It may not be uninteresting, however, before we enter more extensively into our geographical lesson, that a moment here should be occupied in allusion to a Whirlpool, which is to be found in this part of Niagara river, a little more than half way from the Falls to Queenston, and which of its kind is not less remarkable than the Falls themselves. At this point, the river, in its compressed, deep, and rapid career, makes a sudden turn, or sharp angle, the effect of which has been to wear out and form a basin of considerable extent in a precipitous bank two hundred feet high, in which the waters of the river, as they come rushing from above, take a sweep before they can escape by the angle, which interrupts the channel, and find their passage in a downward course:—by which it will be seen, that a plural number of currents at this point must necessarily cross each other between the surface and the bed of the river, in the formation of this remarkable phenomenon. It uniformly happens, in the great variety of floating materials, descending the river, such as logs and lumber of various sorts, that portions of it are detained for days, and sometimes for weeks, sweeping the circuit of this basin, and every few moments returning by the draft of the whirlpool, and as they approach the vortex, are drawn in with great rapidity, and submerged to descend no one knows how deep, until by-and-by, following the currents, they appear again on the surface of the basin, to make the same circuit, and again to be drawn into the same vortex. It has sometimes happened, that the bodies of persons who have had the misfortune to get into the rapids above the Falls, and to be drawn down the awful cataract, or who have been drowned between the two points, after the usual process of decomposition has lightened their specific gravity, and raised them to the surface, have been seen for days floating around this whirlpool, and making the customary and successive plunges, to which every thing, that comes within its reach, is doomed without the possibility of rescue.
It also happened, during the last war between the United States and Great Britain, (may there never be another contest so unnatural) that a British soldier upon a raft of palisades, which had been cut on the margin of this basin for the fortifications at Queenston, was sent adrift into this whirlpool by the parting of a rope connected with the shore, in the attempt to float the raft out of the basin into the river below. The force of the currents not being duly estimated, as the raft approached the vortex, drawn by the hands of other soldiers on shore, and claiming a passage at what was deemed a prudent distance, the too feeble cord snapped asunder to the amazement and horror, not only of the unfortunate man afloat, but equally of his comrades, who were compelled, without any means or hope of extending relief, to witness the unhappy fate of the devoted victim. In a moment the raft was seen careering with increased rapidity towards the visible and open centre of the whirling waters, where its immediate and total wreck was justly deemed inevitable; and down it went, and the man upon it, with “convulsive splash,” and now nothing was seen. The spectators shrieked in sympathy. A soldier has his fellow feeling. For he is a man. Had their comrade fallen in battle, they might have trampled on his carcass in the onset of a charge, in disregard of his sufferings. And when they should come to bury him, they might say: “Thou hast died nobly.” But that he should be thus unexpectedly and fearfully swallowed up by the flood, their nerves were ill prepared for the shock. He was gone, and with his disappearance disappeared all hope. But what was their surprise, while, with vacant stare and every feeling astounded, their feet fixed immoveably to the earth, they gazed upon the scene, the raft entire, and their comrade clinging to it, suddenly shot up on the surface of the waters, and seemed to be floating back to their embrace. “Well done! bravo!” they cried, rending the pent up region with their gratulations, and clapping their hands and leaping for joy. Alas! instead of making towards the shore, or coming within reach of the throw of a line, (for every one was now in stretch of all his powers to afford relief, and the unfortunate man crying for help,) the raft was borne irresistibly along the current before described, and in a few moments began again its rapid sweep towards the vortex. Again the men on shore were thrilled with horror in expectancy of the fate of their companion—and he, smiting his breast in despair, fell upon his knees, lifting his face towards heaven, and seemed to be making his last commendations of himself to the mercy of God, and the next moment down again he plunged, and was swallowed up in the deep. His comrades stood still, and gazed upon the vacant waters, awaiting in breathless anxiety the emergence of the severed fragments of the raft. For, notwithstanding it had been firmly bound together to conflict with the violent forces of the passage, there was little reason to expect that it would sustain unbroken the second shock of such encounter, as that to which it was now doomed; much less, that their luckless comrade would appear again adhering to its parts. Nevertheless, to their unspeakable joy, the raft and the man emerged as before. The welcome of this second preservation for a moment rekindled hope, and suggested every possible expedient to accomplish a connexion between the shore and the raft. But all in vain. The unfortunate man, in the agony of his despair, supplicated their aid. But what could they do? Again, the raft and its yet living tenant were on their wheeling and rapid circuit towards the fearful vortex. Again he fell upon his knees—and again plunged into the deep, and disappeared. Who now could hope in such a case?—Even if he should emerge again, it would only be to make the same round, and fall again into the power of the same merciless and insatiate appetite. Yet he did emerge, and bade farewell to his comrades, and they bade farewell to him: “God bless you!” said he. “God have mercy on you!” said they, in broken accents. “God have mercy on me!” he cried—and again he disappeared in the whirl of the waters.
The story is too painful. How much more so—how indescribably agonizing, even to the soldier inured to the sight of death, to have witnessed the scene! This was a new, an unknown form of death. It was death inflicted, and life brought back, only to die again, and again to live to face death again—and yet again. How dreadful to those who saw! How much more dreadful to the sufferer! For them to see him, and not to be able to help him—for him to approach and face the aspects of that doom for once—we will not undertake to say what it was. To have once experienced all its horrors, and then to be brought again before it, and to be compelled to taste it in such quick and rapid succession, and each repetition being more horrible by the experimental knowledge of what it is—who can conceive of it! The Norwegian maelstrom is awful to think of. But the ship, that is drawn into it, returns no more. Suppose the current of some boiling eddy should bring her to the surface of the sea again, and her crew breathe again, only to face the same horrors a second time—and a third! Would they not say: “O God, forbid the repetition, since we cannot live.” Such was the condition of our ill-fated victim of Niagara’s Whirlpool. Death took him into his embrace, inflicted on him all its pangs, and then threw him back, as if in vengeance, only to draw one breath of life; and then grasped and tortured him again, then threw him back to life; and then stretched forth his hand, and seized him again. And at every approach, Death seemed to say: Behold, how terrible I am!
Did he rise again?—Aye, he did. And if the story may be believed, the raft and the man continued this perpetual round, until the intelligence was conveyed to Queenston, some three miles below, and a boat drawn out of the river, and transported on wheels, and launched from the lofty bank of two hundred feet, down through the trees upon the basin, and the man was taken off to serve yet longer, and fight the battles of his king. And for aught that is known by us, he is still in his regiment. Scores of times he faced the frowning terrors of the scene,—made the deep plunge as many times,—took breath at every interval—and was saved at last.[3]
CHAPTER III.
GREAT LAKES OF NORTH AMERICA.
Lake Ontario, it should be understood, is the last in the chain of those fresh water seas, on the bosoms of which the Author proposed to make his excursion into the North-West Territory. This lake lies between the British province of Upper Canada on the north, and the state of New York on the south, being about two hundred miles in its length, east and west, and some fifty or sixty in its greatest breadth. It is a scene of active commerce; floats a great deal of shipping; steam-packets of the largest burthen, and of the best accommodations, are constantly plying upon it; and the flags of hostile navies have waved over its bosom, and challenged and sought the fierce encounter. The keel of a ship of war, said at the time to be the largest in the world, was laid at Sacket’s Harbour, in the state of New York, in the year 1814, and some progress made in the building of it, before the news of peace in February following. May it rot under the roof which now covers it, before there shall ever be occasion for its launching! The outlet of Lake Ontario is the beginning of the river St. Lawrence; and a little below are the famous rapids of that magnificent current, which make the scene of the Canadian Boat-song.
Lake Erie lies south-west of Lake Ontario, its eastern termination being at Buffalo, and running in a south-westerly course two hundred and fifty miles, in breadth seventy miles; having the most desirable agricultural regions of Upper Canada in the north, and parts of the states of New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio, on the south. This is also a sea of busy commerce; and a memorable naval action has once been contested on its waters: the result of which crowned the American Commodore Perry with distinguished honours. While Britannia claims the pride of ruling the ocean, America may, perhaps, with modesty, assert supremacy on her own fresh-water seas. Better, however, that all comparisons of this kind should be few and far between. The cultivation of the kinder feelings is as much more agreeable, as it is more dignified.
The next in the ascending chain is Lake St. Clair, thirty miles in diameter, lying about half-way between Lake Erie on the south, and Lake Huron on the north, connected with the former by the river Detroit, and with the latter by the river bearing its own name, each current measuring a channel of some thirty miles in length. Lake Huron is a great inland sea, of so many shapes, as to have no shape at all definable. From its outlet, into the river St. Clair on the south, to its head, into the Straits of Michilimackinack, in the north-west, is perhaps three hundred and fifty miles. Its greatest breadth is probably about two hundred and fifty. It opens a vast sea for the safe navigation of shipping of any burthen, besides affording a lodging place for a world of islands in its northern regions, some larger and some smaller—and most romantically situated in their relations to each other—amounting in all to the number of thirty-two thousand. The innumerable bays and straits created by this cluster, most of them navigable for almost any kind of craft, together with the islands themselves, covered with forests, and shooting up the most perfect form of the pointed fir-tree, must present a rare vision to him who shall ever have the privilege of sailing over them in a baloon.
Lake Michigan is a beautiful sea, lying in the form of a calf’s tongue, except the single deformity of Green Bay, an arm of ninety miles in length, and thirty to forty broad, running off from its west shoulder like a lobster’s claw; the bay itself being of many and ugly shapes. Aside from this, Lake Michigan is regular in its form, an open and navigable sea, running from the straits of Michillimackinack on the north, (or, to save trouble, we will henceforth say Mackinaw, as the vulgar do), towards the south west about three hundred and fifty miles, its greatest and central breadth one hundred and fifty.[4]
But the Queen of fresh-water seas, all the world over, is Lake Superior, most fitly named for its magnificent dimensions and relative importance. Its length, from east to west, is seven hundred miles, and its greatest breadth, perhaps, three hundred. It is generally an open sea, and navigable to all its extremities, with a few important islands thrown upon its bosom, and some portions of the long circuit of its margin studded, not unlike the northern shore of Lake Huron. This vast inland sea has its outlet into Lake Huron, by the Falls of St. Mary, at its eastern termination; or rather by a rapid of one mile in length, making a descent of twenty-two feet in that distance, and which might easily be overcome for the purposes of navigation, by a ship canal of trifling expense. Apart from the occupation of these waters by the bark canoes of the aboriginal tribes, this lake, as yet, is used for little else than the fur trade, and has but a few vessels upon it. But the masters of these vessels are familiar with all its regions. Lake Superior, it will be seen, is the most remote of the seas we are now describing, as well as most magnificent. Its waters and its shores are the least visited by civilized man. No law holds dominion there, but the law of interest, or of passion. Its vast bosom, capable of floating navies, and probably destined for such display, ordinarily bears only the Indian bark upon its waves. The wild and romantic solitudes of its shores, and of the deep forests and unsurveyed territories, by which they are bounded, as yet have been familiar only with the howl of the wild beasts, and little traced except by the devious track of the red man, who pursues his game to satiate his hunger; or by the sinuous paths of the warrior train, intent upon revenge, and thirsting for blood. The position of this lake, in relation to those of which mention has been made, and to the occupied territories of the Canadas and of the United States, is far off in the north-west.