We resumed this mode of travelling with the more pleasure, as we had lately suffered much from the heat and dust on our last day’s journey by land. Always incited by a wish to fulfil the promise he had given to the citizens of Boston, the general determined to travel day and night as long as he was on the canal, and only to halt in the towns on his route a sufficient time to return his thanks to the inhabitants, all of whom had made preparations for his reception. We often regretted this necessary haste, especially on seeing the handsome towns of Rome, Utica, Schenectady, &c. and hearing the patriotic acclamations of their inhabitants. At Rome, which we passed through in the night by the light of an illumination, we met with the deputation from Utica, at the head of which the general had the satisfaction of recognising one of his fellow soldiers, Colonel Lansing, who fought by his side at Yorktown.
Twenty discharges of artillery announced his arrival in Utica, and at this signal all the population gathered round him to hear the eloquent discourse addressed to him by Judge Williams, in the name of the people. His astonishment was extreme, when the orator informed him that the part of the country he had traversed in so rapid and commodious a manner, was that through which he had passed with so much difficulty and danger during the war of the revolution, to save the garrison of Fort Stanwix from the tomahawks of the Indian allies of Great Britain. He could scarcely believe in so great a change, and was unable to express the happiness he felt. We only spent four hours at Utica; but that time would not suffice to detail all the marks of attachment that were heaped upon him. Obliged to divide his time between his old fellow soldiers and the children of the different schools; between the magistrates and the ladies; and, finally, between strangers and Indians, collected from several miles around to pay their respects to him, he still found means to reply to the enthusiasm of all, and every one that approached him returned satisfied and persuaded that he was an object of particular attention. Three chiefs of Oneidas, Taniatakaya, Sangouxyonta, and Doxtator, asked for a private interview, and recalled to his recollection some circumstances of the campaigns of 1777 and 1778, in which they had rendered him some services. He recognized them again, but was greatly astonished to find, that two of them already advanced in years at the time of which they spoke, were still living; notwithstanding their great age, their features still preserved an energetic expression; they spoke with warmth of the situation of their tribe. “The chase is no longer productive,” said they; “it does not supply our wants, and we are obliged to provide for our subsistence by agriculture, which renders us very unhappy; but it is not owing to our white brothers of the state of New York; they act generously towards us; they permit us to live in peace near the bones of our fathers, which they have not obliged us to transport to a strange land; and the government often succours us when our harvests fail; hence we sincerely love our white brothers, the Americans. We formerly fought for them against the English, and we are still ready to raise the tomahawk in their favour, whenever occasion requires it.” The general praised them for the sentiments they expressed; he told them he had not forgotten their former valuable services; and begged them always to regard the Americans as good brothers; he then made them some presents of money, and they returned well satisfied. A deputation from the county of Oneida, waited on the general to beg him to assist in laying the first stone of a monument, which the citizens of that county were about erecting to the memory of Baron de Steuben, whose remains had reposed since 1795, at Steubenville, without any mark of distinction. But the time fixed for this ceremony, not according with the public engagements entered into by the general with the citizens of Boston, he was under the necessity of refusing this invitation. “If I could associate with you,” replied he to the deputation, “in rendering to the memory of my fellow soldier and friend Baron de Steuben, those honours you intend bestowing and of which no one is more worthy, without my missing the celebration at Bunker’s Hill, it would not be the fatigues of a long and rapid journey that would deter me, you may be fully persuaded; but a single day of delay may occasion my breaking a sacred promise; you must be aware of this, be good enough therefore to be the bearers of my regrets to the citizens of Steubenville, and assure them that my heart will be with them at this melancholy ceremony, which I am obliged to forego attending in spite of my wishes.”
The regrets of General Lafayette were the more acute and sincere, as he could, better perhaps than any other, appreciate the rare qualities and noble character of Baron de Steuben, who had shared with him the toils and dangers of the Virginia campaign.
Frederic William Steuben was born in Prussia, in 1735. Destined for a career of arms, his education was entirely military, and he early entered the service. His knowledge, his well tried courage, and his zeal in the performance of his duties, did not escape the penetration of Frederic the Great, who promoted him rapidly, and attached him particularly to his own person. The young Steuben did not fail to profit by the lessons of his illustrious master, and obtained a brilliant reputation among the best generals of the age. But neither the glory he had acquired, nor the favours of the greatest king of the time, could counterbalance his love for liberty. As soon as he learned that the American colonies, shaking off the despotism of England, were ready to maintain their independence by an appeal to arms, he crossed the ocean and offered them his services, declaring that he was ambitious of no other honour than that of acting as a volunteer in a good cause, and that he would accept neither rank nor pay before he had given proofs of his valour. This noble disinterestedness, and the services he rendered the American army, merited him the friendship of Washington, and the confidence of congress, who elevated him to the rank of major-general. His candour and moderation equalled his skill and bravery. After the peace, wishing to enjoy the fruits of that liberty to which he had contributed so gloriously, he retired to Oneida county, to lands given him by congress, and there, cultivating in solitude his mind and his fields, he philosophically waited for death; which suddenly made him its prey in 1795. He was then about sixty years of age. According to his wish, expressed in his last will, he was wrapped in his cloak, placed in a simple wooden coffin, and committed to the earth without a stone or an inscription to mark the place of his sepulchre. He laid for a long time in a thick wood near his house, when his remains were menaced with profanation by the opening of a public road through his property. Colonel Walker, his former friend, hastened to collect them, and the inhabitants of Steubenville, and of the county of Oneida, resolved to enclose them in a durable monument, as an expression of their gratitude and esteem for the German warrior.
A cannon, the signal of the departure of the guest of the nation, had already been heard twenty-four times. The boat that was to take him to Schenectady was ready, and the people assembled on the quays and the bridges that cross the canal, waited in silence for his departure. When he embarked, and our light vessel, drawn by superb white horses, had begun to glide through the water, three cheers expressed to him the last farewell of the inhabitants of Utica, whilst children placed on the bridges, showered down flowers upon him as the boat passed beneath. Standing on the prow of the vessel with his head uncovered, General Lafayette replied by signs of gratitude to those testimonies of popular esteem. His son and myself, witnesses of this touching scene, remained near him, partaking both of the enthusiasm of the people, and the happiness of him that was the object of it, when our attention was suddenly attracted by the cries of a man who followed the boat, by running along the bank, and making signs to us to stop. His copper colour, half naked body, and grotesque ornaments, marked him for an Indian. Although his intention to board us was manifest, our captain, Major Swartwout, did not think it advisable to stop. The Indian, therefore, exerting all his strength, hastened his pace so much, as to pass us considerably, and at last waited on the last bridge near the town. At the moment he passed beneath it, he sprung on the deck, and fell on his feet in the midst of us, admirably erect. “Where is Kayewla? I wish to see Kayewla,” cried he with agitation. The general was pointed out to him. His countenance expressed the greatest satisfaction “I am the son of Wekchekaeta,” said he, stretching out his hand; “of him who loved you so well, that he followed you to your country when you returned there after the great war; my father has often spoken to me of you, and I am happy to see you.” The general had already learned that Wekchekaeta had died some years since, and was glad to meet with his son, who appeared to be about twenty-four years of age. He made him sit down, and conversed several minutes with him, and rendered him happy by presenting him with several dollars, when he left us. The young Indian was as little embarrassed to find a mode of leaving the boat as he had been to enter it. We were separated from the bank of the canal by about ten feet; he sprung over this space with the lightness of a deer, and disappeared in an instant. This singular visit greatly excited the curiosity of our fellow passengers, and the general hastened to satisfy it by relating the history of Wekchekaeta, whom he carried to Europe with him in 1778, and who, soon disgusted with civilization, joyfully returned to his native wilds.
To describe our voyage from Utica to Schenectady, a distance of about eighty miles, would be to repeat what has already been said when speaking of that in the upper part of the canal. We arrived in the latter town next day, 11th June, about dinner time. We remained there only a few hours, which the inhabitants rendered very pleasant to the general, and in the evening set out in carriages for Albany, which is about sixteen miles distant from it. We lost much, we were told, in not continuing our route by the canal, which, during the whole of that route, runs along the river Mohawk, over which it twice passes by aqueducts of 1800 feet in length, but pressed for time, we were obliged to choose the shortest road; besides, we had travelled, since leaving Lockport, for near three hundred miles on the canal, and we had been able to judge of the beauty and utility of this great channel of communication, executed in eight years by the state of New York alone, unassisted by any foreign aid. There are still some few parts to be finished, before the navigation will be open the whole length of the canal; but these will be accomplished in a few months, when the boats passing from Lake Erie to Albany will traverse a length of three hundred and sixty miles, and descend a height of five hundred and fifty feet, by means of eighty-three locks built of hewn stone, and whose basin of thirty feet long by fifteen broad, will admit boats of upwards of one hundred tons burthen. The total expenses for the construction of this canal are estimated at ten millions of dollars. This sum appears enormous at first view, but nevertheless it is trifling, when the immense advantages that will accrue to the state of New York are taken into consideration. The tolls demanded for the right of navigation, although very low, have already produced, during the year 1824, the sum of 350,761 dollars; and it is believed that the receipts will amount this year to 500,000 dollars, and that in the nine succeeding years it will increase at the rate of 75,000 dollars per annum, so that at the end of ten years, the debt incurred in the accomplishment of this great work will be liquidated, and also, after deducting 100,000 dollars annually for repairs, &c., the state of New York will receive from its canal, a nett revenue of a million of dollars, which is four times more than the expenses of its government.[[16]]
The state of New York will then present the new spectacle of a community of more than two millions of men, not only supporting its government without taxes, but also having money arising from its own property. The citizens of that state will always, it is true, have to pay the duties the general government thinks right to impose on the importation of foreign products; but the independent farmer, who produces on his farm all the necessaries of life, may live without paying any tax either direct or indirect, to the state or the general government.
I present this picture of the public prosperity of the state of New York, for the consideration of our European politicians and economists.
CHAPTER XIII.
Return to Boston—Reception of Lafayette by the Legislature of Massachusetts—Celebration of the anniversary of Bunker’s Hill—History of the Revolution familiar to the Americans—Departure from Boston.