Peculiarities of American Cities

by Willard W. Glazier

The baptismal name of the embryo city of Albany was Scho-negh-ta-da, an Indian word meaning "over the plains." The name was afterwards transferred to the outlying suburban town now known as Schenectady. An immense tract of land bordering the Hudson for twenty-four miles, and reaching back from the river three times that distance, included Albany within its jurisdiction, and was originally owned by a rich Dutch merchant, one Killian Van Rensselaer, from Amsterdam. The land was purchased from the Indians for the merest trifle, after the usual fashion of white cupidity when dealing with Indian generosity and ignorance. Emigrants were sent over from the old country to people this wide domain, and thus the first white colony was established, which subsequently grew into sufficient importance to become the Capital city of the Empire State.

Before the purchase of Killian Van Rensselaer, a fort was built somewhere on what is now known as Broadway, and was named Fort Orange, in honor of the Prince of Orange, who was at that time patroon of New Netherlands, as New York was at first called. Old Fort Orange afterwards went by various names, among which were Rensselaerwyck, Beaverwyck and Williamstadt. In 1664 the sovereignty of the tract passed into the hands of the English, and was named Albany, in compliment to the Duke of Albany. In 1686 the young city aspired to a city charter, and its first mayor, Peter Schuyler, was then elected. In 1807 it became the Capital of the State. As an item of interest, it may be mentioned that the first vessel which ascended the river as far as Albany was the yacht Half Moon, Captain Hendrick Hudson commanding.

Albany, like ancient Rome, sits upon her many hills, and the views obtained from the city heights are beautiful in the extreme. The Helderbergs and the Catskill ranges loom blue and beautiful towards the south, Troy and the Green Mountains of Vermont can be seen from the north, while beyond the river, Bath-on-the-Hudson and the misty hill tops further away, rim the horizon's distant verge. The city has a large trade in lumber, and that portion of it which is known as the "lumber district" is devoted almost exclusively to this branch. One may walk, of a summer's day, along the smooth and winding road between the river and the canal, for two miles or more, and encounter nothing save the tasteful cottage-like offices, done in Gothic architecture, of the merchant princes in this trade, sandwiched between huge piles of lumber, rising white and high in the sun, and giving out resinous, piney odors. Not far from this vicinity stands the old Van Rensselaer homestead, guarded by a few primeval forest trees that have survived the wreck of time and still keep their ancient watch and ward. The old house, I have been told, is now deserted of all save an elderly lady, one of the last of the descendants of the long and ancient line of Van Rensselaer. Numerous points of interest dot the city in all directions, from limit to limit, and claim the attention of the stranger. Among the most prominent of these is, of course, the new Capitol building now in process of construction at the head of State street. A very pretty model of the structure is on exhibition in a small wooden building standing at the entrance to the grounds, which gives, I should judge, a clever idea of what the future monumental pile is to be like. Its height is very imposing, and the tall towers and minarets which rise from its roof will give it an appearance of still greater grandeur. It is built of granite quarried from Maine and New Hampshire, and is in the form of a parallelogram, enclosing an open court. Had I a sufficient knowledge of architecture to enable me to talk of orders, of pilasters, columns, entablatures and façades, I might perhaps give my readers a clearer idea of the magnificence of this new structure, which will stand without a rival, in this country at least, and may even dare to compete with some of the marvellous splendors of the old world.

The Old Capitol and the State Library stand just in front of the new building, and obscure the view from the foot of State street. The Senate and Assembly chambers in the old building have an antiquated air, with their straight-backed chairs upholstered in green and red, and the rough stairways leading to the cupola, through an unfurnished attic, are suggestive of accident. In this cupola, once upon a time, in the year 1832, a certain Mr. Weaver, tired of life and its turmoil, swung himself out of it on a rope. So the cupola has its bit of romance. In this neighborhood, on State street, above the Library, is located the Bureau of Military Statistics, which is well worth a visit from every New Yorker who takes a pride in the military glory of his native State. One is greeted at the entrance with a host of mementos of our recent civil war, which bring back a flood of patriotic memories. Here is a collection of nine hundred battle flags, all belonging to the State, most of them torn and tattered in hard service, and inscribed with the names of historic fields into which they went fresh and bright, and out of which they came smoked and begrimed, and torn with the conflict of battle. Here are old canteens which have furnished solace to true comrades on many occasions of mutual hardship. Here, too, is the Lincoln collection, with its sad reminders of the nation's loved and murdered President; and in a corner of the same room the Ellsworth collection is displayed from a glass case. His gun and the Zouave suit worn by him at the time of his death hang side by side, and there, too, is the flag which, with impetuous bravery, he tore down from the top of the Marshall House at Alexandria, Virginia. In the same case hangs the picture of his avenger, Captain Brownell, and the rifle with which he shot Jackson. In another part of the room may be seen the original letter of Governor, then Secretary, Dix, which afterwards became so famous, and which created, in a great measure, the wave of popularity that carried him into the gubernatorial chair.

The letter reads as follows:—

"Treasury Department,
January, 29th, 1861.

"Tell Lieutenant Caldwell to arrest Captain Breshwood, assume command of the cutter, and obey the order I gave through you. If Captain Breshwood, after arrest, undertakes to interfere with the command of the cutter, tell Lieutenant Caldwell to consider him as a mutineer and treat him accordingly. If any one attempts to haul down the American flag, shoot him on the spot.

"John A. Dix, Secretary of the Treasury."

The captured office chairs used by Jeff. Davis, in Richmond, the lock from John Brown's prison door at Harper's Ferry, pieces of plate from the monitors off Charleston, torpedoes from James River, the bell of the old guard-house at Fort Fisher, captured slave chains, miniature pontoon bridges, draft boxes and captured Rebel shoes, may be mentioned as a few among the many curiosities of this military bureau. Here, too, may be seen the pardon, from Lincoln, for Roswell Mclntire, taken from his dead body at the battle of Five Forks; and near by hangs the picture of Sergeant Amos Humiston, of the 154th New York Regiment, who was identified by means of the picture of his three children, found clasped in his hand as he lay dead on the field of Gettysburg. In this room, also, is the Jamestown, New York, flag, made by the ladies of that place in six hours after the attack on Sumter, and which was displayed from the office of the Jamestown Journal. Mr. Daly, the polite janitor of the building, is always happy to receive visitors, and will show them every courtesy.

The Geological Rooms, on State street, are also well worthy the time and attention of the visitor. Large collections of the various kinds of rock which underlie the soil of our country are here on exhibition, as, also, the coral formations and geological curiosities of all ages. In an upper room towers the mammoth Cohoes mastodon, whose skeleton reaches from floor to ceiling. This monster of a former age was accidentally discovered at that place by parties who were excavating for a building. In these rooms, also, there are huge jaws of whales, which enable one to better understand the disposition of the Bible whales, and how easy it must have been for them to gulp down two or three Jonahs, if one little Jonah should fail to appease the delicate appetite of such sportive fishes. I couldn't help thinking of the lost races that must have peopled the earth when this old world was young—when these fossils were undergoing formation, and these mastodons made the ground tremble beneath their tread.