As soon as my husband was sufficiently convalescent, we amused ourselves with visiting Staten Island, Long Island, the coast of New Jersey, and other places within a convenient distance of the city, for the advantage of change of scene and air; and also to select a country residence, with the view of ascertaining the effect of the climate, under what we conceived to be, the most advantageous circumstances. The chief of these excursions of pleasure was our trip to Albany, the State Capital of New York, situated about a hundred and fifty miles up the Hudson, or the North River, as it is here generally denominated.
Since I had been in America, I had heard, with perfect indifference, the scenery of the Hudson whispered in accents of faint praise; and as I expected to see nothing more than a fine river winding its course through a forest, I was totally unprepared for the pleasure that awaited me. It is not without some faint misgivings, arising from a latent sense of insufficiency for such a task, that I hazard an attempt to describe this charming scenery.
Embarked on board a superb steam ship, we went at a rapid rate, and quickly left the city in the distance. A long series of perpendicular rocks, of various altitudes, crowned with trees and bushes, and fluted as if by art, forms the western barrier of this noble river; on the other side, the mansions of the opulent, with their pleasure grounds, reflect a beauteous contrast. We now leave the dwellings of man, and the wildness of nature seems to maintain uninterrupted sway; when suddenly the river widens into what appears to be an expansive lake, whose glassy bosom reflects the surrounding woods and rocks, and the tree-bearing islets which it encircles. Again the stream is contracted by two gigantic rocks, which lift their ‘awful form’ from each side of its margin. We dart through this channel, and another expansive prospect opens to our view enriched with all the charms of the former, in addition to the blue mountains of Catskill in perspective. Here, it seems as if nature had studied to dispose woods, rocks, mountains, and lakes, in positions the most graceful and majestic; so sublime and lovely are the objects that meet the eye in every direction.
Besides nature’s attractions, other interesting circumstances are associated with the surrounding scenery. About forty miles above the city, is the memorable district called the neutral ground, on the borders of which the struggle was the fiercest during the revolutionary war. This is the province that Cooper has chosen for the scenes of his ‘Spy.’ Here also is the melancholy spot where the unfortunate Major Andre was captured, and the place of his execution may be seen from the river. ‘Sleepy Hollow’ was also pointed out to us, and farther on is the village of Rip Van Winkle of somniferous notoriety. Among these the rock of Sing Sing, crowned with the dismal ornament of the largest prison in world, forces itself upon our notice, and induces a feeling dashed with rather too much sadness, to be strictly pleasing.
Before this sail up the Hudson, I conceived nothing could exceed the beauties of the Isle of Wight, and some choice scenes on the lakes of Scotland; but all these must certainly yield the palm to the scenery of the Hudson. To be fully appreciated it must be seen. The surrounding objects, indeed, may be named upon paper, but who can faithfully describe the atmosphere!
The established regulations on board the steam ships, oblige the gentlemen to occupy the fore cabin, and leave the ladies in uninterrupted possession of the after one. We had therefore, no gentlemen in our company, except when on deck. Although this division of the sexes may be viewed with reluctance at first, by those who have husbands and brothers on board; yet ladies are generally reconciled to the arrangement, because they are secure from the multitudinous annoyances, produced by the free consumption of spirits and tobacco. However, the ladies and gentlemen dine together, and on the present occasion, the company amounted to above two hundred. The same scenes variously affect different persons, and this was the first time in my life that I had dined with so large and so heterogeneous an assemblage. I felt much annoyed by hearing the rough phrases bandied about among the gentlemen, while taking possession of their places. Soon, however, the dinner appeared, and the company commenced operation in earnest. Although but few words were spoken, it was by no means a silent repast; dispatch was the order of the day—I had never before seen any thing like it—and from the effect of the queer objects that presented themselves to my notice, I confess I felt a much stronger inclination for laughing than feasting. But violent exertions are usually of short duration; and in pure astonishment, I stared when the first signs proclaimed the battle to be over. The gentlemen withdrew to their part of the vessel, and the ladies to the deck, and to the best of my judgement, the whole affair was concluded in less than ten minutes!
My husband and myself embraced the first opportunity of comparing notes. The scenery and the dinner was all during the voyage, that we witnessed in common; the former we enjoyed, the latter we did not. As all the females were consigned to one particular quarter of the vessel, I had an opportunity of spending about twelve hours in company with a fair sample of the American ladies. The chilling impression left on my mind by the image of the captain’s wife, mentioned in the first chapter, had long since passed away; and although a full acquaintance with the character of that worthy lady had been of singular service to me, I was alike averse by nature and judgement, to condemn a whole nation for the reprobated failings of a single individual. The city lady might here be distinguished from the rest, as she paced the deck, by her close adherence to the latest Parisian fashions; and the plain Dutch dame by her plain Dutch dress. Otherwise, there is a greater uniformity of external appearance, than would be seen with us, under similar circumstances. One thing in particular, I must not omit, though I never heard it before observed by any individual—I mean the striking uniformity of look—the statue-like appearance of the countenance, that prevails so universally among the women. They seem to be totally incapable of expressing mental emotions by any visible change of countenance, even when conversing upon excitable subjects. The cause of this I must leave to others to determine.
My husband thus describes the proceedings in his part of the vessel:
“The fore cabin was furnished with a bar, where ardent spirits and tobacco were supplied to those of the passengers that were destitute of such blessings; and the regularity with which the glass circulated, might very well illustrate perpetual motion. The gentlemen were associated together in small groups, and were conversing on various subjects, but chiefly on that theme of which the Americans never seem to tire—the revolutionary war; the presence of an Englishman is almost certain to produce a note from this string. A number were amusing themselves by rallying a squire, as a justice of the twenty-five dollar court is here termed, and a little dark man, who figured as the deacon of a church. It appeared that the deacon was a farmer, and his neighbour the squire, kept a store for the sale of almost every thing, and for the convenience of barter, or ‘trading,’ as they call it. One cold morning during the last winter, the deacon took six bushels of wheat to the store of the squire, to be exchanged for as much salt as could be mutually agreed upon. After some time and many words were spent in manœuvering, they consented to barter measure for measure. The deacon proceeded to mete out his grain, while the squire complaining of the coldness of the morning amused himself by stamping upon his elastic floor. The deacon, of course, could not object to his neighbour warming his toes in what manner he pleased, in his own store, he therefore said nothing, although he discovered that this stamping had consolidated his six bushels of wheat into the compass of five and a half. The squire then commenced his part of the contract—to measure out the salt; and a chillness conveniently seized the toes of the deacon, which he endeavoured to counteract by stamping, after the example of the squire. ‘Stop, stop,’ said the squire, ‘what are you stamping for?’ ‘To warm my toes,’ was the answer. ‘But do you not see how you shake down the salt?’ ‘Not more than you shook down the wheat,’ was the reply. And so, as they acknowledged, ‘they got a fair trade between them.’”
There was a youth on board whom I regarded with curiosity; he bore so striking a resemblance to Brom Bones, the hero of Sleepy Hollow, that nothing was wanting but the fox’s tail in his hat to complete the similitude. I felt an unconquerable inclination to learn something of this ‘roystering blade,’ and for this purpose, I stepped up to a young man, with whom he had just been conversing, and was very soon fully gratified. From this informant I learned a few circumstances concerning the hero in question;—that, like his model, he was fond of a spirited horse; and that he had lately figured conspicuously in a race—not with a goblin for a gallon of cider, but with a more substantial personage in the form of a deacon. I quite forget his name, for the image of Brom Bones was so correctly delineated in my mind, that it entirely obliterated his proper name from my memory.