heights of Queenstown, stands the Monument of General Brock, who died fighting very gallantly on this spot. A slightresumerof the hard-fought battle of Queenstown, which was creditable to the courage and spirit of both countries, will be in place accompanying this view.
The American forces on the Niagara river consisted of about five thousand eight hundred men, under the command of Colonel Van Rensselaer. Eighteen hundred of these were at Black Rock, twenty-eight miles distant, and the remainder at Fort Niagara, under the General’s personal command. Several skirmishes on the St. Lawrence had resulted in favour of the Americans, and the forces at Lewiston were very anxious to have an opportunity for action.
Directly opposite to the camp, on the other side of the river, lay Queenstown, strongly fortified, and garrisoned by a large force, waiting the orders of General Brock, then in Michigan. It was supposed that preparations were making for a general attack on the frontier. The possession of this place was considered very important to the Americans, as it was the port for all the merchandise of the country above, and a depôt of public stores for the line of English posts on Niagara and Detroit rivers. It has besides, an excellent harbour, and good anchorage.
An attack on Queenstown was projected for the night of the 11th of October. It failed, however, in consequence of a tremendous storm, and of the loss of a boat containing all the oars for the ferriage. Better arrangements were completed by the night of the 12th, and on the morning of the 13th, three hundred regular troops, and three hundred militia, were ready at dawn of day to cross to the attack.
The river here is one sheet of violent eddies, and the boating very difficult and laborious. A battery, mounting two eighteen-pounders and two sixes, protected the embarkation, and the boats put off. The enemy had been apprised of these preparations, and a brisk fire of musquetry immediately opened along the shore, on the Canada side, which, from the slow progress of the boats, did great execution. One of the boats was hit by a grape shot, which threw the pilot and oarsmen into such confusion, that they were carried down by the stream and obliged to return, and two others dropped below the landing, and fell into the hands of the enemy. Colonel Van Rensselaer, however, succeeded in landing with about a hundred men, under a tremendous fire, and immediately ascended the precipitous bank of the river. Before reaching the summit, he received four balls, and two of his officers were killed, and three wounded. Retiring under the shelter of the bank, Colonel Van Rensselaer had still sufficient strength to give the order for storming the fort; and about sixty men, commanded by Captain Ogilvie, seconded by Captain Wool, who was previously wounded, mounted the rocks on the right of the fort, gave three cheers, and with three desperate charges obtained entire possession; they then carried the heights, and spiked the cannon.
Reinforcements had by this time crossed the river, and the Americans formed on the heights, under the command of Colonel Christie. General Brock, who was on his way to Queenstown, having been met by an express, arrived with a reinforcement of regulars from Fort George, and immediately led his men into the rear of the captured battery. Captain Wool detached one hundred and sixty men to meet him, but the detachment was driven back. It was reinforced once more, and driven again to the brow of the precipice overhanging the river. An American officer at this time, despairing of the attempt, was about raising a white handkerchief on a bayonet, when Captain Wool tore it off, and ordered the men once more to charge. At this moment, Colonel Christie came up with a reinforcement, and repeating Captain Wool’s orders, the American force, amounting then to about three hundred, pushed forward and entirely routed the British 49th, who were aided by the 41st, and who had hitherto been called the Egyptian Invincibles. General Brock was attempting to rally these two regiments, when he received three balls, and died almost immediately.
The British formed again in an hour or two, and were reinforced by several hundred Indians from Chippeway, and other regiments of their own from other posts. Attempting to re-embark and retreat before a force so much superior, the boats were found insufficient, and the American regiments, after fighting nearly twelve hours, surrendered prisoners of war, to the number of seven hundred.
On the burial of General Brock the succeeding day, the batteries on the American side fired during the ceremony, as a tribute of respect to a gallant soldier.
VILLAGE OF CATSKILL, HUDSON RIVER.
Catskill is more known as the landing-place for travellers bound to the mountains above, than for any remarkable events in its own history, or any singular beauties in itself. It is a thrifty little village, in which the most prosperous vocations are those of inn-keeper and stage-proprietor, and, during the summer months, these two crafts at Catskill entertain and transport to the hotel on the mountain half the population of the United States—more or less. The crowded steamers stop at the landing on their way up and down; and a busier scene than is presented on the wharf twice in the day, for a minute and a half, could not easily be found.
I have often thought in passing, of the contrast between these numerous advents and the landing of Hendrick Hudson on this very spot, in his voyage of discovery up the river. He found here, he says, “a very loving people, and a very old man,” by whom he and his crew were very kindly entertained. From the first step of a white man’s foot on the soil to the crowded rush of passengers from a steam-boat—from a savage wilderness to the height of civilization and science, it is but a little more than two hundred years of rapid history. Compare the old Indian canoe in which Hudson went from his vessel to the land, with a steamer carrying on its deck near a thousand souls; compare the untutored population which then swarmed upon the shore to the cultivated and refined crowds who come and go in thousands on the same spot, and the contrast is as astonishing as the extinction of the aboriginal race is melancholy.
It is surprising how few details connected with the races that inhabited the older settlements of our country are reached even by the researches of Historical Societies. The materials for the future poets and historians of America, are, in this department, singularly meagre, though it might almost be supposed that the very tracks of the retreating tribes might at this early day be still visible on the soil. Wherever any particulars of the intercourse between the first settlers and the Indians are preserved, they are highly curious, and often very diverting. In a book on the settlements of this country, written by Capt. Nathaniel Uring, who visited it in 1709, there is an amusing story connected with the history of one of the forts, built, by permission of the Indians, to secure the settlers against sudden incursion.
“It happened one day,” says the Captain, relating the story as it was told him by the Governor, “as the carpenter was cutting down a large timber-tree for the use of the fort, that great numbers of Indians stood round it, gazing, and admiring the wonderful dexterity of the carpenter, and greatly surprised at the manner of cutting it; having, before the arrival of the Europeans, never seen an axe, or any such like tools. The carpenter, perceiving the tree ready to fall, gave notice to the Indians by language or signs to keep out of its reach when it fell; but either for want of understanding the carpenter, or by carelessness of the Indians, a branch of the tree, in its fall, struck one of them, and killed him; upon which they raised a great cry. The carpenter, seeing them much out of humour at the accident, made his escape into the fort; and soon after, the Indians gathered together in great numbers about it, and demanded justice of the Europeans for the death of their brother, and desired to have the man who was the occasion of his being killed, that they might execute him, and revenge their brother’s death. The governor endeavoured to excuse the carpenter, by representing to them that he was not to blame, and told them that if their brother had observed the notice given him by the carpenter, he had not been hurt; but that answer would not satisfy the Indians; they increased their numbers about the fort, and nothing less than the execution of the carpenter would content them.
“The Europeans endeavoured to spin out the time by treaty, and thought to appease them by presents, hoping those, and time together, might make them easy; but finding that would not do, and not being able longer to defend themselves against such numbers as besieged them, they consulted how to give the Indians satisfaction.
“The carpenter being a useful man, they considered that they could not spare him without the greatest inconvenience; but seeing there was an absolute necessity of doing something, they found out an expedient, which was this:—there was in the fort an old weaver who had been bed-rid a long time;they concluded to hang up the weaver, and make the Indians believe it was the carpenter.
“Having come to this resolution, the governor let the Indians know, that, since nothing else would satisfy them, though their demand was unjust, yet, to show them how ready they were to live in amity and friendship with them, that in the morning they should see the carpenter hanging upon a certain tree in their view.
“In the night they carried the poor old weaver and hanged him in the room of the carpenter, which gave full satisfaction to the Indians, and they were again good friends.”
VIEW FROM GOWAN’S HEIGHTS, BROOKLYN.
The Bay of New York and Staten Island, are, from this elevated point of view, laid out beautifully beneath the eye, but the picturesque interest of the spot yields to the historic. Directly below these heights was fought the battle so disastrous to the revolutionary forces, between the detachments commanded by Sullivan and Putnam, and the English army, under Generals Howe and Clinton. As the defence of Long Island was intimately connected with that of New York, Washington had stationed a brigade at Brooklyn; and an extensive camp had been marked out and fortified, fronting the main land of Long Island, and stretching quite across the peninsula occupied by the village of Brooklyn. When the movements of General Howe threatened an immediate attack on this position, Major-General Putnam was directed to take the command, with a reinforcement of six regiments; and the day previous to the action Washington passed entirely at Brooklyn, inspecting the works, and encouraging the soldiers.
The Hessians, under General De Heister, composed the centre of the British army at Flatbush. Major-General Grant commanded the left wing, which extended to the coast, and the greater part of the forces under General Clinton. Earl Percy and Lord Cornwallis turned short to the right, and approached the opposite coast of Flatland.
On the night previous to the action, General Clinton was successful in seizing a pass through the heights, leading into the level country between them and Brooklyn. Before this movement was completed, General Grant advanced along the coast, at the head of the left wing, with ten pieces of cannon. As his first object was to draw the attention of the Americans from their left, he moved slowly, skirmishing as he advanced, with the light parties stationed on that road.
This movement was soon communicated to General Putnam, who reinforced the parties which had been advanced in front; and as General Grant continued to gain ground, still stronger detachments were employed in this service. About three in the morning, Brigadier-General Lord Stirling was directed to meet the enemy, with the two nearest regiments, on the road leading from the Narrows. Major-General Sullivan, who commanded all the troops without the lines, advanced at the head of a strong detachment on the road leading directly to Flatbush; while another detachment occupied the heights between that place and Bedford.
About the break of day, Lord Stirling reached the summit of the hills, where he was joined by the troops which had been already engaged, and were retiring slowly before the enemy, who almost immediately appeared in sight. A warm cannonade was commenced on both sides, which continued for several hours; and some sharp but not very close skirmishing took place between the infantry. Lord Stirling being anxious only to defend the pass he guarded, could not descend in force from the heights; and General Grant did not wish to drive him from them until that part of the plan which had been entrusted to Sir Henry Clinton should be executed.
About half-past eight, the British right having then reached Bedford, in the rear of Sullivan’s left, General De Heister ordered Colonel Donop’s corps to advance to the attack of the hill, following himself with the centre of the army. The approach of Clinton was now discovered by the American left, which immediately endeavoured to regain the camp at Brooklyn. While retiring from the woods by regiments, they encountered the front of the British. About the same time the Hessians advanced from Flatbush, against that part of the detachment which occupied the direct road to Brooklyn. Here General Sullivan commanded in person; but he found it difficult to keep his troops together long enough to sustain the first attack. The firing heard towards Bedford had disclosed the alarming fact that the British had turned their left flank, and were getting completely into their rear. Perceiving at once the full danger of their situation, they sought to escape it by regaining the camp with the utmost possible celerity. The sudden rout of this party enabled De Heister to detach a part of his force against those who were engaged near Bedford. In that quarter, too, the Americans were broken, and driven back into the woods; and the front of the column led by General Clinton continuing to move forward, intercepted and engaged those who were retreating along the direct road from Flatbush. Thus attacked both in front and rear, and alternately driven by the British on the Hessians, and by the Hessians back again on the British, a succession of skirmishes took place in the woods, in the course of which, some part of the corps forced their way through the enemy and regained the lines of Brooklyn, and several individuals saved themselves under cover of the woods; but a great proportion of the detachment was killed, or taken. The fugitives were pursued up to the American works; and such is represented to have been the ardour of the British soldiers, that it required the authority of their cautious commander to prevent an immediate assault.
The fire towards Brooklyn gave the first intimation to the American right that the enemy had gained their rear. Lord Stirling perceived the danger, and that he could only escape it by retreating instantly across the creek. After one other gallant attempt, however, upon a British corps under Lord Cornwallis, the brave men he commanded were no longer able to make opposition, and those who survived were, with their general, made prisoners of war.
The British army were masters of the field, but before morning, Washington had won one of his brightest military laurels in the safe withdrawal, unperceived by the enemy, of his defeated and dispirited troops to the opposite shore of New York.
VIEW ON THE SUSQUEHANNA,
(above owago, or at grand island.)
The spectator in this view looks up the Susquehanna, with the river behind as well as before him; for the mountain on which he stands is almost encircled by the bend with which it turns downward to Owago. It is, perhaps, the best view that could be taken to express the etymology of its name, (Crooked River,) besides being one of singular beauty. I regretted only when the artist was there, that the rafts and arks with which the river is for a great part of the year enlivened, were, from the low state of the water, entirely wanting. The wild navigation of these crafts gives the Susquehanna a picturesque character, which, to do it pictorial justice, should not be omitted in the drawing. Perhaps the amends may be.
BRIDGE AT GLEN’S-FALLS, ON THE HUDSON.
Few of our readers who will not consider this subject as one of the most picturesque in our collection, and yet many of them we fear have passed over the bridge in our View unconscious of the proximity of so extraordinary a scene as the Falls of the Hudson at this spot.
This was, at least, our own case when first visiting Lake George, from Saratoga; and we would counsel every one to steal a few moments, even if travelling by the stage, to descend from the covered bridge to the rocky bed of the river. Miss Martineau observes—“We were all astonished at the splendour of Glen’s Falls. The full, though narrow Hudson, rushes along amidst enormous masses of rock, and leaps sixty feet down the chasms and precipices which occur in the passage, sweeping between dark banks of shelving rocks below, its current speckled with foam. The noise is so tremendous, that I cannot conceive how people can fix their dwellings in the immediate neighbourhood. There is a long bridge over the roaring floods, which vibrates incessantly; and clusters of saw-mills deform the scene. There is stone-cutting as well as planking done at these mills. The fine black marble of the place is cut into slabs, and sent down to New York to be polished. It was the busiest scene that I saw near any water-power in America.”
Her description is excellent, but, as regards the mills, we cannot agree with her; they certainly add much to the picturesque effect of the scene.
VIEW FROM MOUNT IDA,
NEAR TROY, NEW YORK.
The scenery in this neighbourhood is exceedingly beautiful. The junction of the Mohawk and Hudson, the Falls of the Cohocs, the gay and elegant town of Troy, Albany in the distance, and a foreground of the finest mixture of the elements of landscape, compose a gratification to the eye equalled by few other spots in this country. “Think,” says one of our noblest and best writers, speaking of a similar scene—“think of the country for which the Indians fought! Who can blame them? As the river chieftains, the lords of the waterfalls and the mountains, ranged this lovely valley, can it be wondered at that they beheld with bitterness the forest disappearing beneath the settler’s axe—the fishing-place disturbed by his saw-mills? Can we not fancy the feelings with which some strong-minded savage, who should have ascended the summit of the mountain in company with a friendly settler, contemplating the progress already made by the white man, and marking the gigantic strides with which he was advancing into the wilderness, should fold his arms and say, ‘White man, there is eternal war between me and thee! I quit not the land of my fathers but with my life! In those woods where I bent my youthful bow, I will still hunt the deer; over yonder waters I will still glide unrestrained in my bark canoe. By those dashing waterfalls I will still lay up my winter’s food; on these fertile meadows I will still plant my corn. Stranger, the land is mine! I understand not these paper rights; I gave not my consent when, as thou sayest, those broad regions were purchased for a few baubles of my fathers. They could sell what was theirs; they could sell no more. How could my father sell that which the Great Spirit sent me into the world to live upon? They knew not what they did. The stranger came, a timid suppliant, few and feeble, and asked to lie down on the red man’s bear-skin, and warm himself at the red man’s fire, and have a little piece of land to raise corn for his women and children; and now he is become strong, and mighty, and bold, and spreads out his parchment over the whole, and says, ‘It is mine.’ Stranger, there is not room for us both. The Great Spirit has not made us to live together. There is poison in the white man’s cup; the white man’s dog barks at the red man’s heels. If I should leave the land of my fathers, whither shall I fly? Shall I go to the south, and dwell among the groves of the Pequots? Shall I wander to the west? the fierce Mohawk—the man-eater—is my foe. Shall I fly to the east?—the great water is before me. No, stranger, here have I lived, and here will I die! and if here thou abidest, there is eternal war between me and thee! Thou hast taught me thy arts of destruction, for that alone I thank thee; and now take heed to thy steps; the red man is thy foe. When thou goest forth by day, my bullet shall whistle by thee; when thou liest down at night, my knife is at thy throat. The noon-day sun shall not discover thy enemy, and the darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest. Thou shalt plant in terror, and I will reap in blood! thou shalt sow the earth with corn, and I will strew it with ashes! thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and I will follow after with the scalping-knife! thou shalt build, and I will burn, till the white man or the Indian shall cease from the land. Go thy way for this time in safety, but remember, stranger, there is eternal war between me and thee!’ ”
As the same writer afterwards observes, however, the Pilgrim Fathers “purchased the land of those who claimed it, and paid for it—often, more than once. They purchased it for a consideration, trifling to the European, but valuable to the Indian. There is no overreaching in giving but little for that which, in the hands of the original proprietors, is worth nothing.”
VIEW FROM GLENMARY LAWN,
THE RESIDENCE OF N. P. WILLIS.
(AT THE JUNCTION OF THE OWAGA AND SUSQUEHANNA.)
The Owaga here is scarce a quarter of a mile from its junction with the Susquehanna, and the lawn of Glenmary is the western limit of the star of interval land formed by the union of two broad valleys. The river here is a secluded stream, shadowed originally with dark forest trees, and running deep and still. The farm of Glenmary, part of which is presented in the drawing, was once an Indian burial-place—warrant enough for its possessing the highest rural beauty. The plough has turned up many skeletons in the fields above, and a small museum of Indian weapons and domestic implements was collected by the gentleman from whom the land was bought by the writer. Off to the left of the drawing, (too far off to be brought into the sketch,) a bright and brawling brook comes leaping down from the hills, and passing by the cottage door crosses the meadow to pay tribute to the Owaga; and back from the meadow, by broad and easy terraces, the land rises to the summit of a mountain ridge, crowned with primeval and gigantic forest trees. Having possessed the reader thus of the principal features of the spot, I may be excused for filling a page from an epistle to a friend, descriptive of the artist’s visit, to Glenmary.
“This is not a very prompt answer to your last, my dear doctor, for I intended to have taken my brains to you bodily, and replied to all your ‘whether-or-noes’ over a broiled oyster at Downing’s. Perhaps I may bring this in my pocket. A brace of ramblers, brothers of my own, detained me for a while, but are flitting to-day; and Bartlett has been here a week, to whom, more particularly, I wish to do the honours of the scenery. We have climbed every hill-top that has the happiness of looking down on the Owaga and Susquehanna, and he agrees with me that a more lovely and habitable valley has never sat to him for its picture. Fortunately, on the day of his arrival, the dust of a six-weeks’ drought was washed from its face, and, barring thewiltthat precedes Autumn, the hill-sides were in holiday green, and looked their fairest. He has enriched his portfolio with four or five delicious sketches, and if there were gratitude or sense of renown in trees and hills, they would have nodded their tops to the two of us. It is not every valley and pine-tree that finds painter and historian, but these are as insensible as beauty and greatness were ever to the claims of their trumpeters.
“How long since was it that I wrote to you of Bartlett’s visit to Constantinople? Not more than four or five weeks, it seems to me; and yet here he is, on his return from a professional trip toCanada, with all its best scenery snug in his portmanteau! He steamed to Turkey and back, and steamed again to America, and will be once more in England in some twenty days—having visited and sketched the two extremities of the civilized world. Why, I might farm it on the Susquehanna, and keep my town-house in Constantinople, (with money.) It seemed odd to me to turn over a drawing-book, and find on one leaf a freshly pencilled sketch of a mosque, and on the next a view of Glenmary—my turnip-field in the foreground. And then the man himself—pulling a Turkish para and a Yankee shin-plaster from his pocket with the same pinch—shuffling to breakfast in my abri on the Susquehanna, in a pair of peaked slippers of Constantinople, that smell as freshly of the bazaar as if they were bought yesterday—waking up with “pekke! pekke!my good fellow!” when William brings him his boots—and never seeing a blood-red maple (just turned with the frost), without fancying it the sanguine flag of the Bosphorus or the bright jacket of a Greek! All this unsettles me strangely. The phantasmagoria of my days of vagabondage flit before my eyes again. This, ‘By-the-by, do you remember, in Smyrna?’ and, ‘The view you recollect from the Seraglio!’ and such like slip-slop of travellers, heard within reach of my corn and pumpkins, affects me like the mad poet’s proposition,
‘To twitch the rainbow from the sky,And splice both ends together.’
‘To twitch the rainbow from the sky,And splice both ends together.’
‘To twitch the rainbow from the sky,And splice both ends together.’
‘To twitch the rainbow from the sky,
And splice both ends together.’
“I have amused my artist friend since he has been here, with an entertainment not quite as expensive as the Holly Lodge fireworks, but quite as beautiful—the burning of log-heaps. Instead of gossipping over the tea-table these long and chilly evenings, the three or four young men who have been staying with us, were very content to tramp into the woods, with a bundle of straw and a match-box; and they have been initiated into the mysteries of ‘picking and piling,’ to the considerable improvement of the glebe of Glenmary. Shelly says,
‘Men scarcely know how beautiful fire is,’
‘Men scarcely know how beautiful fire is,’
‘Men scarcely know how beautiful fire is,’
‘Men scarcely know how beautiful fire is,’
and I am inclined to think that there are varieties of glory in its phenomena which would make it worth even your metropolitan while to come to the west and ‘burn fallow.’ At this season of the year—after the autumn droughts, that is to say—the whole country here is covered with a thin smoke, stealing up from the fires on every hill, in the depths of the woods, and on the banks of the river; and what with the graceful smoke-wreaths by day, and the blazing heavens all around the horizon by night, it adds much to the variety, and I think, more to the beauty of our western October. It edifies the traveller who has bought wood by the pound in Paris, or stiffened for the want of it in the disforested Orient, to stand off a rifle-shot from a crackling wood, and toast himself by a thousand cords burnt for the riddance. What experience I have had of these holocausts on my own land, has not diminished the sense of waste and wealth with which I first watched them. Paddy’s dream of ‘rolling in a bin of gould guineas,’ could scarcely have seemed more luxurious.
“Bartlett and I, and the rest of us, in our small way, burnt up enough, I dare say, to have made a comfortable drawing-room of Hyde Park in January, and the effects of the white light upon the trees above and around were glorious. But our fires were piles of logs and brush—small beer of course to the conflagration of a forest. I have seen one that was like the Thousand Columns of Constantinople, ignited to a red heat, and covered with carbuncles and tongues of flame. It was a temple of fire—the floor living coals—the roof a heaving drapery of crimson—the aisles held up by blazing and innumerable pillars, and sometimes swept by the wind till they stood in still and naked redness, while the eye could see far into their depths, and again covered and wreathed and laved in ever-changing billows of flame. We want an American Tempesta or ‘Savage Rosa’ to ‘wreak’ such pictures on canvass; and perhaps the first step to it would be the painting of the foliage of an American Autumn.”