A Cataract and a Celebration

The convulsive efforts of the truant steam, echoing across the harbour, told me I had little time to lose: so, bidding farewell to friends, I hurried down to the quay, and was soon bowling over a lake as smooth and polished as the bald head of age. The pat of every float in the wheel, as it struck in the water, echoed with individual distinctness, and the hubbub created thereby, in the otherwise unruffled lake, left its trace visible on the mirrory surface for so great a distance as to justify a disputatious man in questioning whether the term “trackless way” was applicable to the course a vessel had passed over. Here we are, steaming away merrily for Niagara.

There is nothing interesting in scenery until you come to the entrance of the river, on the opposite sides of which stand Lewistown and Queenstown, and above the latter the ruthlessly mutilated remains of the monument to the gallant Brock. The miscreant who perpetrated the vile act in 1841, has since fallen into the clutches of the law, and has done and, for aught I know, is now doing penance in the New York State Prison at Auburn. I believe the Government are at last repairing it; better late than never. The precipitous banks on either side clearly indicate they are the silent and persevering work of the ever-rolling stream, and leave no doubt upon any reflecting mind that they must lead to some fall or cataract, though no reflection can fully realize the giant cataract of Niagara.

There are several country places on the banks, and the whole appearance bespeaks comfort and civilization. Far away in the distance is to be seen the suspension-bridge, high in mid-air, and straight as the arrow’s flight. On either bank rival railroads are in progress; that on the Canada side is protected from the yawning abyss by a wall calculated to defy the power of steam. The boat touches at Queenstown, and thence proceeds to Lewistown, where a stage is waiting for Niagara City. No botherations of custom-house what a blessing! The distance to ride is seven miles, and the time one hour; but in the United States, you are aware, every chap will “do as he best pleases;” consequently, there is a little information to be obtained from the fresh arrival, a cock-tail with a friend or two, a quiet piling on of luggage, &c.; all this takes a long half-hour, and away we go with four tough little nags. A tremendous long hill warms their hides and cools their mettle, though by no means expending it. On we go, merrily; Jehu, a free-and-easy, well-informed companion, guessing at certainties and calculating on facts.

At last we reach a spring by the roadside, the steam rising from the flanks of the team like mist from a marsh. What do I see? Number one nag with a pailful of water, swigging away like a Glasgow baillie at a bowl of punch. He drains it dry with a rapidity which says “More, more!” and sure enough they keep on giving pail after pail, till he has taken in enough to burst the tough hide of a rhinoceros. I naturally concluded the horse was an invalid, or a culprit who had got drunk, and that they were mixing the liquor “black list” fashion, to save his intestines and to improve his manners; but no round goes the pailman to every nag, drenching each to the bursting point.

“Ain’t you afraid,” I said, “of killing the poor beasts by giving them such a lot of water?”

“I guess if I was, I shouldn’t give it ’em,” was the terse reply.

Upon making further inquiries into this mysterious treatment, he told me that it was a sulphur spring, and that all tired horses having exhibited an avidity for it far greater than for common water, the instinct of the animal had been given a fair trial, and subsequent experience had so ratified that instinct that it had become a “known fact.” An intelligent American, sitting at the feet of a quadruped Gamaliel, humbly learning from his instincts, should teach the bigots of every class and clime to let their prejudices hang more loosely upon them. But half an hour has passed, and Jehu is again on the box, the nags as fresh as daisies, and as full as a corncob. Half an hour more lands us at Niagara. Avoiding the hum of men, I took refuge for the night in a snug little cottage handy to the railway, and, having deposited my traps, started on a moonlight trip. I need scarce say whither.

Men of the highest and loftiest minds, men of the humblest and simplest minds, the poet and the philosopher, the shepherd and the Christian, have alike borne testimony to the fact, that the solitude of night tends to solemnize and elevate the thoughts. How greatly must this effect be increased when aided by the contemplation of so grand a work of nature as Niagara! In the broad blaze of a noonday sun, the power of such contemplation is weakened by the forced admixture of the earthly element, interspersed as the scene is with the habitations and works of man. But, in the hushed repose of night, man stands, as it were, more alone with his Maker. The mere admirer of the picturesque or the grand will find much to interest and charm him; but may there not arise in the Christian’s mind far deeper and higher thoughts to feed his contemplation? In the cataract’s mighty roar may he not hear a voice proclaiming the anger of an unreconciled God? May not the soft beams of the silvery moon above awaken thoughts of the mercies of a pardoning God? And as he views those beams, veiled, as it wore, in tears by the rising spray, may he not think of Him and his tears, through whom alone those mercies flow to man? May not yon mist rising heavenward recal his glorious hopes through an ascended Saviour; and as it falls again perpetually and imperceptibly, may it not typify the dew of the Holy Spirit ever invisible, ever descending the blessed fruit of that Holy Ascension? And if the mind be thus insensibly led into such a train of thought, may not the deep and rugged cliff, worn away by centuries unnumbered by man, shadow forth to him ideas of that past Eternity, compared to which they are but as a span; and may not the rolling stream, sweeping onward in rapid and unceasing flight into the abyss beneath his feet, fill his soul with the contemplation of Time’s flight, which, alike rapid and continuous, is ever bearing him nearer and nearer to the brink of that future Eternity in which all his highest and brightest hopes will be more than realized in the enjoyment of a happiness such as “eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive.” Say, then, reader, is not every element of thought which can arise between a Christian and his Creator symbolled forth here in equal beauty and grandeur? One, indeed, is wanting, which, alas! none of Nature’s works but man can supply that sad element, which those who search their own hearts the deepest will feel the most. I feel I have departed from the legitimate subject of travels; let the majesty of the scene plead my excuse.

Adieu, Niagara.

Early next morning I put myself into a railway car, and in due time reached Batavia. On my arrival, being rather hungry, I made a modest request for a little brandy and some biscuits; fancy my astonishment when the “help” said, “I guess we only give meals at the fixed hours.” As I disapproved very much of such an unreasonable and ridiculous refusal, I sought out the chief, and, preferring my modest request to him, was readily supplied with my simple luncheon. In the meantime a light fly had been prepared, and off I started for Geneseo. The road presented the usual features of rich cultivated land, a dash of wild forest, a bit of bog, and ruts like drains; and each hamlet or village exhibited a permanent or an ambulating daguerreotype shop. Four hours housed me with my kind and hospitable friends at Geneseo.

As the chances of travel had brought me to a small country village at the time of the annual celebration of the 4th of July, I was unable to witness the ceremony on the grand scale in which it is conducted in the large cities of the Union; and, as I think it is frequently accompanied with circumstances which are entitled to some consideration, I shall revert, in a subsequent chapter, to those points which appear to me calculated to act upon the national character. On the present occasion I was delighted to find that, although people all “liquored” freely, there was scarcely any drunkenness; at all events, they had their little bit of fun, such as we see at fairs at home. By way of enabling those who have a turn for the facetious to share in their jokes, I insert a couple of specimens:

“ORDER OF THE DAY.

“The vast multitude will be assembled on the Public Square, in rear of
the Candy Factory, under the direction of Marshal JOHN A. DITTO, where
they will be formed in procession in the following order:

“1. Officers of the Day, in their stocking feet.

“2. Revolutionary Relics, under the direction of the venerable G.W.S.
Mattocks.

“3. Soldiers of the last War, looking for Bounty Land Warrants.

“4. The Mayor and Common Council, drawn in a Willow Wagon, by the
Force of Habit.

“5. Officers of the Hoodoos, drawn by 13 Shanghai Chickens, and driven
by Joe Garlinghouse’s Shanghai Quail.

“6. The Bologna Guards, in new dress, counting their money.

“7. The Ancient Fire Company expecting their treasurer to chuck 42$
under their windows.

“The procession will then march to the grove in rear of Smith
Scovell’s barn, where the following exercises will take place:

“1. The reading of the Declaration of Independence by the Tinker,
Dan.

“2. Oration by Bill Garrison.

“3. Hymn There was three Crows sit on a Tree by the Hoodo Choir.

“4. Benediction by Elder Bibbins.

“After which the multitude will repair to Charley Babcock’s old stand
for Refreshments.

“Bill of Fare. 1. Mud Turtle Sou. Boiled Eggs, har.
Pea-nut. Boiled Eggs, sof. More Pea-nuts.

“Dessert. Scotch Herring, drie. Do. do., dea. Do., done
brow. Sardines, by special request.

“Wines and Liquors. Hugh Doty’s Rattle-Belly Po.
Hide-and-go-Seek (a new brand).

“Precisely at 4 o’clock, P.M., the Double Oven Air Calorie Engine,
attached to a splendidly decorated Wheel barrow, will make an
excursion, on the

Conhocton Valley Switch,

to the old Hemp Factory and back. It is expected that the President
and Directors will go over the Road, and they are to have the first
chance, strictly under the direction of the ‘Rolling Stock.’

“Hail, ye freeborn Sons of Happy America. ‘Arouse, Git up, and Git!’
Music Loud Fifing during the day.

“June, 1853.

“By Order of COMMITTEE.”

“CLEAR THE TRACK FOR THE LIGHTNING LINE OF MALE AND FEMALE STAGES!!!

“From Perry to Geneseo and back in a Flash.

“BAGGAGE, PERSONS, AND EYESIGHT AT RISK OF OWNERS, AND NO QUESTIONS
ANSWERED.

“ Having bought out the valuable rights of young Master James Howard in this Line, the subscriber will streak it daily between Perry and Geneseo, for the conveyance of Uncle Sam’s Mails and Family; leaving Perry before the Crows wake up in the morning, and arriving at the first house on this side Geneseo about the same time; returning, leave Geneseo after the Crows have gone to roost, and reach Perry in time to join them. Passengers will please to keep their mouths shut for fear they should lose their teeth. No Smoking allowed for fear of fretting the Horses; no Talking lest it wake the Driver. Fare to suit passengers.

“The public’s very much obliged servant, &c. &c.”

A quiet and simple stage of rough wood was put up at one end of the village, close to the Court-house, from whence the Declaration of Independence was read, after which a flowery orator summoned for the occasion, and who travels about to different villages in different years with his well-digested oration addressed the multitude. Of course similes and figures of rhetoric were lugged in by the heels in every sentence, as is the all but universal practice on such occasions in every part of the world. The moral of his speech was in the main decidedly good, and he urged upon his audience strongly, “the undying advantages of cultivating pluck and education” in preference to “dollars and shrewdness.” All went off in a very orderly manner, and in the evening there were fireworks and a village ball. It was at once a wild and interesting sight during the fireworks; the mixture of men, women, and children, some walking, some carried, some riding, some driving; empty buggies, some with horses, some without, tied all round; stray dogs looking for masters as hopelessly as old maids seeking for their spectacles when raised above their eyes and forgotten. Fire companies parading ready for any emergency; the son of mine host tugging away at the rope of the engine in his red shirt, like a juvenile Atlas, as proud as Lucifer, as pleased as Punch. All busy, all excited, all happy; no glimpse of poverty to mar the scene; all come with one voice and one heart to celebrate the glorious anniversary of the birth of a nation, whose past gigantic strides, unparalleled though they be, are insufficient to enable any mind to realize what future is in store for her, if she only prove true to herself.

Leave-takings do not interest the public, so the reader will be satisfied to know that two days after found me in an open carriage on my way to Rochester. The road lay entirely through cultivated land, and had no peculiar features. The only thing I saw worth noticing, was two men in a light four-wheel one-horse shay, attached to which were at least a dozen others, some on two wheels, some on four. I of course thought they were some country productions going to a city manufacturer. What was my astonishment at finding upon inquiry, that it was merely an American phase of hawking. The driver told me that these people will go away from home for weeks together, trying to sell their novel ware at hamlet, village, farm-house, &c., and that some of the shrewdest of them, the genuine Sam Slick breed, manage to make a good thing of it.

The shades of evening closed in upon me as I alighted at a very comfortable hotel at Rochester. The amiable Morpheus soon claimed me as his own, nor was I well pleased when ruthlessly dragged from his soft embrace at 6-1/2 A.M. the following morning; but railways will not wait for Morpheus or any other deity of fancy or fiction; so, making the best use I could of a tub of water and a beefsteak, and calming my temper with a fragrant weed, I was soon ensconced in one of their cars, a passenger to New York.

On reaching Albany, we crossed the river and threw ourselves into the cars of the Hudson River Railway, which, running close to the margin nearly all the way, gives you an ever-varying view of the charming scenery of this magnificent stream. Yankee industry was most disagreeably prominent at several of the stations, in the shape of a bevy of unwashed urchins parading the cars with baskets of the eternal pea-nut and various varieties of lollipop, lemonade, &c., all crying out their wares, and finding as ready a sale for them as they would at any school in England. The baiting-place was not very tempting; we all huddled into one room, where everything was hurry and confusion: besides which, the appetite was not strengthened by the sight of hands whose owners seemed to have “registered a vow in heaven,” to forego the use of soap turning over the sandwiches, one after another, until they had made their selection. However, the majority approve of the system; and as no thought is given to the minority, “if you don’t like it, you may lump it.”

But the more permanent inconvenience of this railroad is one for which the majority cannot be held responsible, i.e., it runs three-fourths of the way over a bed of granite, and often between cuts in the solid granite rock, the noise therefore is perfectly stunning; and when to this you add the echoing nature of their long wooden cars, destitute of anything to check the vibrations of sound, except the human cargo and the cushions they sit upon, and when you add further the eternal slamming of the doors at each end by the superintending conductor and the inquisitive portion of the passengers, you may well conceive that this combination is enough to rouse the slumbers of the dead, and rack the brains of the living. At the same time, I must allow that this line runs the best pace and keeps the best time of any in the Union.

On reaching the outskirts of New York, I asked, “Is this the proper place for me to get out at?” And being answered in the affirmative, I alighted, and found myself in a broad open street. Scarce had I set my foot on the ground, when I saw the train going on again, and therefore asked for my luggage. After a few questions and answers, I ascertained it had gone on in the train about three miles further; and the only consolation I got, was being told, “I guess you’d best have gone on too.” However, all troubles must have an end; so getting into a hackney, I drove to my hospitable friend Phelps’ house, where, under the influence of glorious old Madeira P. had just finished dinner and most undeniable claret, the past was soon buried in the present; and by the time I had knocked the first ash off one of his best “prensados,” the stray luggage returned from the involuntary trip it had made on its own account. What a goodly cheery thing is hospitality, when it flows pure from a warm heart; nor does it lose aught in my estimation when viewed through the medium of a first-rate cellar and the social “Havana.”

Time progresses small hours approach the front door shuts behind some of the guests six-foot-two of animal life may be seen going up-stairs with a bed-candle; the latter is soon out, and your humble servant is snug in the former. Reader, good-night!