We were not suffered long to look upon this pleasant picture, for at 9 o’clock we were on our way to Utica. We could see but little of Schenectady while passing through it, but it looked well at a distance. Upon an eminence above the town stands Union College a fine building of grey stone.
Schenectady is an Indian name spelt by them Schan-naugh-ta-da; meaning ‘the Pine Plains,’ a fitting name, for the pine is universal here. This town has been the property of many different nations—the Mohawk, the French, the Dutch, and the English having each in succession ruled its destinies.
After leaving the town, we entered at once the glorious valley of the Mohawk which runs nearly westerly, and whose course we followed eighty miles to Utica. There may be lovelier vallies in the world, but certainly not another like this, for it is unique in its kind. Imagine a long green valley covered with rich farms—through its centre a bright transparent river, having a rail road on one bank and a canal on the other; while a range of hills frame in the picture on each side. So straight is this valley, that canal, river, and rail road run parallel, and within sight of each other nearly all the way.
It was one of June’s sweetest mornings when we passed the shores of the pretty Mohawk, and I was never weary of gazing down into its smiling face, as we glided along; or of watching the lazy canal boat dragging its rich freight at the foot of those soft green hills opposite; or, of peeping out the coach at the rugged cliffs, which reared their bare heads far above our road.
There are many little villages on this route, where we stopped to refresh ourselves, or to fill the engine. The first was Amsterdam a small Dutch settlement. Near this place stands a handsome stone edifice which is renowned in the annals of New York as the residence of Grey Johnson and his brother Sir William, the dreamer. At these towns there are hotels, and at other spots refreshment houses, built at the road side, where you are allowed a few minutes to rest. You are shown into large rooms set out with long narrow tables, bearing loads of coffee, oysters, cakes, pies, fruit lemonade, etc.,—you pile your plate with good things, stir around your coffee or tea, when tingle! goes the bell ‘all aboard!’ rings in your ears, and you have just time to put your 25 cents into the attendants hands and yourself in a car when puff! and away you go. Some of these towns are pretty, as St Johns, Fonda, Canajoharie, Herkimer, and many others.—What hungry people these travellers are! at every refreshment station the tables were crowded and at the signal they rushed into the cars each with a cake or pie, or apple, to finish at his leisure. We may say with Horace,
‘At Fundi we refused to bait.’
One would imagine he was speaking of our little Fonda, which is here pronounced as Horace spells it. It was named after the celebrated Col. Fonda.
Fort Plain is a pretty place on the other bank of the river; here I longed to ‘stay one turn’ to hammer a specimen from the encrinal lime-rock which is found there. The little falls of the Mohawk is a delightful place. The river here forces its way through a rocky country and falls over successive ledges of rock in pretty cascades. The beauty of the scene does not consist in altitude, but in number and variety of these saults; and the foaming river rushing over its rocky bottom or winding around its tiney islets, and in the towering cliffs around it. The village is seated upon each side of the river, connected by a handsome marble aqueduct leading to the canal basin, and by a neat bridge for carriages. The scene as we approached was very pretty. You see a frame work of rugged cliffs, enclosing a noisy rushing river with numerous cascades, its shores crowned with white buildings, and spanned by a noble bridge; the canal boat is seen creeping at the foot of the hills opposite, while the steeples, court house and hotels, are peeping from the trees which cover the sloping bank at our right. Perched upon every jutting point and grouped around the shores were many shanties occupied by the children of Erin who have kindly volunteered to make our rail roads and canals.
When the train stopped before the hotel, instead of the usual sound of ‘Newspapers,’ or ‘Nuts,’ or ‘Apples to sell,’ I heard young voices asking if we wanted some diamonds! Surprised, I looked out and beheld several little girls holding up small boxes containing Quartz Crystals. We of course became purchasers, and found among them some very perfect and pure. ‘Where do you find these?’ I asked. ‘Oh, all among the cliffs ma’am,’ she answered in the Hibernian tongue—‘and if its stop ye wud, I’d show ye to the diamond holes where I often dig up the ful of my pocket.’ We observed this was a large town, having several churches, dwellings, a handsome court house, and many large manufacturers. Geologists tell us this was one shore of that lake of which the highlands were the southern boundary. How it came to wear through these hills and run away to the sea no one can ever know. The rocks here are limestone, principally; but I observed there was with it some fine granite. There was an old man among our passengers, who had lived here ‘when all this was a wilderness.’ He amused us with some stories of past times; one of which I think interesting enough to tell you. Here it is to fill up the page.
During the War of Independence there were two brothers, who, although they were brothers, could not think alike; they joined opposite sides in the war. It happened while the Division under Gen. Herkimer was destitute of arms, ammunition and clothing, he heard of the approach of the English troops. Fight he could not; fly he would not; and he was seeking some stratagem to better his situation, when fortunately, for him, the English brother having strayed too near his camp was taken up as a spy. The brothers, who had been long separated met once more; but it was a bitter meeting, for one was a prisoner and condemned to die. In spite of their different sentiments they loved each other. The prisoner earnestly entreated his brother, who was the General’s Aid, to use all the influence in his power to save his life. The Aid was conscious he could not succeed unless he made the ‘worse appear the better reason;’ for his brother had been fairly captured as a spy, and in consequence of some bloody deeds of the enemy, his life was to be forfeited. With a heavy heart and darkened brow he entered the General’s tent.