At a distance we saw Brockport upon the canal, and soon after, at Gainesville, we dined. We reached Lockport at five o’clock in the afternoon and were shown into a neat comfortable hotel where we awaited the time of starting in the cars. Lockport is a town of the mushroom order, having arisen around the locks of the canal within a few years. The churches, houses, and hotels, looked very respectable, and the rail-roads and canals gave it quite a stirring appearance. The locks at the canal here are a great curiosity. There are five double combined locks which carry the canal over the ridge. There is also a deep cutting through the solid rock for some miles which is very interesting. Many specimens of minerals have been discovered here, as carbonate of lime, selenite, dogtooth spar, petrifactions, etc. I promised to give you an account of all our expenses, so I will mention now, we are to pay ninety-four cents each to Niagara, twenty miles, as I shall not think of such mundane affairs while there. Our expenses at the hotels have been two dollars a day each, and meals fifty cents each at all our stopping places. Seated in the rail car we were soon on our road, and fast dashing through a tolerably cultivated country, with several neat mansions peeping through the trees. I trembled lest the land should remain thus until we arrived at Niagara, for I could not bear to approach it through petty villages and farms, but we soon left all cultivation behind and found ourselves in a deep forest. While gliding rapidly along, the engineer’s bell rang to scare some cow or other animal, as we thought, from the rail track. Several of the passengers looked out, one pronouncing it a man, another a cow, until, as we approached, we discovered it was an Indian female. She was enveloped in a dark mantle from beneath which could be seen her scarlet leggins richly embroidered with beads. With a slow and stately step she paced the rail-track, the engineer’s bell and shrill whistle unheeded. That she heard them was evident, for another Indian woman, her companion, who walked outside the rail, stretched forth her hand as if in earnest appeal, but the haughty young princess scorned to fly before her country’s foe. The engine with slackened speed came near her and stopped; then, and not until it had quite stopped, she condescended to walk off the rail-way. As we passed I saw she was young and pretty, and her dark eye flashed with a triumphant expression which said, ‘You dared not drive over me! I scorned to be forced from the road by your bell, like an animal!’
‘Look out for the Falls! Prepare for Niagara!’ is the cry of all in the coach. My heart began to beat—does not yours? Do be a little romantic, and feel some emotion, while about to behold one of Nature’s greatest wonders. I looked out; we were on the river’s bank, a high precipice of about two hundred feet Far below rushed the river, of a green copper hue, or verdigris; far up through the defile I caught a view of a mountain of mist, but I resolutely turned away, for such snatches of views I have been told to avoid, as bringing disappointment with them. The road swerved from the river, and in a few minutes we found ourselves in the midst of the little village of Niagara. When the train stopped we were surrounded by a host of porters, struggling to secure us for their several favorite hotels. We chose the Cataract house, from a friend’s recommendation, and from its appropriate name. We had no cause to repent our decision as its accommodation and attendance were every thing we could wish. We were shown into a neat chamber, which to my delight looked out upon the rushing rapids. The tea bell rang as we entered, and much to the annoyance of my impatient spirit, my companion made it plain to me I should refresh myself before visiting the Falls. Tea over, I had leave to go, and we were soon upon the pathway. Shall I take you at once into the presence chamber of the divinity, or shall I describe the halls and corridors as I pass through them to her throne? I think a minute description will best please you. Niagara river, just before it reaches the fall is divided into two parts; one rushing past the Canada shore, plunges over the rocks making the crescent, or horse-shoe fall—this fall is about one hundred and sixty feet high. The other half of the river passes around an island, called Goat, or Iris island, and falls from the American side. This island has been sacred from the foot of man until a few years since, when a bridge was thrown across the rapids with much dexterity and daring. Upon this bridge we will walk if you please, stopping one moment to view the rapids. These constitute a very beautiful feature of the scene, and, were it not for the falls, would be well worth a visit on their own account. The river is a mile wide, and comes rushing and foaming over rocks some ten or twelve feet high, looking, sea-faring men tell us, very much like breakers, or a sea in a storm—the green waves heightening the illusion. One is glad to be safely over this tumultuous water, especially as the former bridge has been carried away. From the bridge you land upon Bath island, containing about two acres of land, upon which is erected a toll-house, and shop for the sale of Indian curiosities and canes. There are also bathing houses here. A short bridge brings us to Goat Island, one-half a mile long and a quarter wide. It is also called Iris, and as such I shall designate it. The increased roar, the mist rising above the trees, urge you on, and you pass the ‘curiosity shop’ and refreshments here offered, and hasten on through many a winding forest path, until you gain the opposite side of the island, where you find yourself upon the brink of a deep gulf into which an ocean broken loose from its bounds is precipitated with astounding noise and violence!.... This is the crescent fall on the Canadian shore. But linger not here. Descend the island to the brink of the river, and cross the rapids over a tottering, frail bridge, to the tower, which stands upon the precipice at the edge of the falls. Ascend to the top, and lean over the railing, look calmly down if you can, into the fathomless abyss of ocean, where the waves are dashing; the foam whirling, and the winds rushing, amid the roar of a thousand thunders eternally ascending. Deafened, confounded, bewildered, you retreat in haste, fearful every moment the breakers which are dashing against the tower, will tear it away from its foundation, and plunge you into the fearful ocean depths below. At this place, and upon table rock opposite, you see Niagara in all its power and terror. But if you would behold it in all its ravishing beauty, you must go as we did, the next morning before sunrise, and view it from the ferry house. To reach this spot, you do not cross to Iris island, but follow the river bank to the American fall, near which is the ferryman’s cottage, and at a little distance the ladder which leads you down to the boat. Seated upon a rock, in front of the cottage, we feasted our eyes with unearthly beauty. Beside you is the American fall, tinged with a delicate apple or beryl green hue. One delights to follow with the eye this fair translucent arch, as it plunges far down into the water nearly two hundred feet below us. You have but a sideling view of this fall here. Looking past it you see the dark foliage of Iris island, and beyond, the Canadian fall. This immense mass of water falls over rocks in the form of a crescent, and is tinted with an elysian loveliness which you have never beheld, and never can conceive, let me write pages upon it. Earth has never produced water of the like hue: something of the emerald, but more rich, more vivid. This green, spotted, and embroidered as it is, with wreaths of snow white foam, presents the most charming and unique effect imaginable. In some places the water pitches over perfectly smooth, as if an emerald arch; and so pellucid, that you may distinctly see through it the white foam that is churned from the rocks over which it flows. As we reached the spot from whence this is seen, the sun arose above the trees, and immediately two glorious rainbows spanned the river from shore to shore! and the mist which was rising high in the air, took the tint of the rose, which faded, only to be replaced by the most gorgeous prismatic hues. Never had imagination pictured any thing so glorious as that scene: a tremendous fall of green and white water; a gay colored rainbow; rosy mist; azure sky, and shores of various shades. It was a creation which belonged not to earth. It seemed as if the celestial city was before us, with its gates and walls of sapphire, of emerald, of ruby, and of gold. The waters of life that flow through the city of God, seemed rushing past us, for the scene was altogether unearthly, and our feelings were elevated to that sublime architect, who could create such surpassing beauty. Earth and its cares, home and its joys are all forgotten, and we feel as if we could ever recline before the throne of that mysterious presence, and watch untiring those clouds of incense which are rising before it forever. When we left the scene, we trod in solemn silence, as if on holy ground. The violence with which the water pours over the rocks has worn them away, and the river has broken its way up from Lake Ontario at the rate of a rood in three years. It is supposed, when first discovered, to have been near the Clifton House on the Canadian shore, and the ferry house at the American.
June 26th.—This morning we descended the cliffs by a staircase and crossed to the Canadian shore. The boat was tossed about like a shell upon the whirling waves, and as they looked up at the mass of water tumbling so near them, and at the boiling water two hundred and fifty feet deep, under us, some of our fellow passengers became a little nervous. My whole soul was so absorbed in contemplating the wondrous scene, that I felt no terror. A sentinel in the scotch costume greeted our eyes when we landed telling us we were now in a strange land among another people. A winding walk up the cliff, leads you to Clifton House, a celebrated Canadian hotel. From the balconies of this house, is one of the most imposing views of the Niagara falls. You see the whole at once, while from the American side you see only a part at a time. Still, if not so grand, the view is more varied and more beautiful upon the opposite shore and from Iris Island. Every one says it is ridiculous to attempt to describe these falls, but, I have promised to give you daguerreotype views, and will endeavor to sketch the outlines—the shading, and the impressions of the scene can only be given by the place itself. Imagine a crescent of water a mile long, plunging with awful violence as if the foundations of the great deep had broken up again, from a cliff nearly 200 feet high. According to McKenney 15,000,000 tons of water are poured over the rocks in 24 hours. A green island divides this fall into two unequal parts. Table rock, upon the Canadian shore is at the edge of the falls, and projects over the cliff where you may stand with nothing between you and the boiling ocean below. So close is it to the water that the waves wash over part of it, and it is almost always covered with mist and spray. If it be glory to be buried in Niagara, you may here hope for that fate, as a portion of the rock has already fallen, and a large crack shows you the remainder will soon follow. From this spot, is said to be the finest view, as the eye embraces the whole circle of waters; but, as it was one of the days when the mist takes that direction, I saw but little of this. I found myself upon a slippery rock, a shelf between heaven and earth, with waves of spray breaking over me, and a furious mist dashing into my face—a noise of waters was in my ears, a white foam rushed wildly past, and I felt as if caught up in the sky in a whirlwind and driving snow storm. We waded back through the wet grass and ran into the Pavilion to avoid the spray dripping from the eaves. This house besides being a curiosity shop is the residence of the guide who will conduct you down a long staircase, and behind the fall if you wish—as I had no penchant for being drenched, half drowned and suffocated I did not attempt this exploit. We descended this morning the American side and ventured a little behind that fall. One feels very much as an Israelite making his exode, with a wall of water at his side ‘where the flood stood upright.’
When once in, you see a glorious chamber with dome and walls of emerald rendered transparent by the morning sun. You might imagine yourself in one of those crystal caves where the sea nymphs congregate, beneath the arches of the sea. On the road from table rock to Clifton House, there is another building where there is a fine museum containing 4,000 specimens of Indian curiosities, animals, minerals &c., many of them from that region. The trees about here are most of them evergreen. The regular yellow pine grows here and the silver fir with its white lined leaves and purple cones and the fan leaved larch growing 100 feet high. The rocks of Niagara are secondary limestone and sandstone, abounding with veins and nodules of various minerals—among them selenite, calcareous spar—petrifactions—tufa from the cave, and many others. I believe I have sketched for you every thing regarding these falls—gigantesque phenomene as La Vaseur calls them. Still I do not expect to give you any idea of them, for no one who ever wrote, conveyed an impression of the reality to me. I might make a pyramid of expletives, and when all the superbs beautiful’s, majestic’s and touching’s are expended, you will say when you come, ‘the half has never been told me!’ Many have been disappointed here chiefly because the scenery around the falls is not as imposing as they had imagined. Some would have a range of lofty mountains as a back scene; or a crest of naked rocks towering above the falls; but I fancy these are of the class of contradictionists who make a respectable figure in conversation merely by opposing every thing. They thus obtain a hearing, are able to enter into an argument, when no other means would gain them a listener. He who formed this imposing scene is a better judge of the sublime and beautiful. A range of mountains would materially injure the effect, as it would by contrast take away from the height of the water. The cataract would be a secondary object, but seated as it is in a level region of country, it is the first object that strikes the eye—- a gem on natures forehead. There are many drives in this neighborhood to various interesting places, such as springs, whirlpools, battlefields &c. The parade ground is also a favorite place of resort. A regiment of 700 soldiers are reviewed upon the Canadian shore. We hired a carriage at the Clifton House and after a short drive found ourselves upon a beautiful plain above the falls, surrounded by guard houses, and barracks. The plain was soon filled with soldiers, who came marching up in separate detachments from every direction. They were tall fine formed men, all of one height dressed in the Scotch costume, consisting of the short plaid skirt, stockings laced with red, cap and a cloud of black plumes. They were well drilled, and marched, counter-marched and went through all their evolutions as one man. The dress is picturesque, but must be a cold one in these regions. A pantaloon over the naked knee, I think would be an improvement. I could see soldiers, although not as well drilled, at home, so I was glad to turn my course towards that rolling flood below. From this plain is a fine view of the rapids above the cataract, and of Iris Island, which seems to have floated to the brink of the precipice, like one of the Mexican floating islands. We spent the afternoon upon Iris island. In the little curiosity shop we refreshed ourselves with delicate white strawberries grown upon the island, covered with rich cream. Here also we added to our stock of Indian bags and moccasins. Among the articles in the shops at the village I admired most a large living eagle which was chained to his perch. His feathers were black and white, and his beak and claws yellow, with a ruff of grey about his neck. I pitied the poor captive as he stood gazing sadly out apparently listening to the roar of the falls, and longing to be at large in his native forest once more.
The village of Tuscarora Indians is sometimes visited, much against their wishes however. The Indian nations have never lost the remembrance of their former power, and their present degradation. They look upon us as usurpers, who have wrested from them the land of their fathers, and have never forgiven us. They count themselves our prisoners, and are indignant that we should come and gaze upon them in their fallen state as objects of curiosity. Their village is built upon the high shore of Niagara about eight miles below the falls, commanding a fine prospect of the river and lake. They are under the care of a missionary who has been the means of converting fifty out of the three hundred. This tribe once belonged to the confederacy of five nations, but came originally from North Carolina, and are living upon the proceeds of the sale of their land there and their trade. Some of them are prosperous, industrious farmers, while the women embroider beautifully, with beads and stained porcupine quills, upon birch bark and deer skin. These they dispose of at the shops, and to strangers at the Hotels. Upon these occasions, I am struck with the difference between this proud race and our own. A pedler or travelling shopman comes in, unpacks his wares, holds up every article, insists upon its worth and beauty, and urges you to buy—with the Indian it is otherwise. At our hotel, while ascending after dinner to the dining room, one is struck by the sight of a row of dark beings sitting upright upon the settees in the halls envelloped in cloaks of scarlet or black, richly embroidered with beads or adorned by pieces of tin cut in flowers and tacked on. Their eyes are fixed upon the ground, their long hair falls over their faces, and an expression of profound melancholy sits upon every countenance. You stand before them and gaze upon them, but silent, grave, and motionless they sit, like the band of conscript fathers awaiting the approach of Attila. You at last ask, ‘Have you any moccasins!’ with a dignified motion they throw open their cloaks, and their laps are filled with articles for sale. You ask the price—a low musical voice tells you the amount in a very foreign accent, and that is all I could ever obtain from an Indian woman although I made many efforts while at Niagara, and they can both speak and understand English.
I never saw but one of them smile. I asked her what she had for sale in her lap—she threw it open, and behold a pretty Indian cupid asleep in a birch cradle, swathed and bandaged in their peculiar fashion. Titania would have quarrelled for it. At my start of surprise and admiration, a moonbeam smile flashed over her face and then all was dark and gloomy as before. The celebrated Timothy Flint tells us, ‘the Indians are a melancholy musing race; whatever emotion or excitement they feel, goes on in the inner man.’ So close an observer as he was, and living so long among them, his views can be relied on as being correct. The Indians have always been noted for their strong attachment to their children, and a stranger among them has only to praise the papoose to win his way to the parents heart.
June 27th.—I could not have believed parting with Niagara would have caused such sorrow. The lofty, and celestial emotions which are produced when in the presence of this one of God’s most beautiful creations you are unwilling to lose. You feel ‘it is good to be here’—and you dread to leave this holy ground to enter again into scenes which will do much to efface these pure emotions. A glimpse of heaven has been vouchsafed you, and most reluctantly you return to earth again. Slowly we sat out this morning to take a last farewell. We had seen it in all its brightness and we now beheld it in a sombre hue. The heavens were overcast, the mist, once of a dazzling whiteness now took a dusky tint, and hung over the cataract like a mourning veil. It was more in accordance with my feelings than to have bade her adieu while she was smiling in the ‘bright garish eye of day’—one might fancy she was sad at losing such true worshippers. But you cannot understand such feelings now, they no doubt seem ridiculous—come here, and you will experience the truth of such emotions. At two o’clock, soon after dinner, we sat out on the rail road for Buffalo. The road for some time is laid along the river bank, and gives us a fine view of the islands, rapids, and other objects of interest, as Fort Schlosser, and Chippewa,—and then a long low wooded island floating upon the bosom of the broad stream was shown, as Navy island, the head quarters of the Canadian revolutionist in ’37 and ’38. The band have however now dispersed, and the island has returned to its parent, promising never to do so any more. It contains 700[5] acres of good land. The river now begins to expand from one mile to eight, including Grand Island in the centre. This is twelve miles in length, and contains 17,384 acres of rich land and stately timber. A neat village called White Haven stands upon its shore, containing among other buildings, a steam saw mill which furnishes ship stuff from 20 to 70 feet in length. A fine situation, for such an establishment, as there is plenty of the raw material for this manufacture in sight all around.
There are 15 or 20 islands between the falls and Lake Erie, some of them very pretty, adorned with clumps of maple, oak, or cedar. Upon one of them, Tonawanda isle, is a fine mansion with cultivated grounds and fields around it. Our road lay through a village of the same name situated upon Tonawanda creek, a small place through which runs the Erie canal. We had sufficient time to survey the beauties of Rattle-snake Island at our leisure, for, when just opposite, a part of our engine gave way, and we came to a sudden pause. The male passengers were soon out, to discover the cause, and came back with a report that we could proceed no farther, as the injury was very great. We were declared to be ‘in a pretty fix.’ A horse was procured from a house in sight, and a man was despatched upon it to Buffalo about eight miles distant. Many of the passengers sat out to walk to Black rock 4 miles a head, where they could procure carriages to take them to Buffalo. The rest of us remained seated in the coaches, with a hot July sun streaming through the windows. What should we do—scold at the road, or the train, or the engineers? No, an American never vexes himself about such things—he is calm and indifferent under every circumstance. Some of us fell to reading, some to napping and some to rambling. We undertook the latter, but as we were only surrounded by ploughed fields soon returned to the coach, where I busied myself in writing the above. Pray read on if it is only to repay me for my sufferings those two hours in the heat. I think I had better abuse this rail road a little, for it deserves it. Do not, however, suppose I am vexed at being left thus ‘sitting on a rail!’ The iron is ripped up in several places, causing a jolt when we strike against these land snags, and a man rides beside the engineer with a hammer to nail them down. It is the worst rail road I ever travelled over: however, as it is only used a few months in the year when Niagara is fashionable, perhaps it may not yield sufficient profit to allow much expense upon it. Something is seen coming up the road—all heads are out, and we hope to be released from our captive state—it turns out to be the return train which had been waiting for our engine and cars, and now has been obliged to take horses instead. As it was impossible to pass us, the passengers and their baggage were turned out, and placed in our coaches, to the Niagara end of which their horses were fastened. They looked very sourly at us while this was passing, thinking perhaps of the maxim of Pythagoras to his scholars—Do not remain in the highway. They wondered at us for sitting in their highway, depriving them of their engine, and condemning them to the loss of a fine afternoon at Niagara. Some of them perhaps might have been of that whisking class of tourists who intended to return the next morning early, and to them it would be quite a loss.
A joyous shout announced the appearance of our horses, and we were soon on our way again. We passed through Black Rock, a considerable village, and then followed the Erie canal for some distance. The last two miles were upon the borders of Lake Erie which stretched away a mighty mass of green waters, to the horizon. As this was our first view of our great ‘inland seas, we gazed upon it with much interest. There are many handsome villas in the vicinity of the town commanding fine views of the lake and city; one of them, a large Gothic stone mansion, promises to be quite an ornament to the country if ever finished. At Buffalo we drove of course to the American Hotel, as its fame had reached us at home. It is a large stone building, well kept, and elegantly furnished. The drawing room is as handsome as any in the country, and the dining room is a large airy commodious apartment lighted with five large gilded chandeliers. The staircases and halls are of oak covered with copper in some places—the bedrooms, private parlors, table and attendance as good as we could find in our boasted city. There is here also a public room, hired sometimes, for concerts and lectures, which is well lighted with chandeliers and set round with green silk couches. In fact every thing is good and neat.