A stage-coach ride from thatcity to columbus,and thence to sandusky.so,by lake erie,to thefalls of niagara
AS I had a desire to travel through the interior of the state of Ohio,and to 'strike the lakes,'as the phrase is,at a small town called Sandusky,to which that route would conduct us on our way to Niagara,we had to return from St.Louis by the way we had come,and to retrace our former track as far as Cincinnati.
The day on which we were to take leave of St.Louis being very fine;and the steamboat,which was to have started I don't know how early in the morning,postponing,for the third or fourth time,her departure until the afternoon;we rode forward to an old French village on the river,called properly Carondelet,and nicknamed Vide Poche,and arranged that the packet should call for us there.
The place consisted of a few poor cottages,and two or three public-houses;the state of whose larders certainly seemed to justify the second designation of the village,for there was nothing to eat in any of them.At length,however,by going back some half a mile or so,we found a solitary house where ham and coffee were procurable;and there we tarried to wait the advent of the boat,which would come in sight from the green before the door,a long way off.
It was a neat,unpretending village tavern,and we took our repast in a quaint little room with a bed in it,decorated with some old oil paintings,which in their time had probably done duty in a Catholic chapel or monastery.The fare was very good,and served with great cleanliness.The house was kept by a characteristic old couple,with whom we had a long talk,and who were perhaps a very good sample of that kind of people in the West.
The landlord was a dry,tough,hard-faced old fellow (not so very old either,for he was but just turned sixty,I should think),who had been out with the militia in the last war with England,and had seen all kinds of service,-except a battle;and he had been very near seeing that,he added:very near.He had all his life been restless and locomotive,with an irresistible desire for change;and was still the son of his old self:for if he had nothing to keep him at home,he said (slightly jerking his hat and his thumb towards the window of the room in which the old lady sat,as we stood talking in front of the house),he would clean up his musket,and be off to Texas to-morrow morning.He was one of the very many descendants of Cain proper to this continent,who seem destined from their birth to serve as pioneers in the great human army:who gladly go on from year to year extending its outposts,and leaving home after home behind them;and die at last,utterly regardless of their graves being left thousands of miles behind,by the wandering generation who succeed.
His wife was a domesticated,kind-hearted old soul,who had come with him,'from the queen city of the world,'which,it seemed,was Philadelphia;but had no love for this Western country,and indeed had little reason to bear it any;having seen her children,one by one,die here of fever,in the full prime and beauty of their youth.Her heart was sore,she said,to think of them;and to talk on this theme,even to strangers,in that blighted place,so far from her old home,eased it somewhat,and became a melancholy pleasure.
The boat appearing towards evening,we bade adieu to the poor old lady and her vagrant spouse,and ****** for the nearest landing-place,were soon on board The Messenger again,in our old cabin,and steaming down the Mississippi.
If the coming up this river,slowly ****** head against the stream,be an irksome journey,the shooting down it with the turbid current is almost worse;for then the boat,proceeding at the rate of twelve or fifteen miles an hour,has to force its passage through a labyrinth of floating logs,which,in the dark,it is often impossible to see beforehand or avoid.All that night,the bell was never silent for five minutes at a time;and after every ring the vessel reeled again,sometimes beneath a single blow,sometimes beneath a dozen dealt in quick succession,the lightest of which seemed more than enough to beat in her frail keel,as though it had been pie-crust.Looking down upon the filthy river after dark,it seemed to be alive with monsters,as these black masses rolled upon the surface,or came starting up again,head first,when the boat,in ploughing her way among a shoal of such obstructions,drove a few among them for the moment under water.Sometimes the engine stopped during a long interval,and then before her and behind,and gathering close about her on all sides,were so many of these ill-favoured obstacles that she was fairly hemmed in;the centre of a floating island;and was constrained to pause until they parted,somewhere,as dark clouds will do before the wind,and opened by degrees a channel out.
In good time next morning,however,we came again in sight of the detestable morass called Cairo;and stopping there to take in wood,lay alongside a barge,whose starting timbers scarcely held together.It was moored to the bank,and on its side was painted 'Coffee House;'that being,I suppose,the floating paradise to which the people fly for shelter when they lose their houses for a month or two beneath the hideous waters of the Mississippi.But looking southward from this point,we had the satisfaction of seeing that intolerable river dragging its slimy length and ugly freight abruptly off towards New Orleans;and passing a yellow line which stretched across the current,were again upon the clear Ohio,never,I trust,to see the Mississippi more,saving in troubled dreams and nightmares.Leaving it for the company of its sparkling neighbour,was like the transition from pain to ease,or the awakening from a horrible vision to cheerful realities.
We arrived at Louisville on the fourth night,and gladly availed ourselves of its excellent hotel.Next day we went on in the Ben Franklin,a beautiful mail steamboat,and reached Cincinnati shortly after midnight.Being by this time nearly tired of sleeping upon shelves,we had remained awake to go ashore straightway;and groping a passage across the dark decks of other boats,and among labyrinths of engine-machinery and leaking casks of molasses,we reached the streets,knocked up the porter at the hotel where we had stayed before,and were,to our great joy,safely housed soon afterwards.
We rested but one day at Cincinnati,and then resumed our journey to Sandusky.As it comprised two varieties of stage-coach travelling,which,with those I have already glanced at,comprehend the main characteristics of this mode of transit in America,I will take the reader as our fellow-passenger,and pledge myself to perform the distance with all possible despatch.
Our place of destination in the first instance is Columbus.It is distant about a hundred and twenty miles from Cincinnati,but there is a macadamised road (rare blessing!)the whole way,and the rate of travelling upon it is six miles an hour.
We start at eight o'clock in the morning,in a great mail-coach,whose huge cheeks are so very ruddy and plethoric,that it appears to be troubled with a tendency of blood to the head.Dropsical it certainly is,for it will hold a dozen passengers inside.But,wonderful to add,it is very clean and bright,being nearly new;and rattles through the streets of Cincinnati gaily.
Our way lies through a beautiful country,richly cultivated,and luxuriant in its promise of an abundant harvest.Sometimes we pass a field where the strong bristling stalks of Indian corn look like a crop of walking-sticks,and sometimes an enclosure where the green wheat is springing up among a labyrinth of stumps;the primitive worm-fence is universal,and an ugly thing it is;but the farms are neatly kept,and,save for these differences,one might be travelling just now in Kent.
We often stop to water at a roadside inn,which is always dull and silent.The coachman dismounts and fills his bucket,and holds it to the horses'heads.There is scarcely ever any one to help him;there are seldom any loungers standing round;and never any stable-company with jokes to crack.Sometimes,when we have changed our team,there is a difficulty in starting again,arising out of the prevalent mode of breaking a young horse:which is to catch him,harness him against his will,and put him in a stage-coach without further notice:but we get on somehow or other,after a great many kicks and a violent struggle;and jog on as before again.
Occasionally,when we stop to change,some two or three half-drunken loafers will come loitering out with their hands in their pockets,or will be seen kicking their heels in rocking-chairs,or lounging on the window-sill,or sitting on a rail within the colonnade:they have not often anything to say though,either to us or to each other,but sit there idly staring at the coach and horses.The landlord of the inn is usually among them,and seems,of all the party,to be the least connected with the business of the house.Indeed he is with reference to the tavern,what the driver is in relation to the coach and passengers:whatever happens in his sphere of action,he is quite indifferent,and perfectly easy in his mind.
The frequent change of coachmen works no change or variety in the coachman's character.He is always dirty,sullen,and taciturn.
If he be capable of smartness of any kind,moral or physical,he has a faculty of concealing it which is truly marvellous.He never speaks to you as you sit beside him on the box,and if you speak to him,he answers (if at all)in monosyllables.He points out nothing on the road,and seldom looks at anything:being,to all appearance,thoroughly weary of it and of existence generally.As to doing the honours of his coach,his business,as I have said,is with the horses.The coach follows because it is attached to them and goes on wheels:not because you are in it.Sometimes,towards the end of a long stage,he suddenly breaks out into a discordant fragment of an election song,but his face never sings along with him:it is only his voice,and not often that.
He always chews and always spits,and never encumbers himself with a pocket-handkerchief.The consequences to the box passenger,especially when the wind blows towards him,are not agreeable.
Whenever the coach stops,and you can hear the voices of the inside passengers;or whenever any bystander addresses them,or any one among them;or they address each other;you will hear one phrase repeated over and over and over again to the most extraordinary extent.It is an ordinary and unpromising phrase enough,being neither more nor less than 'Yes,sir;'but it is adapted to every variety of circumstance,and fills up every pause in the conversation.Thus:-The time is one o'clock at noon.The scene,a place where we are to stay and dine,on this journey.The coach drives up to the door of an inn.The day is warm,and there are several idlers lingering about the tavern,and waiting for the public dinner.Among them,is a stout gentleman in a brown hat,swinging himself to and fro in a rocking-chair on the pavement.
As the coach stops,a gentleman in a straw hat looks out of the window:
STRAW HAT.(To the stout gentleman in the rocking-chair.)Ireckon that's Judge Jefferson,an't it?
BROWN HAT.(Still swinging;speaking very slowly;and without any emotion whatever.)Yes,sir.
STRAW HAT.Warm weather,Judge.
BROWN HAT.Yes,sir.
STRAW HAT.There was a snap of cold,last week.
BROWN HAT.Yes,sir.
STRAW HAT.Yes,sir.
A pause.They look at each other,very seriously.
STRAW HAT.I calculate you'll have got through that case of the corporation,Judge,by this time,now?
BROWN HAT.Yes,sir.
STRAW HAT.How did the verdict go,sir?
BROWN HAT.For the defendant,sir.
STRAW HAT.(Interrogatively.)Yes,sir?
BROWN HAT.(Affirmatively.)Yes,sir.
BOTH.(Musingly,as each gazes down the street.)Yes,sir.
Another pause.They look at each other again,still more seriously than before.
BROWN HAT.This coach is rather behind its time to-day,I guess.
STRAW HAT.(Doubtingly.)Yes,sir.
BROWN HAT.(Looking at his watch.)Yes,sir;nigh upon two hours.
STRAW HAT.(Raising his eyebrows in very great surprise.)Yes,sir!
BROWN HAT.(Decisively,as he puts up his watch.)Yes,sir.
ALL THE OTHER INSIDE PASSENGERS.(Among themselves.)Yes,sir.
COACHMAN.(In a very surly tone.)No it an't.
STRAW HAT.(To the coachman.)Well,I don't know,sir.We were a pretty tall time coming that last fifteen mile.That's a fact.
The coachman ****** no reply,and plainly declining to enter into any controversy on a subject so far removed from his sympathies and feelings,another passenger says,'Yes,sir;'and the gentleman in the straw hat in acknowledgment of his courtesy,says 'Yes,sir,'
to him,in return.The straw hat then inquires of the brown hat,whether that coach in which he (the straw hat)then sits,is not a new one?To which the brown hat again makes answer,'Yes,sir.'
STRAW HAT.I thought so.Pretty loud smell of varnish,sir?
BROWN HAT.Yes,sir.
ALL THE OTHER INSIDE PASSENGERS.Yes,sir.
BROWN HAT.(To the company in general.)Yes,sir.
The conversational powers of the company having been by this time pretty heavily taxed,the straw hat opens the door and gets out;and all the rest alight also.We dine soon afterwards with the boarders in the house,and have nothing to drink but tea and coffee.As they are both very bad and the water is worse,I ask for brandy;but it is a Temperance Hotel,and spirits are not to be had for love or money.This preposterous forcing of unpleasant drinks down the reluctant throats of travellers is not at all uncommon in America,but I never discovered that the scruples of such wincing landlords induced them to preserve any unusually nice balance between the quality of their fare,and their scale of charges:on the contrary,I rather suspected them of diminishing the one and exalting the other,by way of recompense for the loss of their profit on the sale of spirituous liquors.After all,perhaps,the plainest course for persons of such tender consciences,would be,a total abstinence from tavern-keeping.
Dinner over,we get into another vehicle which is ready at the door (for the coach has been changed in the interval),and resume our journey;which continues through the same kind of country until evening,when we come to the town where we are to stop for tea and supper;and having delivered the mail bags at the Post-office,ride through the usual wide street,lined with the usual stores and houses (the drapers always having hung up at their door,by way of sign,a piece of bright red cloth),to the hotel where this meal is prepared.There being many boarders here,we sit down,a large party,and a very melancholy one as usual.But there is a buxom hostess at the head of the table,and opposite,a ****** Welsh schoolmaster with his wife and child;who came here,on a speculation of greater promise than performance,to teach the classics:and they are sufficient subjects of interest until the meal is over,and another coach is ready.In it we go on once more,lighted by a bright moon,until midnight;when we stop to change the coach again,and remain for half an hour or so in a miserable room,with a blurred lithograph of Washington over the smoky fire-place,and a mighty jug of cold water on the table:to which refreshment the moody passengers do so apply themselves that they would seem to be,one and all,keen patients of Dr.Sangrado.
Among them is a very little boy,who chews tobacco like a very big one;and a droning gentleman,who talks arithmetically and statistically on all subjects,from poetry downwards;and who always speaks in the same key,with exactly the same emphasis,and with very grave deliberation.He came outside just now,and told me how that the uncle of a certain young lady who had been spirited away and married by a certain captain,lived in these parts;and how this uncle was so valiant and ferocious that he shouldn't wonder if he were to follow the said captain to England,'and shoot him down in the street wherever he found him;'in the feasibility of which strong measure I,being for the moment rather prone to contradiction,from feeling half asleep and very tired,declined to acquiesce:assuring him that if the uncle did resort to it,or gratified any other little whim of the like nature,he would find himself one morning prematurely throttled at the Old Bailey:and that he would do well to make his will before he went,as he would certainly want it before he had been in Britain very long.
On we go,all night,and by-and-by the day begins to break,and presently the first cheerful rays of the warm sun come slanting on us brightly.It sheds its light upon a miserable waste of sodden grass,and dull trees,and squalid huts,whose aspect is forlorn and grievous in the last degree.A very desert in the wood,whose growth of green is dank and noxious like that upon the top of standing water:where poisonous fungus grows in the rare footprint on the oozy ground,and sprouts like witches'coral,from the crevices in the cabin wall and floor;it is a hideous thing to lie upon the very threshold of a city.But it was purchased years ago,and as the owner cannot be discovered,the State has been unable to reclaim it.So there it remains,in the midst of cultivation and improvement,like ground accursed,and made obscene and rank by some great crime.
We reached Columbus shortly before seven o'clock,and stayed there,to refresh,that day and night:having excellent apartments in a very large unfinished hotel called the Neill House,which were richly fitted with the polished wood of the black walnut,and opened on a handsome portico and stone verandah,like rooms in some Italian mansion.The town is clean and pretty,and of course is 'going to be'much larger.It is the seat of the State legislature of Ohio,and lays claim,in consequence,to some consideration and importance.
There being no stage-coach next day,upon the road we wished to take,I hired 'an extra,'at a reasonable charge to carry us to Tiffin;a small town from whence there is a railroad to Sandusky.
This extra was an ordinary four-horse stage-coach,such as I have described,changing horses and drivers,as the stage-coach would,but was exclusively our own for the journey.To ensure our having horses at the proper stations,and being incommoded by no strangers,the proprietors sent an agent on the box,who was to accompany us the whole way through;and thus attended,and bearing with us,besides,a hamper full of savoury cold meats,and fruit,and wine,we started off again in high spirits,at half-past six o'clock next morning,very much delighted to be by ourselves,and disposed to enjoy even the roughest journey.
It was well for us,that we were in this humour,for the road we went over that day,was certainly enough to have shaken tempers that were not resolutely at Set Fair,down to some inches below Stormy.At one time we were all flung together in a heap at the bottom of the coach,and at another we were crushing our heads against the roof.Now,one side was down deep in the mire,and we were holding on to the other.Now,the coach was lying on the tails of the two wheelers;and now it was rearing up in the air,in a frantic state,with all four horses standing on the top of an insurmountable eminence,looking coolly back at it,as though they would say 'Unharness us.It can't be done.'The drivers on these roads,who certainly get over the ground in a manner which is quite miraculous,so twist and turn the team about in forcing a passage,corkscrew fashion,through the bogs and swamps,that it was quite a common circumstance on looking out of the window,to see the coachman with the ends of a pair of reins in his hands,apparently driving nothing,or playing at horses,and the leaders staring at one unexpectedly from the back of the coach,as if they had some idea of getting up behind.A great portion of the way was over what is called a corduroy road,which is made by throwing trunks of trees into a marsh,and leaving them to settle there.The very slightest of the jolts with which the ponderous carriage fell from log to log,was enough,it seemed,to have dislocated all the bones in the human body.It would be impossible to experience a similar set of sensations,in any other circumstances,unless perhaps in attempting to go up to the top of St.Paul's in an omnibus.Never,never once,that day,was the coach in any position,attitude,or kind of motion to which we are accustomed in coaches.Never did it make the smallest approach to one's experience of the proceedings of any sort of vehicle that goes on wheels.
Still,it was a fine day,and the temperature was delicious,and though we had left Summer behind us in the west,and were fast leaving Spring,we were moving towards Niagara and home.We alighted in a pleasant wood towards the middle of the day,dined on a fallen tree,and leaving our best fragments with a cottager,and our worst with the pigs (who swarm in this part of the country like grains of sand on the sea-shore,to the great comfort of our commissariat in Canada),we went forward again,gaily.
As night came on,the track grew narrower and narrower,until at last it so lost itself among the trees,that the driver seemed to find his way by instinct.We had the comfort of knowing,at least,that there was no danger of his falling asleep,for every now and then a wheel would strike against an unseen stump with such a jerk,that he was fain to hold on pretty tight and pretty quick,to keep himself upon the box.Nor was there any reason to dread the least danger from furious driving,inasmuch as over that broken ground the horses had enough to do to walk;as to shying,there was no room for that;and a herd of wild elephants could not have run away in such a wood,with such a coach at their heels.So we stumbled along,quite satisfied.
These stumps of trees are a curious feature in American travelling.
The varying illusions they present to the unaccustomed eye as it grows dark,are quite astonishing in their number and reality.
Now,there is a Grecian urn erected in the centre of a lonely field;now there is a woman weeping at a tomb;now a very commonplace old gentleman in a white waistcoat,with a thumb thrust into each arm-hole of his coat;now a student poring on a book;now a crouching negro;now,a horse,a dog,a cannon,an armed man;a hunch-back throwing off his cloak and stepping forth into the light.They were often as entertaining to me as so many glasses in a magic lantern,and never took their shapes at my bidding,but seemed to force themselves upon me,whether I would or no;and strange to say,I sometimes recognised in them counterparts of figures once familiar to me in pictures attached to childish books,forgotten long ago.
It soon became too dark,however,even for this amusement,and the trees were so close together that their dry branches rattled against the coach on either side,and obliged us all to keep our heads within.It lightened too,for three whole hours;each flash being very bright,and blue,and long;and as the vivid streaks came darting in among the crowded branches,and the thunder rolled gloomily above the tree tops,one could scarcely help thinking that there were better neighbourhoods at such a time than thick woods afforded.
At length,between ten and eleven o'clock at night,a few feeble lights appeared in the distance,and Upper Sandusky,an Indian village,where we were to stay till morning,lay before us.
They were gone to bed at the log Inn,which was the only house of entertainment in the place,but soon answered to our knocking,and got some tea for us in a sort of kitchen or common room,tapestried with old newspapers,pasted against the wall.The bed-chamber to which my wife and I were shown,was a large,low,ghostly room;with a quantity of withered branches on the hearth,and two doors without any fastening,opposite to each other,both opening on the black night and wild country,and so contrived,that one of them always blew the other open:a novelty in domestic architecture,which I do not remember to have seen before,and which I was somewhat disconcerted to have forced on my attention after getting into bed,as I had a considerable sum in gold for our travelling expenses,in my dressing-case.Some of the luggage,however,piled against the panels,soon settled this difficulty,and my sleep would not have been very much affected that night,I believe,though it had failed to do so.
My Boston friend climbed up to bed,somewhere in the roof,where another guest was already snoring hugely.But being bitten beyond his power of endurance,he turned out again,and fled for shelter to the coach,which was airing itself in front of the house.This was not a very politic step,as it turned out;for the pigs scenting him,and looking upon the coach as a kind of pie with some manner of meat inside,grunted round it so hideously,that he was afraid to come out again,and lay there shivering,till morning.
Nor was it possible to warm him,when he did come out,by means of a glass of brandy:for in Indian villages,the legislature,with a very good and wise intention,forbids the sale of spirits by tavern keepers.The precaution,however,is quite inefficacious,for the Indians never fail to procure liquor of a worse kind,at a dearer price,from travelling pedlars.
It is a settlement of the Wyandot Indians who inhabit this place.
Among the company at breakfast was a mild old gentleman,who had been for many years employed by the United States Government in conducting negotiations with the Indians,and who had just concluded a treaty with these people by which they bound themselves,in consideration of a certain annual sum,to remove next year to some land provided for them,west of the Mississippi,and a little way beyond St.Louis.He gave me a moving account of their strong attachment to the familiar scenes of their infancy,and in particular to the burial-places of their kindred;and of their great reluctance to leave them.He had witnessed many such removals,and always with pain,though he knew that they departed for their own good.The question whether this tribe should go or stay,had been discussed among them a day or two before,in a hut erected for the purpose,the logs of which still lay upon the ground before the inn.When the speaking was done,the ayes and noes were ranged on opposite sides,and every male ***** voted in his turn.The moment the result was known,the minority (a large one)cheerfully yielded to the rest,and withdrew all kind of opposition.
We met some of these poor Indians afterwards,riding on shaggy ponies.They were so like the meaner sort of gipsies,that if Icould have seen any of them in England,I should have concluded,as a matter of course,that they belonged to that wandering and restless people.
Leaving this town directly after breakfast,we pushed forward again,over a rather worse road than yesterday,if possible,and arrived about noon at Tiffin,where we parted with the extra.At two o'clock we took the railroad;the travelling on which was very slow,its construction being indifferent,and the ground wet and marshy;and arrived at Sandusky in time to dine that evening.We put up at a comfortable little hotel on the brink of Lake Erie,lay there that night,and had no choice but to wait there next day,until a steamboat bound for Buffalo appeared.The town,which was sluggish and uninteresting enough,was something like the back of an English watering-place,out of the season.
Our host,who was very attentive and anxious to make us comfortable,was a handsome middle-aged man,who had come to this town from New England,in which part of the country he was 'raised.'When I say that he constantly walked in and out of the room with his hat on;and stopped to converse in the same free-and-easy state;and lay down on our sofa,and pulled his newspaper out of his pocket,and read it at his ease;I merely mention these traits as characteristic of the country:not at all as being matter of complaint,or as having been disagreeable to me.Ishould undoubtedly be offended by such proceedings at home,because there they are not the custom,and where they are not,they would be impertinencies;but in America,the only desire of a good-natured fellow of this kind,is to treat his guests hospitably and well;and I had no more right,and I can truly say no more disposition,to measure his conduct by our English rule and standard,than I had to quarrel with him for not being of the exact stature which would qualify him for admission into the Queen's grenadier guards.As little inclination had I to find fault with a funny old lady who was an upper domestic in this establishment,and who,when she came to wait upon us at any meal,sat herself down comfortably in the most convenient chair,and producing a large pin to pick her teeth with,remained performing that ceremony,and steadfastly regarding us meanwhile with much gravity and composure (now and then pressing us to eat a little more),until it was time to clear away.It was enough for us,that whatever we wished done was done with great civility and readiness,and a desire to oblige,not only here,but everywhere else;and that all our wants were,in general,zealously anticipated.
We were taking an early dinner at this house,on the day after our arrival,which was Sunday,when a steamboat came in sight,and presently touched at the wharf.As she proved to be on her way to Buffalo,we hurried on board with all speed,and soon left Sandusky far behind us.
She was a large vessel of five hundred tons,and handsomely fitted up,though with high-pressure engines;which always conveyed that kind of feeling to me,which I should be likely to experience,Ithink,if I had lodgings on the first-floor of a powder-mill.She was laden with flour,some casks of which commodity were stored upon the deck.The captain coming up to have a little conversation,and to introduce a friend,seated himself astride of one of these barrels,like a Bacchus of private life;and pulling a great clasp-knife out of his pocket,began to 'whittle'it as he talked,by paring thin slices off the edges.And he whittled with such industry and hearty good will,that but for his being called away very soon,it must have disappeared bodily,and left nothing in its place but grist and shavings.
After calling at one or two flat places,with low dams stretching out into the lake,whereon were stumpy lighthouses,like windmills without sails,the whole looking like a Dutch vignette,we came at midnight to Cleveland,where we lay all night,and until nine o'clock next morning.
I entertained quite a curiosity in reference to this place,from having seen at Sandusky a specimen of its literature in the shape of a newspaper,which was very strong indeed upon the subject of Lord Ashburton's recent arrival at Washington,to adjust the points in dispute between the United States Government and Great Britain:
informing its readers that as America had 'whipped'England in her infancy,and whipped her again in her youth,so it was clearly necessary that she must whip her once again in her maturity;and pledging its credit to all True Americans,that if Mr.Webster did his duty in the approaching negotiations,and sent the English Lord home again in double quick time,they should,within two years,sing 'Yankee Doodle in Hyde Park,and Hail Columbia in the scarlet courts of Westminster!'I found it a pretty town,and had the satisfaction of beholding the outside of the office of the journal from which I have just quoted.I did not enjoy the delight of seeing the wit who indited the paragraph in question,but I have no doubt he is a prodigious man in his way,and held in high repute by a select circle.
There was a gentleman on board,to whom,as I unintentionally learned through the thin partition which divided our state-room from the cabin in which he and his wife conversed together,I was unwittingly the occasion of very great uneasiness.I don't know why or wherefore,but I appeared to run in his mind perpetually,and to dissatisfy him very much.First of all I heard him say:
and the most ludicrous part of the business was,that he said it in my very ear,and could not have communicated more directly with me,if he had leaned upon my shoulder,and whispered me:'Boz is on board still,my dear.'After a considerable pause,he added,complainingly,'Boz keeps himself very close;'which was true enough,for I was not very well,and was lying down,with a book.
I thought he had done with me after this,but I was deceived;for a long interval having elapsed,during which I imagine him to have been turning restlessly from side to side,and trying to go to sleep;he broke out again,with 'I suppose THAT Boz will be writing a book by-and-by,and putting all our names in it!'at which imaginary consequence of being on board a boat with Boz,he groaned,and became silent.
We called at the town of Erie,at eight o'clock that night,and lay there an hour.Between five and six next morning,we arrived at Buffalo,where we breakfasted;and being too near the Great Falls to wait patiently anywhere else,we set off by the train,the same morning at nine o'clock,to Niagara.
It was a miserable day;chilly and raw;a damp mist falling;and the trees in that northern region quite bare and wintry.Whenever the train halted,I listened for the roar;and was constantly straining my eyes in the direction where I knew the Falls must be,from seeing the river rolling on towards them;every moment expecting to behold the spray.Within a few minutes of our stopping,not before,I saw two great white clouds rising up slowly and majestically from the depths of the earth.That was all.At length we alighted:and then for the first time,I heard the mighty rush of water,and felt the ground tremble underneath my feet.
The bank is very steep,and was slippery with rain,and half-melted ice.I hardly know how I got down,but I was soon at the bottom,and climbing,with two English officers who were crossing and had joined me,over some broken rocks,deafened by the noise,half-blinded by the spray,and wet to the skin.We were at the foot of the American Fall.I could see an immense torrent of water tearing headlong down from some great height,but had no idea of shape,or situation,or anything but vague immensity.
When we were seated in the little ferry-boat,and were crossing the swollen river immediately before both cataracts,I began to feel what it was:but I was in a manner stunned,and unable to comprehend the vastness of the scene.It was not until I came on Table Rock,and looked -Great Heaven,on what a fall of bright-green water!-that it came upon me in its full might and majesty.
Then,when I felt how near to my Creator I was standing,the first effect,and the enduring one -instant and lasting -of the tremendous spectacle,was Peace.Peace of Mind,tranquillity,calm recollections of the Dead,great thoughts of Eternal Rest and Happiness:nothing of gloom or terror.Niagara was at once stamped upon my heart,an Image of Beauty;to remain there,changeless and indelible,until its pulses cease to beat,for ever.
Oh,how the strife and trouble of daily life receded from my view,and lessened in the distance,during the ten memorable days we passed on that Enchanted Ground!What voices spoke from out the thundering water;what faces,faded from the earth,looked out upon me from its gleaming depths;what Heavenly promise glistened in those angels'tears,the drops of many hues,that showered around,and twined themselves about the gorgeous arches which the changing rainbows made!
I never stirred in all that time from the Canadian side,whither Ihad gone at first.I never crossed the river again;for I knew there were people on the other shore,and in such a place it is natural to shun strange company.To wander to and fro all day,and see the cataracts from all points of view;to stand upon the edge of the great Horse-Shoe Fall,marking the hurried water gathering strength as it approached the verge,yet seeming,too,to pause before it shot into the gulf below;to gaze from the river's level up at the torrent as it came streaming down;to climb the neighbouring heights and watch it through the trees,and see the wreathing water in the rapids hurrying on to take its fearful plunge;to linger in the shadow of the solemn rocks three miles below;watching the river as,stirred by no visible cause,it heaved and eddied and awoke the echoes,being troubled yet,far down beneath the surface,by its giant leap;to have Niagara before me,lighted by the sun and by the moon,red in the day's decline,and grey as evening slowly fell upon it;to look upon it every day,and wake up in the night and hear its ceaseless voice:this was enough.
I think in every quiet season now,still do those waters roll and leap,and roar and tumble,all day long;still are the rainbows spanning them,a hundred feet below.Still,when the sun is on them,do they shine and glow like molten gold.Still,when the day is gloomy,do they fall like snow,or seem to crumble away like the front of a great chalk cliff,or roll down the rock like dense white smoke.But always does the mighty stream appear to die as it comes down,and always from its unfathomable grave arises that tremendous ghost of spray and mist which is never laid:which has haunted this place with the same dread solemnity since Darkness brooded on the deep,and that first flood before the Deluge -Light -came rushing on Creation at the word of God.