June 28th.—Sabbath morning—that blessed day of rest, given in mercy as a moment of repose in the wearied journey of life to the ‘world’s tired denizen!’ We felt its benefit, and rejoiced no stage horn could hurry us onward, and no bell, save the ‘church going bell’, could summon us forth. The presbyterian church is a plain building, but handsomely fitted up inside, and very comfortable. Rev. Mr. Lord is the minister, an able and pious man. We heard in the morning a very interesting discourse from Mr. Stilwell of the American Bethel Union. He delivered it in a Baptist church in which the Rev. Mr. Choules officiates when in the city. It is a neat, commodious building, the pews made of the native black walnut cushioned and lined with horse hair. A choir of good singers accompanied by instruments led the music. The society to which Mr. Stilwell belongs devotes itself to the sailor’s interest. The state of the boatmen upon the Erie canal he reported to be very wretched. There are about 25,000 boatmen and sailors employed upon the canal and in lake navigation, who were of the lowest and most worthless class of men; seeming inaccessible to all efforts for their reformation or conversion. These, mixing with the lower population of Buffalo, and other towns on their route, exerted a baneful influence. The Bethel Union attempted to send missionaries among them, but they were abused, insulted and almost discouraged. Still, as they felt it their duty, these self-denying men persevered every Sunday in addressing the men along the canal, and in presenting bibles and tracts. They soon began however to have some hope, for when the canal closed last autumn there were only two men who had refused tracts, and only three who insulted them. With this success, small as it was, they were excited to go on, hoping the Lord was smiling upon their labors. The minister most successful among them had once been a canal boy himself, and while sitting upon his horse dragging the boat, employed himself for hours in inventing new and strange oaths to surprise his fellow boatmen. The men now readily listened to him. They were conscious of their degradation, knew they were despised by all good men, and never hoped to rise. Seeing now, one of their number so bright and shining a light, they trusted a boatman’s name would not always be an object of scorn. These poor men complained to him, that they had no day of rest, as there was as much forwarding upon the Sabbath as upon any other day. The Captains of the lake boats were also obliged to struggle against this evil, and in some instances had renounced their trade upon that account, or upon remonstrance had been turned adrift for some less scrupulous Captain. The fault then seems to lie upon the forwarding merchants, whom Mr. Stillwell addressed, begging their forbearance in this respect.
It is to be hoped this address produced its intended effect, and the merchants who claim a day of repose for themselves, have granted the same to the unfortunate boatmen.[6]
June 29.—This morning we sent for a carriage and sat out to see the city and make some visits. Buffalo, although suffering with all our cities in the stagnation of trade, seems to be doing a great deal of business. The rows of shops, and handsome ware-houses, seem to contain every article necessary for comfort or luxury. It is a larger city than Rochester, but has not its air of elegance and neatness. The town was burnt by their neighbors, the Canadians, in 1814, but has since been rebuilt. The streets are wide and airy, Maine street, the principal avenue, is more than a mile in length. The churches are neat buildings, one of them, a catholic, promises, when finished, to be handsome. The court house is a solid well built edifice having pillars up to the roof. The markets are very good also. The city is well situated upon ground rising gently from the lake, the upper part being covered with handsome private dwellings, which thus obtain fine views of the lake and surrounding country, and secure for themselves room for their gardens which are very prettily laid out. There is here also a military station for the United States troops, whose barracks, comfortable brick buildings, are built around the parade ground and surrounded by a good wall. Our friend’s cottage was upon elevated ground looking down upon the green Niagara river, and enjoying a view of the lake in front, and behind an extent of country covered with the untamed forest. It was the first time I had seen a forest landscape, and I looked with much interest upon this vast plain of green leaves reaching to the distant horizon; a smoke curled in one spot telling of some settler clearing his way through the green wood. The handsomest private dwellings here do not affect the Gothic or Grecian, which had prevailed along our road, but were substantial square stone or brick buildings, having a marble portico in front, an cupola upon the top, surrounded by a fancy railing. Our drive around Buffalo was very interesting, and we wondered, as we marked such a mass of solid buildings, and depots of articles from every region in the world, and such throngs of human beings deposited in a wilderness, but a few years redeemed from the Indian, the buffalo, and the bear. What industry, what energy, has been employed to bring hither all these materials. Buffalo is a frontier town, and grand portal of the west, through which is flowing a constant stream of travellers and emigrants. This mixture of all nations in the streets, give them an unique appearance. Here you see the Indian beau with his tunic bound with a crimson sash, his hat surrounded by a circle of feathers; his deer skin pantaloons richly embroidered in barbaric patterns, while ribbons and tassels swing out from his dress at every step. After him will pass a band of United States soldiers; then a rough back-woodsman, upon a horse looking as wild as himself, its uncut mane and tail waving in the wind as he gallops violently through the streets. Then follows a party of comical German emigrants; a scarlet clad British officer; a Canadian; a Frenchman; a wild looking son of Erin; a sturdy ruddy, gaiter legged English farmer; a Tonawanda squaw with her papoose upon her back; and lastly the dainty lady traveller with her foreign abigal, and fantastically dressed children. Among the crowd I observed a curious figure—a one legged negro, wearing an old uniform coat with ruffled cuffs, ringing a bell most energetically. The old English custom of sending a bell-man to proclaim the loss of any article, prevails here, as in some of our other towns, I believe. ‘What is lost, Sambo?’ inquired a person. ‘Your wits, massa,’ he replied quickly, setting his juvenile train off in a fit of laughter. To another inquirer, he replied, ‘My leg is lost, don’t you see’ holding up the stump. He is, I suppose a privileged wit, who, if he cannot set the table, no doubt does the street in a roar. The Buffalonians are a gay social people. The unamiable fashion of exclusiveness being very little known here, for, living where the population is continually changing and where strangers are constantly claiming their hospitality, they have acquired an easy unsouciant manner, and are ever forming social meetings to entertain the stranger. Our letters procured for us much kind attention, and we had an opportunity of witnessing this free hospitable spirit. In the afternoon one of our friends called, and we drove down where a fanciful yacht awaited us, and a pleasant party of ladies and gentlemen, for the purpose of taking us over to the ruined fort opposite the city. This is a favorite picnic haunt of the young citizens. Fort Erie is upon the Canadian shore, opposite Buffalo, just at the point where the Niagara river runs out of lake Erie. It was destroyed during the war of 1812.
I have scarcely enjoyed any thing so much as that sail over Lake Erie. The lake is here five or six miles broad. The water rushes swiftly past, as if eager to accomplish its glorious destiny of plunging over the rocks of Niagara, there to be a spectacle which nations come from afar to gaze upon. We caught the excitement which seemed to animate the water, as we were tossed upon its wavelets with quick, gay, tilting motion; and gazed with much delight at the novel objects around us. The city, with its numerous domes and spires; the bright Niagara rushing and gurgling at a rapid rate over the ledge of rocks which once was Erie’s barrier ere the waters burst their bounds—the gulls wheeling above us, or floating upon the waves; and above all, that immense lake, that mighty mass of sparkling emerald water, stretching far into the mysterious west. The air, breathing from the fresh forest and cool lake, was so refreshing that I was almost sorry when we reached the shore. Landing upon a sandy beach, we repaired to the fort, where under the shadow of a ruined wall, we seated ourselves upon the green sward, and while refreshing ourselves with the contents of our provision baskets, our discourse fell upon the hapless fate of those whose blood had dyed the fair turf around us; or upon other scenes which occurred during that border war. But now all this is over; conqueror and vanquished are both beneath the ‘clod of the valley’; the echo of the war trump has died away; the green earth smiles again as peacefully as if it had never drank the blood of the dying, and wall, and bastion, are fast crumbling into their parent elements. The lake, the sky, the shore, are no longer vexed with sights and sounds of strife. Alas! whence come wars and fighting among us? Must these things always be? Must earth’s children ever thus hack and tear each other? And we who are brethren, whose homes are in sight upon either shore of this bright lake, can we not dwell in unity? They who have opposite creeds, who differ in dress, in manner, in language, may and will rival, dislike, detest, fight and exterminate each other; but we, who are sons of the same father, who speak the same tongue, Oh, must we be ever thus at enmity?
[7] Though ages long have passed
Since our fathers left their home;
Their pilot in the blast
O’er untravelled seas to roam,—
Yet lives the blood of England in our veins!
And still from either beach
The voice of blood shall reach,
More audible than speech,
“We are one!”
I have said this is a favorite place of resort, and here a party of gay young people came to avoid the noise of the city, and spend a quiet day with their books and work, upon the fourth of July. Their little feast was spread under the shade of the fortress, and they were in the act of drinking to the day, when they were suddenly taken captive by a band of English soldiers. It was at that unhappy time when Canada was disturbed by revolutionary projects, and it was naturally imagined they had come there purposely to insult them. It was an imprudent frolic, and they paid dearly for it; they were marched off three miles to a military station, where, after being fully examined and no signs of revolution being found upon them, they were suffered to depart and return as they best might. I relate the anecdote to show how easily we may mistake each other’s motives, and how soon ill-blood may be brewed between those who are suspicious of each other, and ready to take offence.
While we were thus discoursing, the sky grew gradually dark, and a veil of blackness was let down over the lake, giving token of a thunder shower. We were soon in the boat which tossed very much, but we had able young seamen who landed us safely just as the sun, bursting forth, smiled at our idle fears. An evening of social pleasure ended our agreeable day.