Google
This is a digital copy of a book lhal w;ls preserved for general ions on library shelves before il was carefully scanned by Google as pari of a project
to make the world's books discoverable online.
Il has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one thai was never subject
to copy right or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books
are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often dillicull lo discover.
Marks, notations and other marginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the
publisher lo a library and linally lo you.
Usage guidelines
Google is proud lo partner with libraries lo digili/e public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order lo keep providing this resource, we have taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial panics, including placing Icchnical restrictions on automated querying.
We also ask that you:
+ Make n on -commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request thai you use these files for
personal, non -commercial purposes.
+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort lo Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.
+ Maintain attribution The Google "watermark" you see on each lile is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.
+ Keep it legal Whatever your use. remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is slill in copyright varies from country lo country, and we can'l offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe.
About Google Book Search
Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through I lie lull lexl of 1 1 us book on I lie web
al |_-.:. :.-.-:: / / books . qooqle . com/|
o
LETTEES.
3
FROM
.%
THE BACKWOODS
AND THE
f
ADIRONDAC.
BY
THE REV. J. T. HEADLEY.-:
./
1 %
NEW YORK:
JOHN S. TAYLOR,
143 NASSAU STREET.
1850.
'•'A
1
i
BOOKS
PUBLISHED BY JOHN S. TAYLG
143 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.
CHEAP EDITIONS IN PAPER COVER*.
LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS AND THE
RONDAC. By Rey. J. T. Headley. 1 vol. 12mo. 38 cenl
HISTORY OF THE PERSECUTIONS AND BATTLI
THE WALDENSES. By Rev. J. T. Headley. 1 vol. 12n
lustrated. 38 cents.
THE POWER OF BEAUTY. By Rev. J. T. Headli
vol. 12mo., illustrated. 50 cents.
HUGO: A LEGEND OF ROCKLAND LAKE. By
E. Oakes Smith. 1 vol. 12mo., illustrated. 50 cents.
N. B. The above books will be forwarded to order, by n
any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the
for the same, which may be sent by mail.
Address
JOHN S. TAYLOR, Publuhe
New J
V
o
LETTERS
FROM
THE BACKWOODS
AND TIIE
ADIRONDAC.
■.!.-■#
THE REV. J. T. HEADLEY.
NEW YOUK:
JOHN S. TAYLOR,
143 NASSAU STREET.
1850.
ffm^Mr
Entered According to the Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by
JOHN 8. TAYLOR,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of
New York.
CONTENTS,
LETTER I.
MOUNT TAHAWUS, 5
LETTER II.
LOG DRIVING, . 10
LETTER III.
ASCENT OF MOUNT TAHAWUS— DIFFICULTIES OF THE
WAY— GLORIOUS PROSPECT FROM THE TOP, . . 16
LETTER IV.
DESCENT FROM MOUNT TAHAWUS, . . .25
LETTER V.
THE INDIAN PASS, .31
LETTER VI.
LONG LAKE, 3D
LETTER VII.
TROUT FISHING— MITCHELL, „ . . . .46
IV CONTENTS.
LETTER VIII.
TROUTING — A DUCK PROTECTING HER YOUNG BY
STRATAGEM—SABBATH IN THE FOREST, . . 53
LETTER IX.
LONG LAKE COLONY— A LOON— CROTCHET LAKE, . 59
LETTER X.
SHOOTING A DEER— SUPPER IN THE WOODS— MODERN
SENTIMENTALISTS— THE INFLUENCE OF NATURE, 65
LETTER XL
FLOATING DEER— A NIGHT EXCURSION— MORNING IN
THE WOODS, . . . . . . .72
LETTER XII.
LOST IN THE WOODS— AN OLD INDIAN AND HIS DAUGH-
TER— MITCHELL— ADIRONDAC IRON WORKS, . 80
LETTER XIII.
THE FIRE ISLANDS, . . . . .86
LETTER XIV.
THE FIRE ISLANDS, 92
LETTER XV.
THE FIRE ISLANDS, 99
\
LETTERS
FROM
THE BACKWOODS.
LETTER I.
MOUNT TAHAWUS.
, June 18^-
I can scarcely believe, as I stand this evening and
look around on the forest that girdles me in, and
hear naught but the dash of the waterfall at the base
of yonder gloomy mountain, or the rapid song of the
whippowil as it rings like the notes of a fife through
the clear air, that I stood a few days ago in Broad-
way, and heard only the surge of human life as it
swept fiercely by. The change could not be greater
if I had been transferred to another planet. The
paved street changed for the mountain slope — the
rattle of omnibuses and carriages for the rush of
streams and music of wind amid the tree tops — the
voices of the passing multitude for the song of birds
and chirp of the squirrel. It seems but a day since I
2
6 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
stood where the living current rolls strongest, and felt
perfectly at home amid the walled houses and packed
city ; yet now, as the tress shake their green awning
over my head, and the great luminous stars sparkle
in the intensely clear sky that seems to rest its bright
arch almost on the tops of the tall hemlocks, New
York appears like a past dream. Oh, how quiet na-
ture, is ! In New York, everything is in a hurry.
There is not a man there that fralks the streets who
seems to be at leisure. Even the horses catch the
hurrying spirit; and everything goes tearing along
as if the minutes were crowded with great events. But
look ! See how lazily that tree swings its green top
in the wind — how quietly the brook goes talking to
itself through the forest — and how leisurely the very
clouds swing themselves over the evening heavens!
Just stand here a moment on the edge of this clearing,
and listen to the sounds that rise on the evening air.
The drowsy tinkle of the cow-bell sinks like long-for-
gotten music on the heart, while the scream of the
night-hawk far up in the .heavens seems like a voice
from the spirit world. Its dusky form glances now
and then on the eye, and then is lost in the.far upper
regions, while his cry pierces clear and shrill through
the gloom, telling where his pinion still floats him on-
ward. The smoke of the clearing wreaths in slow and
spiral columns skyward; while the whistle of the
woodman, as he shoulders his axe and wends his
weary way to his log hut, is the only human sound
that disturbs the tranquillity of the scene. And now
the twilight deepens over all. The fire of the distant
MOUNT TAHAWUS. 7
fallow flashes up in the darkness, and the cry of the
boding owl comes like a voice of Warning on the ear.
How, under the influences of such a scene, the heart
throws off link after link of its bondage, and the soul
loses its sternness and fierce excitement, and becomes
subdued as a child's ! The man sinks before the early
dreamer, and dear associations come thronging back
'on the staggering memory like sad angels, and the
spirit reaches forth its arms after the good and the
true. At least it is so with me ; and the presence of
nature changes me so that I scarcely know myself.
A new class of feelings and emotions is awakened
within me — new hopes and new resolutions spring to
birth. I think more of that unseen world towards
which I am so rapidly borne, and of the mysteries of
the life that surrounds me. In New York, life is all
practical and outward. Action, action, action is the
constant cry, and action it is till thought gets fright-
ened away.
Ice-cream saloons — crowds on crowds of prome-
naders — the rattle of wheels — the ringing of the fire
bells, and one continuous roar rising like the sea over
all, are the contrasts your city now presents to the
scene I have been describing. The night closes over
haunts of vice, dens of infamy, the gambling house,
and the drunken revel. Behold how peacefully it here
shuts down over the forest, where the wild bird has
gone to sleep beside its mate, and not a restless un-
holy spirit is abroad !
And then the morning — how different! The morn-
ing in New York is always associated in my mind
8 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
with markets. Soon as the sun mounts the dusty
heavens, New York seems to open its mouth and rush
for the markets. But here by the forest, as the un-
clouded sun wheels with a lordly majestic motion
above the mountain, ten thousand birds seem to have
awakened at once. I would you could listen a moment.
It is a perfect-storm of sound. From the soft warble
of the robin to the shrill scream of the woodpecker, '
there is every variety of note, and yet all in accord.
I said nature was quiet, and every moving thing at
leisure ; but I was mistaken. These birds seem to be
in a hurry, as if they had not time to utter all their
music ; and they pour it forth in such rapid, thrilling
strains, that the ear is perfectly confused.
Ah ! there are other times when nature is not tran-
quil ; for now, while I am writing, a dark shadow has
fallen on my paper, and as I look up I see the sun has
left the blue sky and buried his burning forehead in a
black thunder cloud that is heaving, gloomy as mid-
night, over the mountain. The lightning searches its
bosom, as with an assassin's knife, and the deep low
growl that follows is like the slow waking up of wrath.
The distant tree tops rock to and fro in the gathering
blast, and a hush like death is on everything. Still
I love it. I love the strong movement of those black
masses. They seem conscious of power and of the
terror of their frown, as it darkens on the crouching
earth. It is black as midnight ; but I know before
long the sunbeams will burst forth like the smile of
God, the birds break out in sudden thanksgiving, and
the blue sky kiss the green mountain in delight.
MOUNT TAHAWU0. 9
Thus does nature change — yet is ever beautiful in
her changes. I did not design, when I commenced
this letter, to fill it up with such a diary of my feel-
ings ; but the truth is, when I first get into the coun-
try, at least into the backwoods, I wish to do nothing
for the first two or three days but lie down on the hill-
side, and look at the trees and sky, and think of the
strange contrast between the life I have just left and
the one that surrounds me. It takes some time to ad-
just myself to it — quite a preparation — before I can
enter on that active life of fishing, tramping, and
camping out in the woods, which my health demands;
and it is but natural you should have my transition
state. At least, it is natural I should write out that
which is uppermost in me.
I expect soon to start for the Adirondao Mountains,
at whose broken terminations I now rest. I have some
things to say about Long Lake and Mr. Todd's co-
lony there, which will put your readers right respect-
ing it. You know, two years ago, that Mr. Todd took
me up rather sharply in your paper on account of
some statements I made respecting that country. I
made no reply then; but I will now show that I was
not only right in every particular, but that every
prediction I then made of the fate of the colony has
already proved true.
2*
10 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
LETTER II.
LOG DRIVING.
Backwoods, July 6th.
Did you ever witness a log driving ? It is one of
the curiosities of the backwoods, where streams are
made to subserve the purpose of teams. On the
steep mountain side, and along the shores of the
brook which in spring time becomes a swollen torrent,
tearing madly through the forest, the tall pines and
hemlocks are felled in winter and dragged or rolled
to the brink of the streams. Here every man marks
his own, as he would his sheep, and then rolls them
in, when the current is swollen by the rains. The
melted snow along the acclivities comes in a perfect
jheet of water down, and the streams rise as if by
magic to the tops of their banks, and a broad, resist-
less current goes sweeping like a live and gloomy
thing through the deep forest. The foam-bubbles
sparkle on the dark bosom that floats them on, and
past the boughs that bend with the stream, and by
the precipices that frown sternly down on the tumult.
The rapid waters shoot onward like an arr*ow, or
rather a visible spirit on some mysterious errand,
seeking the loneliest and most fearful passages the
LOG DRIVING. 11
untrodden wild can furnish. I have seen the waves
running like mad creatures in mid ocean, and watched
with strange feelings the moonlit deep as it gently
rose and fell like a human bosom in the still night ;
but there is something more mysterious and fearful
than these in the calm yet lightning-like speed of a
deep, dark river, rushing all alone in its might and
majesty through the heart of an unbroken forest.
You cannot see it till you stand on the brink, and
then it seems so utterly regardless of you or the
whole world, without, hasting sternly on to the ac-
complishment of some dread purpose!
But such romance as this never enters the head of
your backwoodsman. The first question he puts him-
self, as he thrusts his head through the branches and
looks up and down the current, is — " Is the stream
high enough to run logs ?" If it is, then fall to work:
away go the logs, one after another, down the bank,
and down the mountain, with a bound and a groan,
splash into the water.
The heavy rains about the first of July had so
swollen the stream near which I am located, that all,
thoughts of fishing for several days were abandoned,
and the log drivers had it all to themselves. So,
strolling through the forest, I sooa heard the continu-
ous roar that rose up through the leafy solitudes, and
in a few moments stood on a shelving rock, and saw
the lark-swift' stream before me as it issued from the
cavernous green foliage above, and disappeared with-
out a struggle in the same green abyss below. I
stood for a long time lost in thought. How much
12 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
like life was that current in its breathless haste— how
like it, too, in its mysterious appearance and depart-
ure ! It shot on my sight without a token of its ,
birthplace, and vanished without leaving a sign
whither it had gone. So comes and goes this mys-
terious life of ours — this fearful time-stream, sweeping
so noiselessly and steadily on. And there where that
bubble dances and swims, now floating, calmly though
swiftly, along the surface, and now caught in an eddy,
and whirled in endless gyrations round, and now buf-
feted back by the hard rock against whose side it was
cast, is another life symbol. Such am I and such is
every man — bubbles on the dread time-stream ; now
moving calmly over the waters of prosperity — now
caught in the eddies of misfortune, till, bewildered and
stunned, we are hurled against the rocks of discou-
ragement ; yet, ever afloat, and ever borne rapidly on,
we are moving from sight to be swallowed up in that
vast solitude from whose echoless depths no voice
has ever yet returned. Life, life ! how solemn and
mysterious thou art ! I could weep as I lean from
this rock and gaze on the dark rushing waters.
Thought crowds on thought, and sad memories come
sweeping up, and future forebodings mingle in the
solemn 'gathering, $nd emotions no one has ever yet
expressed, and feelings that have struggled since
time began for utterance, swell like that swollen
water over my heart, and make me inconceivably sad
here in the depths of the forest.
How long I might have stbod absorbed in this half-
dreamy, half-thoughtful mood, I know not, had I not
LOG DRIVING. 13
heard a shout below me. Passing down, I soon came
to a steep bank, at the base of which several men
were tumbling logs into the stream. I watched them
for some time, and was struck with the coolness with
which one would stand half Under a perfect embank-
ment of logs, and hew away to loosen the whole,
while another with a handspike kept them back.
Once, after a blow, I saw the whole mass start, when
" Take care! take care !" burst in such startling tones
from my lips, that the cool chopper sprung as if stung
by an adder ; then, with a laugh at his own foolish
fright, stepped back to his place again. The man
with the handspike never even turned his head, but
with a half grunt, as much as to say " Green horn
from the city," held on. It was a really exciting
scene — the mad leaping away of those huge logs, and
their rapid, arrowy-like movement down the stream.
At length I off with my coat, and, laying my gun
aside, seized a handspike, and was soon behind a
huge log, tugging and lifting away. I was on the
top of a high bank, and when the immense timber
gave way, and bounded with a dull sound from rock
to rock, till it struck with a splash into the very cen-
tre of the current, my sudden shout followed it. As
that log struck the water, it buried itself out of sight,
and then, as it rose to the surface for a single
moment, it stood perfectly still in its place except that
it rolled rapidly on its axis — the next moment it
yielded to the impetuosity of the current, and darted
away as if inherent with life, and moved straight
towards a precipice that frowned over the water be-
*
■ \
4 •*. .'
•> e*?y* >■/•* ^ A y >tf £ i/ . v £ v
o
LETTEES.
3
FROM
\
THE BACKWOODS
AND THE
r
ADIRONDAC.
BY
THE REV. J. T. HEADLEY. •:
./
NEW YORK.'
JOHN S. TAYLOR,
143 NASSAU STREET.
1850.
-J
18 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
across his breast, exclaiming, 'I am shot !' His little
son fainted, and fell at my feet. As soon as I could,
I hurried to the spot, and found Mr. "Henderson sit-
ting on the ground, supported by his friend, and going
fast." He committed his soul to his Maker, told his
son to be a good boy and give his love to his mother,
and in a few minutes more passed the mystery of
mysteries, and entered on the scenes of the boundless
hereafter. He was a man of noble character and
generous disposition, and loved by all who knew him.
It is singular to observe how often men fall victims
to that which they most dread and most guard against.
Mr. Henderson was nervously afraid of firearms ; so
much so that he could not see a man passing along
the street with a gun on his shoulder, without going
out to inquire if it was loaded. He carried the pistol
solely as a means of defence in the woods, and in lay-
ing it down on a rock, struck the lock while the
muzzle was pointed directly towards him. Poor
Cheney stood and sighed over the spot, and shook his
head mournfully, exclaiming, "Oh, he was a noble
man!" It was affecting to witness such deep and last-
ing feeling in a man who had spent half his life in the
woods. — You can well imagine that it was with silent
and thoughtful steps, and some sad forebodings, we
again entered the bosom of the forest.
But I will not enter into the details of this tedious
tramp. I cannot make you see the dark spruce fo-
rest, with its carpet of moss, and paths of wild deer
and bears trodden hard by their frequent passage
from the mountains to the streams; nor induce you
ASCENT TO MOUNT TAHAWUS. 19
to follow with your eye that crooked river that seems,
since we last crossed it, to have stolen round and lain
in ambush in our path, so suddenly and unexpectedly
does it again appeaf before us. But, after wading it
half a dozen times, just stand here a moment on the
bank of a new stream, and look through those huge-
hemlocks into that awful mountain gorge. That
lonely sheet of water, spreading there so dark and yet
so still, is Lake Colden, and looks, amid those savage
and broken hills, like Innocence sleeping oh the lap
of Wrath. How peaceful and how lonely it seems in
its solitude ! — and it shall linger in the memory like
some half-sad, half-pleasant dream.
From this we struck across to the Opalescent River
— so called from the opalescent stones, some of which
are very beautiful, that are found in its channel — and
followed its rocky bed five miles into the mountains.
Now wading across, and now leaping from rock to
rock, and again striking out into the thick forest, to
get around a deep gulf or cataract, we pressed on till
one o'clock, wjien we hallooed each other together,
and began to prepare for dinner. Some old and
shivered trees, which the floods of spring had brought
down and lodged ugainst the rocks, served us for fuel.
Over the crackling fire we hung our tea-kettle, which
we filled from the limpid stream that crept in rivulets
around our feet, and, placing some large slices of pork
on the ends of sticks which we held in the blaze, soon
had our dinner under full headway.
Amid the laughter and freedom inseparable from
a lire in the woods, we whiled away an hour, then
±f> LETTERS TBLGll TKZ BACKWOODS.
shouldered again oar knapsacks ami pressed on. The
ikj 7 which, was clear and beautiful in the rooming,
had drawn a Te3 over its face,, and the eLovis* thicken-
ing erery moment gave omen of a stormy night and
gloom j da j to come. When we set cwt, we expected
to encamp at the base of the main peak over night,
and ascend next morning, bat I told Chenej we must
be on the top before sunset, for in the morning im-
penetrable clouds might rest open it* and all our
labor be lost. We were weary enough to halt, and
a more forlorn-looking company yon nerer saw than
we were, as we straggled like a flock of sheep np the
bed of the stream. At length it began to climb the
mountain in cataracts, and we after it. It was now
nearly three o'clock, and we had been walking since
seven in the morning. Wearied and completely
fagged oat, it seemed almost impossible to make the
ascent. Up, up, at an angle of nearly forty-five de-
grees — flogged and torn at every step by the long,
thorn-like branches of the spruce trees — leaping from
rock to rock, or crawling from some cavity into which
we had fallen through the treacherous moss, we panted
on, striving in vain to get even a sight of the summit
that mocked our hard endeavors. One hunter with
us several times gave out completely, and we were
compelled to stop and wait for him. Crossing now
a bear-track, and now coming to a bed where a moose
had rested the night before, we at length saw the
naked cone, forming the extremest summit of the
mountain. There it stood, round, gray, cold, and
naked, in the silent heavens. A deep gully lay be-
ASCENT TO MOUNT TAHAWUS. 21
tween us and it, filled with spruce trees about three
feet high, and growing so close together as to form a
perfect matting. Through these it was almost im-
possible to force our way, and indeed, in one instance,
I walked a considerable distance on the tops, without
touching ground. This difficulty being surmounted,
next came the immense cone of rock, bending its awful
arch away into the heavens, seemingly conscious of
its majesty and grandeur. Up this we were compelled
to go, a part of the time, on all fours *; but M length,
at four o'clock, we stood on the bald crown. The
sun, though stooping to the western horizon, seemed
near the zenith, and not to move one minute of a
degree downward on its path. But how shall I de-
scribe the prospect below and around ? I have stood
on the Alps, and looked off on a sea of peaks, and re-
mained awe-struck amid the majesty and terror around
me — feeling as if I were treading on the margin of
Jehovah's mantle. But the bright snow-cliffs and
flashing glaciers gave life and animation -to the scene,
while here all was green, dark, and sombre. Those
are not peaks around us, but huge misshapen masses,
pushing their gigantic proportions heavenward — now
formed of black rock that undulates along the sum-
mit like a frozen wave, and now covered with low
dark fir trees, that seem like a drapery of mourning
over some sleeping or dead monster. All around is
wilder than fancy ever painted or described. Scarce
a hand's breadth of cultivated land in the whole mo-
tionless panorama. There, far, far below, stretching
away for miles, is a deep dark lane through the forest,
3*
22 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
telling where a swift river is sweeping onward, but
not a murmur rises up to this still spot, nor a flash of
its bright waters escapes from the sullen woods that
shut it in. To your left is Mount Mclntyre, black
as night, and rising from the sea of forest below like
some monument of a past world. There, too, is Mount
Colden, and further on White Face, with the immense
scar on its forehead ; and there, and there — but it is~
vain even to count the summits that seem to have
been piled here in some awful hurry of nature. As
you thus stand with your face to the south, the whole
range of the Green Mountains, from Canada to where
they sink into Massachusetts stretches in one grand
bold pencil-stroke along the sky. Far away to the
southeast, a storm is raging, and the clouds lift and
heave along the dark bosom of the mountain, like the
foldings of a vast curtain stirred by the wind. At
the base, and losing itself in the distance, spreads
away Lake Champlain, with all its green islands on
its bosom. From this immense height and distance,
the elevated banks disappear, and the whole beautiful
sheet appears like water flowing over a flat country.
Burlington is a mere toy-shop in the hazy distance.
Turning to the west and southwest, you overlook all
that primeval wilderness of which Long Lake is the
centre ; and how grand and gloomy is the scene — an
interminable forest, now descending in a bold sweep
to the margin of some lake, and now climbing and
overstepping the lordly mountain in its progress.
Summit overlaps summit, ridge intersects ridge, and
all flowing away together, in one wild majestic sea,
ASCENT TO MOUNT TAHAWUS. 23
towards the western horizon. The only relief to this
solitude is the lakes that dot the bosom of the forest
in every direction. Butthere is one as far as the
eye can reach, which, either from its overshadowed
position, or the natural hue of its water, is black as
ink. It looks in its still and dark aspect like the pool
of death ! But what a tremendous gulf surrounds you,
as you thus stand nearly six thousand feet in the air,
on this isolated dome ! On one side, where the forest
comes boldly up to the base, an avalanche of earth
has swept, cutting a lane for itself through the strong
trees, like the scythe of the mower through the grass.
But just take one more sweep of the eye around
the horizon before those clouds which come dashing
so like spirits through the gulfs, leaving a night-cap
on every summit in their progress, shall obstruct the
vision. You take in an area of nearly<four hundred
miles in circumference just by turning on your heel.
Oh, how thought crowds on thought, and emotion
struggles with emotion, as you stand and gaze on this
scene where the Almighty seems to have wrought
with his sublimest power ! Cities and kingdoms — the
battling of armies — the struggles of the multitude,
and the ambition and strifes of men, sink away into
insignificance. The troubles of life seem small, and
its petty anxieties and cares are all forgotten. God
and nature seem one, and sublimity and power their
only attributes. One cannot refrain from asking
himself unceasingly, did His strong arm heave those
mountains on high and lay their deep foundations ?
Did His hand spread this limitless mantle of green
24 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
below, sprinkle all these lakes around, and fill these
vast solitudes with life? Subdued and solemn, the
soul whispers the reply to its own inquiries, and in-
voluntarily renders homage to the Infinite One.
But all scenes must end, and we prepared to de-
part. As I came to the brow of a rock and looked
off, I heard a shout below, and there, toiling painfully
up, I saw a friend, a young clergyman, who had pro-
mised to meet me at Adirondac, but did not arrive till
after we left. He was dripping with perspiration ; and
I took my green blanket, and folding him also in it,
walked back oyer the summit, to give him the view I
had been gazing oil for an hour. The freezing blast
swept with piercing power over us ; but, though my
teeth were chattering with cold, I enjoyed the mute
surprise and awe of my friend as he stood and gazed
around him.
At length, approaching night warned us to depart,
for we had yet to build us a hut to sleep in, and get
our supper before dark, and so we bade the lordly
summit good bye, and clattered furiously down its
sides.
DESCENT FROM MOUNT TAHAWUS. 25
LETTER IV.
DESCENT FROM MOUNT TAHAWUS.
On our descent from Mount Tahawus, we began to
look eagerly around for a dry spot where we might
make our encampment. Cheney, who was at the
head of our straggling column, with his axe in his
hand, pushing on at a break-neck pace, finally halted,
and said that we must stop somewhere immediately,
for it was growing dark, and we should not be able
to build our shanty or cut fuel for the night. The
place he chose was a damp mossy spot, darkly sha-
dowed with fir trees. It was a gloomy-looking place ;
but we were all too tired to make any objection, and
so, in a few minutes, two or three axes were resound-
ing through the forest, and crack ! crash ! went the
trees on every side of us. "Each man must pick his
own bed," said our guide ; which meant that every
man must cut what boughs he himself wanted. I
crawled up from the stream where I had been sitting
bathing my feverish hands and face, and went to
work. Scattered around, all were busy hacking off
fir tree boughs with their knives, while the guides
and strong men who accompanied us drew huge trees
together for a fire, and put up a shanty. It was
26 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
voted to place nothing but green boughs over this for
a covering from the dew ; but the dark and sombre
heavens told too well that a storm was at hand, and
I insisted that bark should be placed at least over
the spot I occupied. They finally covered the whole
with bark, and it was well they did, for the rain soon
began to come down, and continued to fall the live-
long night. But our fire blazed up cheerfully in the
gloom; the long trunks were on fire from end to end;
tfhile those standing near would now and then shoot
up a spiral flame, conspiring to render the scene still
more picturesque. One tree, standing close by, threat-
ened to burn off before morning, and I asked the
guide if it would not be dangerous to ' sleep so
near it. He cast his eye up the tall trunk a moment,
and coolly replied, as he slashed off a piece of roast
venison, that "it would fall t'other way." This was
calculating rather closer than I liked, but one soon
learns there is no appeal from the decision of a hunt-
er. We presented a singular group as we sat in a
semicircle around our blazing fire, each with his morsel
on a chip before him. At length, however, we turned
in. With a few boughs placed over a green stump
just cut, for a pillow, I rolled myself in my blanket,
and stretched out before the fire. In a short time,
the crackling of the flames and the low steady patter
of the rain on the leaves sung me to sleep, and my
troubles were forgotten. About midnight, however,
I was waked up by an intense heat, and, rousing my-
self, I looked about a moment and laughed long and
loud. One poor fellow, who had lain and shivered
DESCENT FROM MOUNT TAHAWUS. 27
without anything oyer him in the damp air, had got
up and piled on such a quantity of dry fuel, that it
was roasting hot. A row of men lay stretched out
before me like pickled herring, and it was inconceiva-
bly ludicrous to see them turn and twist in their
sleep to escape the heat. First on one side and then
on the other, they kept rolling about, until at length
one started up, and looking a moment at the fire,
shot like a bolt into the woods. Another and an-
other followed in speechless silence, until the wholfe
shanty -was empty of every one but myself. I lay
at the extreme end, and hence could safely watch
operations. •
The morning, the welcome morning, at length
came, though with a heavy fog, and we again took
up our line of march through the wet woods, and at
noon emerged into the little clearing where are sta-
tioned the Adirondac Iron Works. "Oh, but weary
wights were we" — nearly every man of us, from the
hunter down, more dead than alive. I was struck, on
this expedition, and indeed on several others, with
the kindness of Mr. B n, a tall, powerful man,
with one of those frames of iron which encase a feel-
ing and generous heart. He seemed to take special
charge of me, offering continually to ease me of my
load, and at night always insisting I should have the
best spot in which to sleep. Some of the time I suf-
fered severely in the woods from sickness, and then
there was nothing he would not do for me. I never
before received kindness which so won upon me, and
28 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
the remembrance of which fills me with more grate-
ful feelings.
The next day was the Sabbath, and though eighty
or a hundred workmen are congregated here, there
is no Sabbath to them except that which the lordly
hills have — solemn and majestic, it may be, but with
no preacher but nature. We persuaded W— — d,
tired as he was, to preach ; and word was sent round
to the few inhabitants. They came together in a
little unplastered room, and listened attentively to
two certainly most excellent discourses. It was
pleasant to keep Sabbath amid the old hills. It was
a beautiful day, and deep silence rested on the mount-
ains and forest, and the voice of prayer went up
with the great hymn of nature. And oh, how quietly
and sadly the Sabbath evening came down on that
lonely spot, and how brightly the great stars looked
with their luminous eyes over the mountain heights !
My heart went back to my friends, and I lay down
and dreamed of those I loved.
There was one thing, however, I did not Hke. The
agent of these iron works, a Scotchman by birth,
and his wife, were the only professors of religion in
this' spot, and yet he charged my friend W d for
keeping him over the Sabbath. If two sermons
were not worth a day's board, he cannot value the
Gospel very, highly. His tax for the support of reli-
gious services would be rather small, one would sus-
pect, and it was the least he could do to give the
man who had labored for his good and those under
him a free house and an open heart. I had much
DESCENT FROM MOUNT TAHAWUS. 29
rather he would have added the amount to my bill,
for he was a gentlemanly man, and treated us with
great kindness.
Some may ask what kind of animals roam these
forests. First, there is the moose, the tallest of
American wild animals, being found sometimes eight
feet high. They are commonly hunted in the spring
on snow shoes. The snow usually falls here to the
depth of four and five feet; and in the early spring,
after a thaw and subsequent frost, a stiff crust is
formed which will sustain the hunter on his snow
shoes, while it cuts dreadfully the legs of the moose.
Hence they do not travel at tins season, but, as the
hunters call it, "yard" That is, one, or two, or
three together, will beat down the snow around them
in some retired damp place and browse as they beat.
Another will take a low hill, covered with those trees
producing buds fit to eat, and while the snow is moist
begin to travel round and round it, cutting it all up
into winding paths. He will not stop to eat: but
when the snow becomes frozen, he follows the path
he has made, browsing as he goes. When found in
this position, he cannot run, for the deep snow and
sharp crust are too much for him, and he falls an easy
victim to the rifle of the hunter. Deer are frequently
killed in the same way, and the woods are full of
them. The wolf then has his feast, for his soft
spreading paw sustains him as he glides over the
crust, while the sharp hoof of the poor deer cuts
through at every step, and he is easily overtaken.
The bears buried under the snow, or rocks, or roots
d
SO LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
*
of trees, sleep out the long winter. Panthers are
now and then met, but they are shy of man, and
their "sinister faces seldom intrude on his march
through the forest. Otters and sables are found,
and the American eagle here soars in his native free-
dom, lord of the mountain crag. Many a savage
fight occurs in this wilderness between the hunters
and wild animals. A cow moose, with her calf be-
side her, will fight either dogs or men with desperate
ferocity, and a wounded deer will sometimes turn at
bay.
. The lakes and streams are full of fish — trout of
the finest quality ; arid as long as one keeps by the
water-courses, *he need not fear starvation. It is im-
possible, however, to get food on the mountains.
There all is still, solemn, and deserted, and one
moves amid the gigantic forms of nature as if he
were treading on the ruins of a past world. The
thunder breaking over their summits is the only
sound that disturbs their repose. The river borne in
their bosom seems afraid to speak aloud till it has
reached the valley below ; while the forest folds them
in with its drapery of green in majestic silence. The
only bold thing there is the wind, which shakes their
green crests with a despotic hand, and shouts aloud
or whispers low, as suits its own erratic mood*
THE. INDIAN PASS, SI
LETTER V.
THE INDIAN PASS.
The only object remaining for me to visit, before I
returned again to civilized life, was the famous Indian
Pass — probably the most remarkable mountain gorge
in this country. On Monday morning, a council was
called of our party, to determine whether we should
visit it. A teamster from the settlements had agreed
to come for us this day, to take us out the next; but
some of our number, fearing his inability to get through
the woods in one day, proposed we should abandon
all further expeditions, and make our way homeward.
But the Indian Pass I was determined to see, even if
I remained behind alone, and so we all together
started off, some of us still lame from our excursion
to Mount Tahawus. It was six miles through the
' forest, and we were compelled to march in single file.
Now skirting the margin of a beautiful lake, now
creeping through thickets, and now stepping daintily
across a springing morass, we stretched forward until
we at length struck a stream, the bed of which we
followed into the bosom of the mountains. We
crossed deer paths every few rods, and soon the two
hounds our hunter had taken with him parted from
82 BETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
us, and their loud deep bay began to ring and echo
through the gorge. The instincts with which animals
are endowed by their Creator on purpose to make
them successful in the chase is one of the most curi-
ous things in nature. I watched for a long time the
actions of one of these noble hounds. With his nose
close to the leaves, he would double backwards and
forwards on a track, to see whether it was fresh or
not, then abandon it at once if he found it too old.
At length, striking a fresh one, he started off; but
the next moment, finding he was going back instead
of forwards on the track, he wheeled and came dash-
ing past on a furious run^ his eyes glaring with ex-
citement. Soon his voice made the forest ring, and I
could imagine the quick start it gave to the deer,
quietly grazing, it might have been, a mile away.
Lifting its beautiful head a moment, to ascertain if
that cry of death was on his track, he bounded away
in the long chase and bold swim for life. Well, let
them pass : the cry grows fainter and fainter, and
they, the pursued and pursuer, are but an emblem of
what is going on in the civilized world from which I
am severed. Life may be divided into two parts —
the hunters and the hunted. It is an endless chase,
where the timid and the weak constantly fall by the
way. The swift racers come and go like shadows on
the vision, and the cries of fear and of victory swell
on the ear and die away, only to give place to another
and another.
Thus musing, I pushed on, until at length we left
the bed of the stream, and began to climb amid
THE INDIAN PASS. 83
broken rocks, that were piled in huge chaos np and
up, as far as the eye could reach. My rifle became
such a burden, that I was compelled to leave it
against a tree, with a mark near it to determine its
locality. I had expected, from paintings I had seen
of this Pass, that I was to walk almost on a level into
a huge gap between two mountains, and look up on
the precipices that toppled heaven-high above me.
But here was a world of rocks, overgrown with trees
and moss, over and under and between which we
were compelled to crawl and dive and work our way
with so much exertion and care that the strongest
soon began to be exhausted. Caverns opened on
every side, and a more hideous, toilsome, break-neck-
tramp I never took. There was a stream deep down
somewhere, but no foot could follow it, for it was a
succession of cascades, with perpendicular walls each
side, hemming it in. It was more like climbing a
broken and shattered mountain than entering a gorge.
At length, however, we came where the fallen rocks
had made an open space amid the forest, and spread
a- fearful ruin in its place. Near by was a huge rock,
that, in some former age, had been loosened from its
high bed, and hurled, with the strength of a falling
world, below. It was a precipice of itself, from which
to fall would have been certain death. This was "the
Church'' our guide had spoken of, and it did lift itself
there like a huge altar, right in front of the main pre-
cipice, that rose in a naked wall a thousand feet perpen-
dicular. The top of this " church" could be reached
on one side, and thither we clambered and lay down to
4*
84 - LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
rest ourselves, while from our very feet ro^e this
awful cliff, that fairly oppressed me with its near and
frightful presence. Majestic, solemn and silent, with
the daylight from above pouring all over its dread
form, it stood the impersonation of strength and gran-
deur. I never saw but one precipice that impressed
me so, and that was in the Alps, in the Pass of the.
Grand Scheideck. I lay on my back, filled with
atrange feelings of the power and majesty of the God
who had both framed and rent this mountain asunder.
There it stood still and motionless in its grandeur.
Far, far away heavenward rose its top, fringed with
fir trees that looked, at that immense height, like
mere shrubs — and they, too, did not wave, but stood
silent and moveless as the rock they crowned. Any
motion or life would have been a relief — even the
tramp of the storm, for there was something fearful
in that mysterious, profound silence. How loudly
God speaks to the heart when it lies thus awe-struck
and subdued in the presence of his works. In the
shadow of such a grand and terrible form, man seems
but the plaything of a moment, to be blown away
with the first breath.
Persons not accustomed to scenes of this kind would
not at first get an adequate impression of the mag-
nitude of the precipice. Everything is on such a
gigantic scale — all the proportions so vast, and the
mountains so high about it that the real individual
greatness is lost sight of. But that wall of a thou-
sand feet perpendicular, with its seams and rents and
stooping cliffs, is one of the few things in the world
THE INDIAN PASS. 35
daguerreotyped on my heart. It frowns on my vision
in my solitary hours, and with feelings half of sym-
pathy, I think of it standing there in its lonely ma-
jesty.
" Has not the soul, the being of your life,
Received a shock of awful consciousness.
In some calm season, when those lofty rocks,
At night's approach, bring down th* unclouded sky
To rest upon the circumambient walls ;
A temple framing of dimensions vast,
And yet not too enormous for the sound
Of human anthems, choral song, or burst
Sublime of instrumental harmony,
To glorify th' Eternal !• What if these
Did never break the stillness that prevails
Here — if the solemn nightingale be mute,
And the soft woodlark here did never chant
Her vespers ! Nature fails not to provide
Impulse and utterance. The whispering air
Sends inspiration from the shadowy heights,
And blind recesses of the cavern'd rocks ;
The little rills and waters numberless,
Insensible by daylight, blend their notes
With the loud streams ; and often at the hour
When issue forth the first pale stars, is heard,
Within the circuit of the fabric huge,
One voice— one solitary raven, flying
Athwart the concave of the dark blue dome,
Unseen — perchance above the power of sight —
An iron knell ! with echoes from afar,
Faint and still fainter."
I will only add that none of the drawings or paint-
ings I have seen of this Pass give a correct idea of it.
We turned our steps homeward, and reached the
36 LETTERS EROM THE BACKWOODS.
Adirondac Iron Works at noon, having traveled
twelve miles, a part of the Way on our hands and
knees. After dinner, it was resolved to push on and
meet our teamster, who, we were afraid, would be com-
pelled to encamp in the forest alone with his team.
Getting our guide to row us five miles down Lake
Sandford, we bade him good-bye, and, shouldering
our knapsacks, started off. I had received a fall in
the Pass which stunned me dreadfully, and made
every step like driving a nail into my brain. Losing
my footing, I had fallen backwards, and gone down
head foremost among the rocks — a few feet, either
side, and this letter had probably never been writ-
ten. We expected every moment to meet our team-
ster, but were disappointed, and thus traveled on
until twilight began to gather over the forest, ad-
monishing us to seek a place of rest for the night.
We had now gone sixteen miles from the Adirondacs,
which, added to the twelve miles to and from the
Pass, made a severe day's work of it. Twilight
brought us to the Boreas River, and here we found a
log shanty which some timber cutters had put up the
winter before and deserted in the spring. It was a
lonely-looking thing, dilapidated and ruinous, with
some straw below, and a few loose boards laid across
the logs above. We kindled a blazing fire outside,
and divided our last provisions among us, then sought
our repose. As I said, only a few boards were laid
across the logs above, leaving the rest of the loft per-
fectly open. By getting on to a sort of scaffolding,
and reaching up to the timbers, we were able to swing
THE INDIAN PASS. 37
ourselves up on the fewjoose boards that furnished a
scanty platform. After I had succeeded in reaching
this perch, I helped the others up ; but Rev. Mr.
W d was rather too heavy, and, just as he had
fairly landed on the boards, one gave way, and down
he went. I seized him by the collar, while he, with
one hand fastened to my leg and the other grasping
the timber, succeeded in arresting his- fall, and thus
probably saved himself a broken limb. We lay in a
row, on our backs, along this frail scaffolding, filling
it up from end to end, so that if the outside ones
should roll a single foot in their sleep, they would be
precipitated below. A more uncomfortable night I
never passed, and I lay and watched the chinks in
the roof for daylight to appear, till it seemed that
morning would never come. I resolved never again
to abandon my couch of leaves for boards and a
ruined hut, through which vermin swarmed in such
freedom. At length the welcome light broke slowly
over the mighty forest, and I turned out. Huge
stones and billets of wood hurled on the roof soon
brought forth the rest of our companions, and we
started off. We had nothing to eat, and seven weary
miles were before us before we could obtain a break-
fast. The clear morning air could not revive me, and
I pushed on, more dead than alive. At length we
emerged into a clearing, and there in a log hut sat
our teamster, quietly eating his breakfast. The day
before, he had started through the forest, but becom-
ing frightened at the wildness and desolateness that
increased at every step, he turned back. Hungry,
38 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
cross, and weary, we sat down to breakfast, and then
stowed ourselves away into a lumber wagon, and rode
thirty miles to our respective stopping-places. The
little settlement seemed like a large village to me,
and the inhabitants the most refined people I had
ever met. Several days' rest restored me, and then
I began to feel my system rally, and became con-
scious of strength and vitality to which I had been a
stranger for six months.
LONG LAKE. 39
LETTER VI.
LONG LAKE.
Long La^e, July.
You have heretofore had a good many letters from
Long Lake, descriptive of its scenery, capabilities of
its land, the interesting colony on its borders, &c.
With regard to the scenery, there can be but one
opinion — it is unrivaled. Long Lake is one of the
most beautiful sheets of water I ever floated over,
and its framework of mountains becomes the glorious
picture. I never saw a more beautiful island than
"Round Island," as it is called, situated near mid-
way of the lake. As you look at it from above or be-
low, it appears to stand between two promontories,
that, with their green and rounded points, are striv-
ing to reach it as they push boldly out into the water;
while with its abrupt high banks, from which go up
the lofty pine-trees, it looks like a huge green cylin-
der, sunk there endwise in the waves. I wish I owned
that island. It would be pleasant to be possessor of
so much beauty. I said once, through your paper,
that this never could be a good farming country, in
the common acceptation of that term ; and I was
asked if I had seen this, and that, and the other lake.
40 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
I now repeat my former assertion, and say, as then,
that this might become a goo'd wool-growing region,
or dairy country, but nothing more. It is, in the first
place, the most mountainous portion of this State ; in-
deed, I do not believe there is in the Union a territory
three hundred miles in circumference so terribly
rough and wild as this. It is not only mountainous,
but has the disadvantage of being the source of nearly
all the waters of northern and eastern New York,
and hence has less alluvial soil than equally rough
districts lying along large rivers. All mountainous
regions have more or less interval land, with a rich,
deep soil ; but here the intervals are lakes. Water
occupies the place ordinarily appropriated to towns
and meadows. There is good land here, no doubt,
and large tracts which are arable, and would be
fruitful; but the question is, what proportion does
this bear to that which cannot be cultivated? I have
seen fields of waving grain in the vale of Chamouni,
and thousands of cattle grazing in rich pastures in
Grindelwald, and long stretches of meadow in the
valley of Meyringen ; but it would be ridiculous to
call the Alpine district a good farming country, for
all that. I venture to say that there are three hun-
dred acres in this region a plough will never touch,
to one that it will. Besides, it is a cold climate here,
and the summers are short. Neither corn nor wheat
can be relied on as a crop. Grass, rye, oats, and po-
tatoes may be grown, and these are all.
Now here is a colony, called the Long Lake Co-
lony, about which much has been said, much sympa*
LONG LAKE. 41
thy excited, and on which more or less money has
been expended. And what is its condition ? It has
been established for many years, and by this time it
ought to furnish some inducements to the farmer who
would locate here, nearly fifty miles from a post-
office or store, and half that distance from a good
mill. But what is the truth respecting it ? Not a man
here supports himself from his farm ; and I can see
no gain since I was here two years ago. Some of the
best men have left, and those that remain depend on
the money (some seven hundred dollars) furnished
by the State for the making of roads, to buy their
provisions with. The church which was organized
some time since was never worthy of the name of one ;
the few men who composed it, with some few excep-
tions, being anything but religious men. I was told
by one of the chief men here that one man now con-
stituted the entire " Congregational Church of Long
Lake." There are no meetings held on the Sabbath,
not even a Sabbath school. As I went from house to
house, I saw books scattered round belonging to the
.Long Lake Library, marked, some of them, with the
names of the donors ; but they seemed to me thrown
away. The truth is, the people here, as a general
thing, would not give a farthing for any religious
privileges, indeed would rather be without them ; and
instead of this colony being a centre from which shall
radiate an immense population, covering the whole of
this wild region, it will drag on a miserable existence,
composed, two-thirds of it, by those who had rather
hunt than work. I do not mean to disparage this
5
42 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
central region of New York ; but I would divest it of
the romance of dreamers, and the falsehoods of land
speculators. If settlers could have picked out their
own farms at Long Lake, and clustered around the
lower extremity, they might have done well ; but
these lands, which are tolerably fair, speculators have
retained, selling the poorer portions at a low price to
tempt buyers. It is in contemplation to drive a rail-
road through this entire region, reaching from Lake
Champlain to Bonville near Rome. This, though
ruinous to the stockholders, would be of great advan-
tage to the land, by bringing whatever it could pro-
duce near market. I would like to see this desolate
country settled ; but it never will be till the west is
all occupied. An overplus population will subdue it,
nothing else. Crowding may drive farmers here, but
no gentler means. Say what men will, it is an aw-
fully rough, cold, and forbidding country to the farm-
er. The Swiss from the Alps, or the Scotch from
the Highlands, might pitch their abodes here, and
stay — necessity alone will keep the rest; and when
this forest-covered territory shall ? support a million
of people," the State of New York will show a census
equal to that of the whole Union at present. As I
have said, I would not discourage a single man from
doing his part towards subduing this region ; but I
would that every qne should know precisely what he
has to expect. Still I should not have made these re-
marks, had not some statements of mine been contra-
dicted, and I often been questioned as to their truth.
Many have wondered that I did not maintain what I
r
\
LONG LAKE. 43
asserted; but I chose rather to defer it till I again
visited Long Lake. And now, when I see no mission-
ary here, no church, no meetings on the Sabbath, and
no prayer-meetings — not even a school, and many of
the best men gone, and the wilderness no more en-
croached on than before — I feel that my former con-
clusions were sound, and my predictions true.
Notwithstanding the forbidding aspect things pre-
sent, I believe, as I have always said, that this might
be made a tolerable dairy country. It may be too
cold for sheep; but if not, wool enough might be
grown here to supply the world. It needs enterpris-
ing settlers — men who go to build their fortunes, not
to save themselves from starvation ; who take pride
in cultivating society, and have some ambition to
establish schools and churches. The truth is, this land
should never have gone out of the hands of govern-
ment into those of speculators, who seek their own
interests entirely in the way they dispose of it. Had
it been left open for every man to choose a portion
from, the best would have been taken first, and the
poorer soil been gradually encroached upon by the
increase of population around flourishing settlements.
Now the worst is first occupied, because first placed
in the market at a reasonable price, and it will not
support the buyer. He who comes into this region
must expect to work hard with little recompense, see
a rough stony farm reject his labor, and make up by
economy what he lacks by acquirement.
Still, this is a glorious region to the hunter after
the picturesque and grand in nature. I know nothing
44
LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
equal to it this side of the Alps. These lofty mount-
ains, folding their summits so calmly and solemnly
away against the sky — these beautiful lake§ in their
green inclosures sparkling in the sun — these count-
less islands and winding rivers make it a land of
beauty and sublimity, that once seen is ever after
remembered. Still, much of its interest is owing to its
very wildness. The shores of these lakes look beau-
tiful because a mantle of foliage sweeps down to the
very margin of the waters ; but where they are cul-
tivated, rocks and stones present a sterile aspect to
the beholder. Cut down the trees, and two-thirds of
all the beauty of this region would depart. There
would be no sloping shores, carrying the rich mea-
dow or waving grain to the water's edge, a$ on the
Cayuga and Skaneateles Lakes, but in their place ab-
rupt banks, covered with rocks that no cultivation
could cover.
But it is with singular feelings one fresh from the
city stands here and looks around on the intermina-
ble forests, and remembers that it is a hard day's
work to get out to civilized life, and yet that his'feet
are on the soil of New York, and a few roods of
ground divide him from the waters of the Hudson.
It is no small job to get here, and to one not accus-
tomed to the woods it is absolutely frightful. Several
companies from New York, after penetrating half-
way into the forest, have become alarmed and dis-
heartened, and turned back, and I am not surprised
at it. A young man with me, brought up in the
country, but along the Cayuga Lake, could not refrain
LONG LAKE. - 45
from expressions almost of alarm. "How savage !"
he would say; "it is really horrible, day after day,
and nothing but woods." And how solemn it is to
move all day through a majestic colonnade of trees,
and feel that you are in a boundless cathedral whose
organ- notes swell and die away with the passing wind
like some grand requiem. Still more exciting is it to
lie at midnight by your camp-fire, and watch the
moon sailing up amid the trees, or listen to the cry
of the loon, wild and lonely, on the wild and lonely
lake, or the hoot of the owl in the deep recesses of
the forest.
5*
46 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
LETTER VII.
TROUT FISHING — MITCHELL.
Long Lake, July 10.
I spoke in my last of the farming capabilities
around Long Lake, and of the colony there, which
seem to be about on a par— ^neither being very great
or very enticing. My remarks, however, did not
refer to the land beyond Long Lake on the farther
slopes as they stretch to the Black River country.
This region I have but slightly visited, and am told
it is more level and fertile than that portion I have
been describing. Professor F. Benedict, of Vermont
University, has gone over this entire section of the
State, and he* tells me the land is very different
around Raquet Lake, and so on West. His know-
ledge of the country is extensive, and he has made
the most correct surveys of its great chain of lakes
ever executed — better even than that contained in
the geological report of the State.
But my mind was soon off the land and on the
scenery. I did not come here to speculate in town
lots, to found a colony, or subserve the interests of
landowners. Being after health, I sought the fa-
tiguing tramp and coarse fare of the woods. It was
TROUT FISHING — MITCHELL. 47
a hot day as we emerged from the woods on to the
shore of Long Lake, and the sun came down with
such scorching power that I marked Friday, July
10th, in my calendar, to see if the temperature was
correspondingly high in New York and th© settle-
ments. Well, this hurning day I rode in a lumber
wagon through the woods over roots and rocks seven
miles, walked seven miles, and rowed a boat eleven
miles — a good day's work for an invalid fresh from
the doctor's hands. Along the road you would see
trees at certain intervals, marked H, which, after
vainly attempting to account for, I finally inquired
the reason of. " Oh, it means Highway" was the
reply. This rather comical way, however, of inform-
ing one he was on the highway, is not, after all, or
rather was not, without its use. When the first rude
path was cut, a man would not have deemed himself
on a public road if he had not been told of it in some
way. As we passed along, we would come upon fires
built over a huge rock in the middle of the track,
compelling us to take a semicircle in the woods.
On inquiring the cause of this to me singular pro-
cedure, I was told that men were working on the
road, and in the absence of drills, took this method
of breaking the rocks to pieces. Being sandstone,
the fire slowly crumbled them apart, so that the crow-
bar or handspike could remove them. I thought of
Hannibal, and his fire and vinegar on the rocks of
the San Bernard pass, and men seemed going* back
to their primitive state. Instead of cutting down
the trees that stood in the way, they hewed off the
48 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
roots, and then hitching a rope to the tops, pulled
them over with oxen. And thus they work and toil
away here in the depths of the forest, all heedless of
the great world without. How strange it seems, to
behold tnen thus occupied, living contentedly, fifty
miles from a post-office or village, and hear their
inquiries about the war with Mexico, asking of events
that had been quite forgotten in New York! They
have their ambition, but its object is a few acres of
well-cultivated land, or the reputation of a good
hunter; and they have their troubles, but they are
born and die in the bosom of the forest. Men toiling
for a bare subsistence, for the coarsest fare, poorest
dwellings, and meager comforts of civilized life, al-
ways set me musing, and this veiled life of ours grows
still more mysterious, and man, godlike, immortal
man, strangely like a mere animal.
But on the broad lake, before a brisk breeze, and
bending to my oars, these thoughts soon left me.
The tiny waves rocked our cockle-shell of a boat like
a plaything amid the bubbles, while a bush I had
erected in the centre made it fairly foam through the
water as the swift blast came down through the
mountain gorges. Far away to the southwest, the
golden sky shone glorious, and over its illuminated
depths the fragmentary clouds went trooping as if
joyous with life, while to the northwest, towards
which our frail craft was driving, the heavens were
black as midnight, and the retiring storm-cloud
looked dark and fierce as wrath, retreating though
still unconquered. The sun was hastening to the
V
TROUT FISHING — MITCHELL. 49
ridge of the sky-seeking mountains, and his depart-
ing beams threw in still deeper contrast the under
side of the clouds. But still the waves kept dancing
in the light, as if determined not to be frowned out
of their frolic, and it was with no little pleasure I
watched the awful-looking mass that covered the
northern heavens yield to the glorious, balmy, yet
swift careering breeze that came sweeping the heart
of the lake. I was after Mitchell, the Indian, whom
I had formerly taken with me, and who, I was told,
was on a fishing excursion, with his father and sister
and some others, in Gold River. At length, just as
we were glancingaway from the head of a beautiful
island, I saw a boat coming towards us impelled
against the wind by the steady strokes of a powerful
rower. As it shot near, I beheld the swarthy and
benevolent face of Mitchell. He lay on his oars
scarcely a minute to hear my salutation and my pro-
position, when he pointed to a deep bay a mile dis-
tant, around which stretched a white line of sand,
and again bent to his oars. I followed after, for I
knew there was his camp, and soon after our boats
grated on the smooth beach, and we were sitting be-
side a bark shanty and discussing our future plans.
But those few barks piled against some poles were
not enough to cover us, and soon every one was at
work peeling spruce trees or picking hemlock boughs
for our couch. The cloudless sun went proudly, nay,
to me triumphantly, to his royal couch amid the
mountain summits, and as twilight deepened over the
wild landscape, our camp fire shot its cheerful flame
50 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
heavenward, and we lay scattered around amid the
trees in delightful indolence. Already my system
began to rally in the presence of nature, and though
a miserable invalid, with the bronchitis to boot, I felt
that I could lay my head beneath the forest and sleep
without a fear.
Mitchell had caught some trout — right noble ones
— and those, with the contents of our knapsacks, pro-
mised us a noble supper. The trout were rolled in
Indian meal, and fried in a little pan we had with
us, except a few that were spitted on long sticks,
that, with one end stuck in the ground, with the other
held their tempting burdens above the smoke and
flame. I split off a new fresh chip for a plate on
which I spread my delicious trout, with a piece of
hot johnny-cake by his side, and, placing my back
against a stump, held him with one hand, while my
good hunting-knife peeled off his salmon-colored sides
in most tempting, delicious morsels. I ate with an
appetite and keen relish I had been a stranger to for
months, and then asked Mitchell if we could not get
a deer before going to bed. He said yes, if the wind
went down so that we could float them. This float-
ing deer I will describe in another place, for there
was no stirring out to-night. The" wrathful little
swells came rushing furiously against the unoffending
beach, and the tall tree-tops swayed to and fro and
sighed in the blast, and our roughly-fanned fire threw
its sparks in swift eddies heavenward, and all was
wild, solemn, and almost fearful. No boat must
leave the beach to-night, and, so carefully loading
TROUT FISHING — MITCHELL. 51
our rifles and setting them up against the trees, we
began to prepare for our night's repose. Some with
their heads under the bark shanty, their feet to the
fire, others in the open forest, with their heads across
a stick of wood, lay stretched their full lengths upon
the earth. J I lay down for awhile, but the wind that
had increased at the going down of the sun now blew
furiously, and crash went a tree in the forest, sound-
ing for all the world like the dull report of distant
cannon. I could not sleep, and so, rising from my
couch of boughs, I went out and sat down on the
ground, and looked and listened. The steady roar
of the waves on the beach below mingled with the
rush of the blast above, while the tall trees rocked
and swung on every side, and flung out their long
arms into the night, their leafy tresses streaming be-
fore them, and groaned on their ancient foundations
with a deep and steady sound that filled my heart
with emotions at once solemn and fearful. Some-
times I thought one of those gigantic forms must
fall in the struggle and crush some of our company ^
into the earth, and then again my soul would bow to
the lordly music till that great primeval forest seemed
one vast harp, their trunks and branches the mighty
wires, and that strong blast the fierce and fearless
hand that swept them. Now faint and far in the
distance I could catch the coming anthem, till, swell-
ing fuller and clearer in its rapid march, it at length
went over me with a roar that was deafening, then
died away, like a retiring wave, *on the far tree tops./
Sometimes my awakened imagination would compare
52 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
the sound to a troop of horse whose steady tramp, at
first low and indistinct, soon shook the earth with its
tread, then suddenly and fiercely sweeping by, gra-
dually lost itself in the distancc/The steeds of the
air were out, and their successive squadrons, as they
went trampling over the bending tree tops, made the
forest tremble. God seemed near, there in the soli-
J tude and night, and his voice seemed speaking to me.'
How calm the sleepers around me lay in the firelight,
reposing as quietly amid this wild uproar as if naught
but the dews were gently distilling, and yet how help-
less they seemed in their slumbers ! God alone was
their keeper, and I never felt more deeply the pro-
tection ^>f that parental hand than here at midnight./
The moon at length arose on the darkness, and the
wind lulled gradually into silence. I threw myself
on the ground, and watched the bright orb as it slowly
mounted the heavens, till finally weariness prevailed,
and I slept. The crack of a rifle startled me from
my repose before an hour had passed by^ and I
sprang to my feet. That was a rude waking to one
not accustomed to a hunter's life, but nothing but a
poor rabbit had suffered. One of the young men
had shot him as he was stealing around the camp fire,
attracted by the food we had left scattered about.
The welcome morning at length came, and a lit-
tle after daylight we were afloat, steering for Cold
River, in order to take some trout for breakfast.
TROUTING. 53
LETTER VIII.
TROUTING — A DUCK PROTECTING HER YOUNG BY STRA-
TAGEM — SABBATH IN THE FOREST.
The morning broke clear and beautiful over our
encampment, and two boats of us started for Cold
River to take some trout for breakfast. The Indian
and myself went ahead, hoping to surprise some deer
feeding in the marshes, but were disappointed. Beach-
ing the foot of the lake, we shot noiselessly down the
Rackett River, till we came to a huge rock that rose
out of the bed of the stream, when we turned off and
began to ascend Gold River. This latter stream, for
some distance, sends a noiseless current over a smooth
and pebbly bed, while the water is almost as clear as
the air above you. Everything on the bottom is as
visible as if it were on the shores ; and when the sun
is up, it is impossible to take a trout, though the stream
is full of them. When we reached it, the surface was
covered with foam bubbles, made by the constant
springing of the trout after flies. They had absolute-
ly churned it up, and for a while our hooks brought
them to the surface fast; but we were too ltfte. The
sun, rising over the forest, shed such a flood of light
on the water, and indeed through it, to the very bot-
6
54 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
torn, that scarcely a fish could be coaxed from his
hiding-place. Oar boats and ourselves threw strong
shadows on the water, sufficient to frighten less wary
fish than trout. We, however, took enough for break-
fast, and started for home. By the way, is it not a
little singular that fish should eat their own flesh?
The first one we caught served as bait for the others.
As we were returning, Mitchell left the main stream
and entered a narrow and shallow channel, that, by
making a circuitous route, reached the lake close be-
side the river. Passing silently along, we roused up
a brood of ducks among the reeds. The mother first
took the alarm, and, seeing at a glance that she could
not escape with her young, left them and fluttered
out directly ahead of our boat. She then began to
make a terrible ado, striking her wings on the water,
and screaming, and darting backwards and forwards,
as if dreadfully wounded and could be easily picked
up with a little effort. I instinctively raised my rifle
to my shoulder;, then, thinking the shot might frighten
the deer we were after, I turned to Mitchell and in-
quired if I should fire. "I guess I wouldn't," he
replied ; "she has young ones." My gun dropped in
a moment. I stood rebuked, not only by my own
feelings, but by the Indian with me. I was shocked
that this hunter, who had lived for so many years on
the spoils of the forest, should teach me tenderness of
feeling. That mother's voice found an echo in his heart,
and he would not harm one feather of her plumage ;
nor could the bribe be named that would then have
induced me to strike the anxious, affectionate creature.
A DUCK PROMOTING HBB YOUNG BY STRATAGEM. 55
As I watched her thus sacrificing herself to save her
young, provoking the death-shot in order to draw
attention from them, I wondered how I could for a
single moment have wished to destroy her. I leaned
oyer the boat and watched her movements for nearly
half a mile. She would keep just ahead of us, sail-
ing backwards and forwards, now striking her wings
on the water, as if struggling with all her strength to
fly, yet unable to rise, and now screaming out as if
distressed to death at her perilous position, yet cun-
ningly moving off m the mean time, so as to allure
us after in order to- increase the distance between us
and her offspring. While we were near the nest, die
tfwam almost rader our bows; but, as we continued to
advance, she grew more timorous, as if beginning to
think a little more of herself. I could not blame her
fbr this, for she had hitherto kept within reach of
certain death if I had chosen to fire. But it was
cvrious to see in what exact proportion her care for
herself increased as the danger to her offspring
lemoned. She would rise and fly some distance, then
alight in the water, and wait our approach. If she
sailed out of sight a moment, she would wheel and
took back, and even swim back, till she saw us follow-
ing after, when she would move off again. The fool-
ish thing really believed she was outwitting us, and,
I have no doubt, had many self-complacent reflections
on the ease with which ducks could humbug human
beings. After we had proceeded in this way about
half a mile, she rose from the water, and, striking the
Raekett River, sped back by a circular sweep to her
56 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS. ,
young. As her form disappeared round a bend of
the stream, I could not help murmuring, " Heaven
speed thee, anxious mother !" Ah, what a chattering
there was amid the reeds when her shadow darkened
oyer the hiding-place, and she folded her wings amid
her .offspring, and listened with matronly dignity to
the story each one had to tell !
All this, however, was speedily forgotten as we
emerged on the lake, whose bosom was swept by a
strong wind, against which we were compelled to force
our tiny skiffe as we pulled for our camp. It was
now nine o'clock, and I never waited with so much
impatience for a meal as I did for the johnny-cake
that was slowly roasting amid the ashes. We had
but one pan, and until the cake was done we could
not cook our trout, and so, stretched under the shadow
of a huge stump, with my chip-plate in my, hand, I
lay and watched the crackling flames with all the
philosophy I could muster. At length everything
was ready, and with a piece of johnny-cake on a chip,
and a trout on top of that, I slashed away with an
appetite an epicure would give a small fortune to
possess. After breakfast, we had no dishes or forks
to clean, but, throwing them both away, wiped our
knives on a chip, and in a moment were ready for a
starty/lt was Saturday, and the heavens, which had
been so clear the night before, now began to gather
blackness, and the burdened wind moaned through
I the forest, or went sobbing over the lake, that was
every moment fretting itself into greater excitement,
and everything betokened a gloomy and tempestuous
SABBATH IN THE FOREST. 57
day. We were fourteen miles from a human habita-
tion, and I expected that day to have gone thirty
miles farther into the forest and spent the Sabbath ;
but the storm that was approaching made the shelter
of a log-cabin seem too inviting, and I changed my
mind. To row fourteen miles against a head wind
and sea was no child's play, and for one I resolved
not to do it. So, making a bargain with Mitchell, /
the Indian, I wrapped my oil-skin cape about me, and
laying my rifle-across my lap, ensconced myself in
the stern of the boat, and made up my mind to a
drencher. • The black clouds came rushing over the
huge' black mountains, and the rain began to fall hi
torrents. Now hugging the shore to escape the blast,
and now sailing under the lee of an island, we crawled
along until at length, late in the afternoon, we found
ourselves comfortably housed. /
The log hut of Mitchell, in which I spent the Sab-
bath, was in the centre of two or three acres of cleared
land ; all the rest was forest. During the day, I was
struck with the sense of propriety and delicacy of
feeling shown by him. Sunday must have been a
weary day to him; yet he engaged in no sports, per-
formed no work, that I saw, inappropriate to it. In
the afternoon, however, he took down his violin, and
for a moment I felt* pained, expecting such music as
would distress one to hear on the Sabbath. He, how-
ever, refrained from all those tunes I knew he pre-
ferred, and played only sacred hymns, most of them
Methodist ones. I could not imagine where he had
learned them ; but this silent respect to my feelings
6*
58 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
made me love him at once, and, as I hummed them
over with him, I conceived a respect for him I shall
never lose.
The day went out in storms, and, as I lay down that
night on my rough coueh, I could hardly helieve I
was in the same State of which New York was the
capital, whose hundred spires pierced the heavens.
I have been thus particular, and mean to be in fu-
ture, because in no other way can you get a. correct
idea of the daily life one is compelled to lead who
would penetrate these untrodden wilds of the Empire
State. It is nonsense to talk of dignity and the im-
propriety of a man's carrying a rifle and fishing tfckle,
and spending his time in shooting deer and catching
trout. Such folly is becoming to him only who sits
on the piazza of a hotel at Saratoga Springs at the
expense of twelve dollars a week for his health. I
love nature and all things as God has made them. I
ldve the freedom of the wilderness and the absence
of conventional forms there. I love the long stretch
through the forest on foot, and the thrilling, glorious
prospect from some hoary mountain top. I feel my
soul lift amid such scenes, and throw off the chain
that has been rusting around it, and I think better of
man and worse of his mad chase after straws and
baubles. I love it, and I know it is better for me
than the thronged city, and better for my wasted
health and exhausted frame than "alLthe poppies and
madrigoras of the world."
i
LONG LAKE COLONY. 59
LETTER IX.
LONG LAKE COLONY — A LOON — CROTCHET LAKE.
Taking Mitchell with me, we embarked on Mon-
day in his birch hark canoe for Crotchet and Rackett
Lakes. Paddling leisurely up Long Lake, I was
strufk with the desolate appearance of the settlement.
Scarcely an improvement had been made since I was
last here, while some clearings had been left to go
back to their original wildness. Disappointed pur-
chasers, lured by extravagant statements, had given
up in despondency, and left ; and I was forcibly
reminded, as I passed along, of a remark Dr. Todd
made me last summer. Speaking of his Long Lake
Colony, I mentioned that its prospects were rather
gloomy. " Yes," said he ; " the best people are all
going away ; in a short time, there will be nobody left
but hunters. It won't be settled for a century." It
must have been with extreme regret he was forced to
come to this conclusion, after having taken so much
interest in it, and appealed so much to the sympathy
of the public, and obtained so much money only to be
thrown away. "It won't be settled for a century !"
Time enough yet, then, to arouse attention to this
section of our country. I have no doubt hi^ latter
~TTt.-'rnn.Twg jj- nor? tihs mi sand saaa. ka fimer
Tnt"^, Tannic ^ liiil£ •snffiif juuiewia^ erroaeons. I
ieIieT» ^iis r'lyraag w^I le sxcrmeoed upon in less
1L3U laaa. za&L Psrivxs sex ir sfphlit tcus will
\*t srfiiMii *: rb» is si mwied & popalanon as to
f :r» jesLaniBia fn^ 122 icsataae inferior of the
p:«:mj. Tie e anr e a , »:* ia* 2rae dawn ; not a soli-
ccuT'zrsjziL fnoL *Z lie lacor expended here.
U£ was %> be expected. A church fbnaed of
sxec. materials iogh: ra xo » pieces. Even the last
reataar.Tig member. certainly not the mst ealightened
or circumspect Carisssaa I have ever met, told me
that h was no more taan he expected — that no one
there soppceed the men would - hold oat."
Bin oar light canoe soon left the last clearing; and
earring round the shore, we shot into the Rackett or
Racqnette Hirer, and entered the bosom of the forest.
As we left the lake, I saw a loon some distance up
the inlet, evidently anxious to get oat once more into
open water. These birds (about the sise of a goose),
you know, cannot rise from the water except by a
long effort and against a strong damp wind, and do*
pend for safety on diving and swimming under water.
At the approach of danger, they go under like a duck,
and when you next see them, they are perhaps sixty
rods distant, and beyond the reach of your bullet. If
cornered in a small body of water, they will sit and
watch your motions with a keenness and certainty
that are wonderful, and dodge the flash of a percussion
lock gun all day long. The moment they see the
>
a Looir. 61
blaze from the muzzle they dive, and the bullet, if
well aimed, will strike the water exactly where they
sat. I have shot at them again and again, with a
dead rest, and those watching would see the ball each
time strike directly in the hollow made by the wake
of the water, above the creature's back. There is no
killing them except by firing at them when they are
not expecting it, and then their neck and head are
the only vulnerable points. They sit so deep in the
-water, and the quills on their backs are so hard and
compact that a ball seems to make no impression on
them. At least, I have never seen one killed by being
shot through the body. Such are the means of self-
preservation possessed by this curious bird, whose
wild and shrill and lonely cry />n the water at mid-
night is one of the most melancholy sounds I ever
heard in the forest.
This loon, of which I was just now speaking, I
wished very much to kill, in order to carry his skin
to New York with me, and so, after firing at him in
vain, I asked Mitchell if we could not, both of us
together, manage to take him. He told me to land
him where the channel was narrow that entered Long
Lake, and paddle along towards where the loon was,
and drive him out. As I approached him, he dived,
and, knowing that he would make straight for the
lake, I watched the whole line of his progress with
the utmost care ; but, though my range took in nearly
the third of a mile, I never saw him again. After a
while, I heard the crack of a rifle around the bend of
the shore, and hastening there, I found Mitchell load-
62 LETTERS FROM THE "BACKWOODS.
ing his gun. He said the loon just raised his head
above water, opposite where he stood, but lie
him, and the frightened bird did not appear again
till it rose far out in the lake.
I mention this circumstance merely to show the
habits of this, to me, most singular bird of our-nortb-
.ern waters. I forgot to say that, although it cannot
rise from the water except with great difficulty, and
never attempts to escape danger, neither can it walk
on the shore. Diving is about the only gift it pos-
sesses, which it uses, I must say, with great ability
and success.
Paddling up Rackett River, we at length came to
Buttermilk Falls, around which we were compelled to
carry our canoes. So in another place we were com-
pelled to carry them two miles, around rapids,
through the woods. Nothing can be more comical
and out of the way than a party thus passing through
the forest. First, a yoke is placed across the guide's
neck, on which the boat is placed bottom side up,
covering the poor fellow down to the shoulders, and
sticking out fore and aft over the biped below in such
a way as to make him appear half-human, half-super-
natural, or rather wn-natural. But it was no joke
to me to carry my part of the freight. Two rifles,
one overcoat, one tea-pot, one lantern, one basin,
and a piece of pork, were my portion. Sometimes
I had a change, namely, two oars and a paddle,
balanced by a tin pail, in place of a rifle. Thus
equipped, I would press on for a while, and then stop
to see the procession — each poor fellow staggering
CROTCHET LAKE. 63
'under the weight he bore, while in the long intervals
appeared the two inverted boats, walking through the
woods on two human legs in the most surprising man-
ner imaginable. Though tired and fagged out, I
could not refrain from frequent outbursts of laughter
'that made the forest ring again. But there was no
-other way of getting along, and each one had to be-
<eome a beast of burden. It was a relief to launch
sfigain ; and when at last we struck the river just after
it leaves Crotchet Lake, and gazed on the beautiful
sheet of water that was rolling and sparkling in the
sunlight ahead, an involuntary shout burst from the
party. A flock of wild ducks, scared at the sound,
made the water foam as they rose at our feet and
sped away. Stemming the rapid waters with our
light prows, we were soon afloat on the bosom of the
lake. The wind was blowing directly in our teeth,
making the miniature waves leap and dance around
us as if welcoming us to their home. A white gull
rose from a rock at our side — a fish-hawk screamed
around her huge nest on a lofty pine-tree on the
shore, as she wheeled and circled above her offspring
— a raven croaked overhead — the cry of loons arose
in the distance — and all was wild yet beautiful. The
sun was stooping to his glorious bed amid the purple
mountains, whose sea of summits was calmly sleep-
ing against the "golden heavens — the cool breeze
stirred a world of foliage on our right — green islands,
beautiful as Elysian fields, rose out of the water as
we advanced — the sparkling waves rolled merrily
under as bright a sky as ever bent over the earth —
64 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
and for a moment I seemed to have been transported
into a new world. I never was more struck by a
scene in my life. Its utter wildness, spread out there
where the axe of civilization has never struck a blotf
— the evening — the sunset — the deep purple of the
mountains — the silence and solitude of the shores, and
the cry of birds in the distance, combined to render it
one of enchantment to me. My feelings were' mor0
excited, perhaps, by the consciousness that we wer^
without any definite object before us — no place of
rest, but sailing along looking out for some good-
point of land on which to pitch our camp.
Mitchell made no replies to our inquiries, but kept^
paddling along among the lily pads until he made for"
a point near the Rackett River, and mooring our boat#»
to the shore, began to prepare for the night.
J'-'
SHOOTING A DEER. 65
LETTER X.
SHOOTING A DEER — SUPPER IN THE WOODS — MODERN
SENTIMENTALISTS — THE INFLUENCE OF NATURE.
After we had pitched (not our tent, but) our shan-
ty, we began to cast about for supper. I told Mitchell
I could not think of eating a piece of salt pork for
supper, and we must get some trout. So, rigging
our lines on poles, we cut on the shores of the lake,
and, taking our rifles with us, we jumped into our
bark canoe, and pushed for some rapids in the Rack-
ett River, where it entered Crotchet Lake. As we
were paddling carefully along the edge of a marsh
that put out into the water, Mitchell, who was at the
stern, suddenly exclaimed, "Hist! I see the head of
a deer coming down to feed." I sometimes thought
he could smell a deer, for he would often say he saw
one before both its ears had fairly emerged from the
bushes. " Shoot him," said he to me. " I can't," I
replied; "I am too tired: shoot him yourself." So,
stooping my head to let the bullet pass over me, I
watched him as ho took aim ; and it was a sight
worth seeing. The careless, indolent manner so na-
tural to him had disappeared as if by magic, and he
stood up in the stern of the "boat as straight as his
7
66 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
own rifle, while his dark eye glanced like an eagle's.
Every nerve in him seemed to have been suddenly
touched by an electric spark, and as he now stooped to
elude the watchfulness of the deer, and now again stood
erect with his rifle raised to his shoulder, he was one of
the most picturesque objects I ever saw. The timorous
animal was feeding on the marsh, and ever and anon
lifted her head as if she scented danger in the air.
Then Mitchell's would drop like a flash, and gently
lift again as the deer returned to her feed. She was
about twenty rods off, and now stood fairly exposed
amid the grass. It was a long shot for arm's length,
and a tottlish boat to stand in, but he resolved to try
it. Slowly bringing his rifle to his face, he stood
for a moment as motionless as a pillar of marble,
while his gun seemed suddenly to have frozen in its
place, so still and steady did it lie in his bronze
hand. A flash— r-a quick sharp report, and the noble
deer bounded several feet into the air, then wheeled
and sprang into the forest. He had shot directly
over my head, and the mad bound of the animal told
too well that the unerring bullet had struck near the
life. Rowing hastily to the spot, we could find no
traces of the deer ; but Mitchell, with his eye bent on
the ground, paced backward and forward without
saying a word. At length he stopped, and, peering
down amid the long grass, said, "Here is blood."
How he discovered it is a perfect mystery to me, for
the grass was a foot long and very thick, while the
blood spot was but a drop which had fallen on the
roots of a single blade. I never should have noticed
SHOOTING A DEKR. 67
it, and if I had, should have considered it a mere
discoloration of the leaf, fac- similes of which occurred
at every step. The keen hawk eye of the Indian
hunter, however, could not be deceived, and he sim-
ply remarked, "He is hit deep or he would have bled
freer," and struck on the trail. But this baffled even
the Indian, for the marsh was covered with deer
tracks, and the bushes into which the wounded one
had sprung were a perfect matting of laurels and
low shrubs. There was no more blood to be found,
and we were perfectly at fault in our search. At
length, tired and disappointed, I returned to the boat
and stood waiting the return of Mitchell, when the
sharp crack of his rifle again rang through the forest,
followed soon after by a shrill whistle. I knew then
that a deer had fallen, and hastened to the spot.
There lay the beautiful creature stretched on the
moss, with the life-blood welling from her throat, and
over the body, watching, stood Mitchell leaning on
his rifle. Unable to find the trail, he had made a
shrewd guess as to the course. the animal had taken,
and, making a circuit, finally came upon her, lain
down to die. At his approach, she sprang to her
feet, ran a few rods, fell again exhausted, when the
deadly aim of Mitchell ^plan ted a bullet directly back
of her ear, and her career was ended.
Satisfied with our game, we gave up our fishing,
and, dragging the body to the boat, put back to our
camp. The rest of our company stood on the shore
waiting our return. They had heard the shots, and
were expecting .the spoils. Some, no doubt, will
68 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
think this very cruel, and congratulate themselves on
their kinder natures. I have seen such people, and
heard them expend whole sentences of sentimentality
upon the hardheartedness that could take the life of
such an innocent creature, who very coolly wrung
the necks of chickens every night for their breakfast,
and devoured with great gusto the shoulder of a lamb
for dinner. They slay without remorse the most
harmless, trusting creatures that haunt their nfeadows,
or sport upon their lawns, and take food from their
hands, and yet are shocked at the idea of killing a
deer or shooting a wild pigeon. They kill God's
creatures, not from necessity, but to gratify their
palates and minister to their luxurious tastes. But
if any one supposes we shot this noble doe for sport,
he must have a very vague idea of the toils we had
endured that day, or of our keen appetites. A man
of great sentimentality might eat boiled eggs and
toast with his coffee for breakfast, rather than sanc-
tion the death of an animal by partaking of flesh. I
say he might do it, though I have never seen an in-
stance of such great self-denial; but I doubt whether,
if he were a day's journey from a human habitation,
hungry and tired, with the prospect of nothing but a
piece of salt pork, toasted on the end of a stick for
supper and breakfast, he would hesitate to eat a veni-
son steak. But I like to have forgotten. The pork, too,
was the flesh of an animal, and it would be difficult
to convince a hog that he had not as good a right to
life as a deer. At all events, we enjoyed the venison,
though perhaps the sentimentalist might say we were
MODERN SENTIMENTALISTS. 69
•'
punished in the end, for it made us all outrageously
sick. ^We either cooked it too" soon (for in twenty
minutes from the time the deer fell, a part of her
■was roasting) ; or we ate it too rare (for we were
too hungry to wait till it was perfectly done); or we
ate too much (for we were hungry as famished
solves) ; or probably did all three things together,
which cyiite upset me.
But after the things (i. e. the chips) were cleared
away, I stretched myself on the ground under a tree
whose dark trunk shone in the light of the cheerful
fire, and began to muse on the day that had passed.
How is it that a scene of quiet beauty makes so much
deeper an impression than a startling one ? The
glorious sunset I had witnessed on that sweet lake —
the curving and forest-mantled shores — the green
islands — the mellow mountains, all combined to make
a scene of surpassing loveliness;* and now, as I lay
and watched the stars coming out one after another,
and* twinkling down on me through the tree tops, all
that beauty came back on me with strange power.
The gloomy gorge and savage precipice, or the sud-
den storm, seem to excite the surface only of one's
feelings, while the sweet vale, with its cottages and
herds and evening bells, blends itself with our very
thoughts, and emotions, forming a part of our after
existence. Such a scene sinks away into the heart
like a gentle rain into the earth, while a rougher,
nay, sublimer one, comes and goes like a sudden
shower. I do not know how it is that the gentler
influence should be the deeper and more lasting, but
7*
70 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
•
bo it is. The still small voice of nature is more im-
pressive than her loudest thunder. Of all the scene-
ry in the Alps, and there is no grander on the earth,
nothing is so plainly daguerreotyped on my heart as
two or three lovely valleys I saw. Those heaven-
piercing summits, and precipices of ice, and awfully
savage gorges, and fearful passes, are like a grand
but indistinct vision on my memory; while those vales,
with their carpets of green sward, and gentle rivulets,
and perfect repose, have become a part of my life.
In moments of high excitement or turbulent grief,
they rise before me with their gentle aspect and quiet
beauty, hushing the storm into repose, and subduing
the spirit like a sensible presence. Oh, how I love
nature ! She has ten thousand voices even in her si-
lence, and in all her changes goes only from beauty
to beauty. And when she speaks aloud, and the
music of running waters — the organ note of the wind
amid the pine-tree tops — the rippling of waves —
the song of birds, and the hum of insects, fall on
the ear, soul and sense are ravished. How is it that
even good men have come to think so little of nature,
as if to love her and seek her haunts and companion-
ship were a waste of time? I have been astonished
at the remarks sometimes made to me on my long
jaunts in the woods, as if it were 'almost wicked to
cast off the gravity of one's profession, and wander
like a child amid the beauty which God has spread
out with such a lavish hand over the earth. Why, I
should as soon think of feeling reproved for gazing
on the midnight heavens gorgeous with stars, and
TH» INFLUENCE 09 NATURE.
71
1 with its mysterious floating worlds. I beliere
very man degenerates without frequent commu-
with nature. It is one of the open books of
and more replete with instruction than anything
enned by man. A single tree standing alone, and
g all day long its green crown in the summer
is to me fuller of meaning and instruction than
•owded mart or gorgeously-built city.
b Mitchell has arisen from his couch of leaves,
i he has been reclining silent and thoughtful as
ce, and is looking up to the sky and out upon
ke, and I know something is afoot.
- i
72 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
*
LETTER XI.
FLOATING DEER — A NIGHT EXCURSION — MORNING IN
THE WOODS.
As I said in my last, Mitchell looked up to the sky
and out upon the lake a moment, and then, in that
quiet way so characteristic of his race, said, " If you
want to go after a deer, it is time we started." It
took but five minutes to load my rifle, put on my over-
coat, and announce myself ready. Lifting our bark
canoe softly from the rocks, we launched it on the Still
water, and, stepping carefully in, pushed off. Pre-
. viously, however, Mitchell requested me to try one of
my matches, to see if the damp had affected them.
You know that deer-floating amid backwoodsfnen
is very like deer-stalking in Scotland. In the warm
summer months, especially in June, the deer come
down from the mountains at night to feed on the
marshes that line the shores of the lakes and rivers.
While they are thus feeding, if you pass along with-
out making a noise, you can hear them as they step
about in the edge of the water, or snort as they scent
approaching danger. The moment you become aware
of the proximity of one, strike a light and fix it firmly
in the bow of your boat, or in a lantern on your head,
FLOATING DEER. 73
«tnd advance cautiously. The deer, attracted by the
:JBame, stops and gazes intently upon it. If he hears
-no sound, he will not stir till you advance close to him.
-At first you catch only the sight of his two eyes, burn-
ing like fireballs in the gloom ; but as you approach
nearer, the light is thrown on his red flanks, and he
stands revealed in all his beautiful proportions be-
fore you. The candle serves, at the same time, to dis-
tinguish the animal, and give you a clear view of the
sights along your gun-barrel; and he must be a poor
shot who misses at five rods distance. The night must
be dark and still, and no moon rise over the water.
This night, the only spot good for deer had been
so trampled over by us, before dark, that they would
not come out upon it, and we floated on for a long
time without hearing anything. I never before saw '
such an exhibition of the stealthy movements of an
Indian. The lake was as still and smooth as a polished
mirror, and our frail canoe floated over it as if im-
pelled by an invisible hand. I knelt at the bow with
my rifle before me, while Mitchell sat in the stern
as still as a statue, yet urging the boat on by some
strange movement of the paddle, which I tried in vain
to comprehend. He did not even make a ripple on
the water, and I could tell we were moving only by
marking the shadow of trees we crossed, or the stars
we passed over. Though straining every nerve to
catch a sound, I never once heard the stroke of his
paddle. It was the most mysterious ride I ever took.
We entered the mouth of a river whose shores were
dark with the sombre fir-trees, while ever and anon
74 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
would come more clearly on the ear the roar of a
distant waterfall. It was so dark I could make
out nothing distinctly on shore ; and the island-like
tufts that here and there rose from the water, the
little hays and rocky points we passed, assumed the
most grotesque shapes to my fancy, till I had all the
feelings of one suddenly transported to a fairy land.
Now. the silent hoat would cross the shadow of a lofty
pine-tree that lay dark and calm in the water below,
and now sail over a bright constellation that spar-
kled in our path ; while the scream of a far-off loon
came ringing like a spirit's cry through the gloom.
Oh, how bright lay the Sky, with its sapphire floor be-
neath us ! and how black was the fringe of shadow
that encroached on its beauty, and yet added to it by
contrast! The silent night around me, the strange-
ness of the place, and the far removal from human
habitations, were enough in themselves ; but the dim,
impalpable objects on shore, just distinct enough to
confuse the senses, added tenfold mystery to the
scene. m I seemed moving through a boundless world
of shadows, with nothing clear and natural but the
bright constellations below me.
Thus we passed on for a mile, without a whisper or
sign having passed between us. At length the canoe
entered what seemed at first a deep bay, but soon
changed to the mouth of a gloomy cavern. I leaned
forward, striving in vain to make out the misshapen
objects before me; but thermore I looked, the more
confused I grew, while, to add to my bewilderment,
suddenly the dim outlines I was struggling to make
■\
A NIGHT EXCURSION. 75
out began to vanish, as if melting away in the dark-
ness. At first, I thought the whole had been a struc-
ture of mist, and was dissolving in my sight; but, cast-
ing my eyes beneath me, I saw we were receding
over the stars. Then I understood it all. Mitchell,
without making a sound, had drawn the boat slowly
backwards, causing the objects before me to fade thus
strangely from my sight. He knew the ground per-
fectly well, and could enter every bay and inlet as
accurately as in broad daylight.
Pursuing our way up the channel, I was at length
startled by a low " hist!" The next moment I heard
the tread of a deer on the shore, and the light canoe
darted through the water till I could hear the low
ripple of the water around the bow. " Light up !"
said Mitchell in a whisper. As quietly as possible, I
kindled a match, and lighting a candle, put it in a
lantern made to fit the head like a hat, and clapping
it in the place of my cap, cocked my rifle and leaned
forward. The bright flame flared out upon the sur-
rounding gloom, and all was hush as death. But as
we advanced towards where the deer was standing,
the boat suddenly struck the dry limbs of a spruce
tree that had fallen in the water. Snap, snap went
the brittle twigs, one of them piercing our bark canoe.
We backed out of the dilemma as quick as possible ;
but the sound had alarmed the deer, and I could hear
his long bounds as he cleared the bank and made off
into the forest.
After cruising about a little while longer, we put
back and crossed the* lake to a deep bay on the far-
76 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
ther side. But the moon now began to show her silver
disk over the fir-trees, and our last remaining chance
was to find a deer in the bay before the silver orb
should climb the lofty pines that folded it in. But in
this, too, we were disappointed ; and the unclouded
light now flooding lake and forest, we turned wearily
towards our camp-fire, that was blazing cheerfully
amid the trees on the farther shore. Just then a
merry laugh came floating over the water from our
companions there, breaking the silence which had en-
chained us, and for the first time we spoke. My x limbs
were almost paralyzed, from having been kept so long
in one position, and I was sick and weary. Still I
would not have missed that mysterious boat ride, and
the strange sensations it had awakened, to have been
saved from thrice the inconvenience it had occasioned
me. It was one of those new things in this stereo-
typed life of ours, imparting new experiences, and
giving one, as it were, a deeper insight into his own
soul.
At length we stretched ourselves upon the boughs,
and were soon fast asleep. I awoke, however, about
midnight, and found our fire reduced to a few embers,
while the rain was coming down as if that were its
sole business for the night. It is gloomy in the woods
without a fire; and I never seem so companionless as
when in the still midnight I awake and find nothing
but the dark forest about me, cheered, by no light. A
bright crackling flame seems like a living thing, keep-
ing awake on purpose to watch over you.
Leaving my companions, whose heavy breathings
MORNING IN THE WOODS. 77
told how profound were their slumbers, I sallied out
in search of fuel. But there was nothing but green
fir-trees, that would, not burn, to be found; and, after
striking my axe into several, and getting-my lower
extremities thoroughly wet, I returned and lay down
again, and slept till morning. With the first dawn, I
was up, and, taking the Indian's canoe, pushed off in
search of a deer. The heavy fog lay in masses upon
the water, and the damp morning was still and quiet
as the night that had passed. I floated about till the
sun rose over the mountains, turning the lake into a
sheet of gold, and sending the mist in spiral wreaths
skyward, and then slowly paddled my way back to
camp. As I was thus floating tranquilly along over
the water, I heard, far up the lake, where it lost itself
in the mountains, two distinct and heavy reports like
the discharge of fire-arms. .Who could be in that
solitude besides ourselves ? was the first inquiry. I
mentioned the circumstance when I reached the camp,
and found that my companions, who had been busy
in preparing breakfast, had also heard the reports.
Mitchell, just then returning from an expedition after
a fish-hawk, which he brought back with him, heard
them also, and very quietly remarked they were
not rifle shots. His quick ear never deceived him.
"What, then, were they?" I inquired. " Trees/' he
replied. "But," said I, " there is not a breath of air
this morning, while it blew very hard yesterday after-
noon." "They always fall," he replied, "before a
storm. It will storm by to-morrow." There was some-
8
d
78 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
thing sad in thinking of those two trees thus falling
all alone on a still and beautiful morning, foretelling
a coming tempest. Sombre omens these, and myste-
rious, as becomes the untrodden forest.
Mitchell had shot an immense fish-hawk, breaking
only the tip of its wing, so as to prevent it from
flying. He brought it and set it down before the fire,
when the fearless bird drew himself proudly up and
steadily faced us down, without attempting to run
away. His savage eye betokened no fear, and when
any one of us approached him, his leg would be lifted
and his talons expanded ready to strike. I was never
so struck with the boldness of a bird in my life. At
length Mitchell caught him and placed him on a rock
by the edge of the lake. For a moment the noble bird
forgot his wound, and, spreading his broad wings,
leaped from his resting-place. But the broken pinion
refused to carry him heavenward, and he fell heavily
in the water. I saw Mitchell bring his rifle to his
shoulder, and the next moment a bullet crushed
through the head of the poor creature, and its suffer-
ings were over.
Such are the incidents of a life in the woods, and
thus do the days and nights pass — not without mean-
ing or instruction. Not merely the physical man is
strengthened, but the intellectual also, by these long
furloughs from close application, and this intimate
companionship with nature. A man cannot move in
the forest without thinking of God, for all that meets
his eye is just as it left his mighty hand. The old
MORNING IN THE WOODS. 79
forest, as it nods to the passing -wind, speaks of him;
the still mountain points towards his dwelling-place,
and the calm lake reflects his sky of stars and sun-
shine. The glorious sunset and the blushing dawn,
the gorgeous midnight and the noonday splendor,
mean more in these solitudes than in the crowded
city. Indeed, they look differently — they are different.
80 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
LETTER XII.
LOST IN THE WOODS — AN OLD INDIAN AND HIS DAUGH-
TER — MITCHELL — ADIRONDAC IRON WORKS.
In the Woods, August.
It was with weary forms and subdued hearts we
turned the prows of our boats down the lake, and left
the place of our encampment, probably for ever. No
one who has not traveled in the woods can appreciate
the feelings of regret with which one leaves the spot
where he has pitched his tent only for a single day
or night. The half-extinguished firebrands scattered
around, the broken sticks that for the time seemed
valuable as silver forks, and the deserted shanty, all
have a desolate appearance, and it seems like forsak-
ing trusty friends to leave them there in the forest
alone.
The morning was sombre and the wind fresh as we
pulled down the laka and again entered the narrow
river that pierced so adventurously the dark bosom of
the forest. The fatiguing task of carrying our boats
was performed over again, with the additional burden
of the deer we had but partially consumed. At one
carrying-place, P. took two rifles and an overcoat as
his part of the freight, and started off in advance.
LOST IN THE WOODS. 81
We were each of us too much engaged with our own
affairs to notice the direction he took, but supposing,
of course, he was ahead, pushed on. But as we came
to the next launching-place, he was nowhere to be
found. "He has gone on, I guess," said one, "to
the next carrying-place.' ' We shouted, but the echo
of our own voices was the only reply the boundless
forest sent back, and one was dispatched ahead to
ascertain whether our conjecture was true. The re-
port was soon brought back that P. was nowhere to
be found. I, by this time, began to feel somewhat
alarmed, for the lost one was my brother, and, taking
Mitchell with me, hastened back towards the spot
where he had parted from us. I shouted aloud, but
the deep waterfall drowned my voice, and its sullen
roar seemed mocking my anxious halloo. I then
fired my rifle, but the sharp report was followed only
by its own echo. Mitchell then discharged his, and,
after waiting anxiously awhile, we heard a shot far
up the river. Soon after, "bang — bang" went two
more guns in the same direction. The poor fellow
had heard our shot, and, fearing we might not hear
his in return and so take a wrong direction, just stood
and loaded and fired as fast as he could. When we
found him, he was pale as marble, and looked like
one who had been in a state Of perfect bewilderment.
On leaving us, instead of going down stream, as he
should have done, he had gone directly up. After
awhile he came out on the bank of a strange river.
As it was on the wrong side of him to be the one we
had floated down, he thought he must have crossed
8*
82 LETTERS PROM THE BACKWOODS.
over to another stream, but finally concluded it would
be the safest course to retrace his steps. This he was
doing to the best of his ability when he heard our
rifle shots. We scolded him for his stupidity in thus
causing us alarm and delay, which he very coolly re-
marked was neither very just nor sensible, and then
trudged on.
Towards night, B n and myself arrived with
Mitchell at his hut, where we found his aged Indian
father and young sister waiting his return. " Old
Peter," as he is called, had come, with his daughter,
a hundred and fifty miles in a bark canoe, to visit
him. The old man, now over eighty years of age,
shook with palsy, and was constantly muttering to
himself in a language half-French half-Indian, while
his daughter, scarce twenty years old, was silent as
a statue. She was quite pretty, and her long hair,
which fell over her shoulders, was not straight, like
that of her race, but hung in wavy masses around her
bronzed visage. She would speak to none, not even
to answer a question, except to her father and brother.
I tried in vain to make her say No or Yes. She would
invariably turn to her father, and he would answer
for her. This old man still roams the forest, and
stays where night overtakes him. It was sad to look
upon his once-powerful frame, now bowed and totter-
ing, while his thick gray hair hung like a huge mat
around his wrinkled and seamed visage. His tremu-
lous hand and faded eye could no longer send the un-
erring rifle ball to its mark, and he was compelled to
rely on a rusty fowling-piece. Everything about him
AN OLD INDIAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 83
was in keeping. Even his dog was a mixture of the
wolf and dog, and was the quickest creature I ever
saw move. Poor old man, he will scarcely stand
another winter, I fear — and some lonely night, in the
lonely forest, that dark-skinned maiden will see him
die, far from human habitations ; and her feeble arm
will carry his corpse many a weary mile, to rest
among his. friends. As I have seen her decked out
with water-lilies, paddling that old man over the lake,
I have sighed over her fate. She seems wrapped up
in her father, and to have but one thought, one pur-
pose of life — the guarding and nursing of, her feeble
parent. The night that sees her sitting alone by the
camp-fire beside her dead parent will witness a grief
as intense and desolate as ever visited a more culti-
vated bosom. God help her in that dark hour. I
can conceive of no sadder sight than that forsaken
maiden, in some tempestuous night, sitting all alone
in the heart of the boundless forest, holding the dead
or dying head of her father, while the moaning winds
sing his dirge, and the flickering fire sheds a ghastly
light on the scene. Sorrow in the midst of a wilder-
ness seems doubly desolate.
How strong is habit. That old man cannot be per-
suaded to sit down in peace beneath a quiet roof, mi-
nistered to and cherished as his wants require, but still
clings to his wandering life, and endures hunger, cold
and fatigue, and wanders houseless and homeless.
He still hunts, though his shot seldom strikes down a
deer ; and he still treads the forest, though his trem-
bling limbs but half fulfil their office, and his aged
84 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
shoulders groan under the burden of his light canoe.
I saw him looking at a handful of specimens of birch
bark he had collected, and was balancing which to
choose as material for a new boat. He still looks
forward to years of hunting and days of toil, when
the barque of life is already touching those dark
waters that roll away from this world and all that it
contains.
After spending a night with Mitchell, we bade him
good-by, and started for the Adirondac Mountains,
where it was necessary to have another guide. He
rowed us across the lake, and accompanied us several
miles on our way, as if loth to leave us. I gave him
a canister of powder, a pocket compass, and a small
spy-glass, to keep as mementos of me, and shook his
honest hand with as much regret as I ever did that
of a white man. I shall long remember him. He is a
man of deeds and not of words — kind, gentle, delicate
in his feelings, honest and true as steel. I would
start on a journey of a thousand miles in the woods
with him alone, without the slightest anxiety, although
I was burdened down with money. I never lay down
beside a trustier heart than his, and never slept
sounder than I have with one arm thrown across his
brawny chest.
We had started in the morning for a clearing be-
tween twenty and thirty miles distant, but after we
had performed fourteen miles of it, and found our-
selves beneath the roof of a comfortable log-house, we
concluded to stay over night. The next morning,
bright and early, we resumed our march, and at noon
ADIRONDAC IRON WORKS. 85
reached thi* solitary clearing which overlooks the
whole wild, gigantic and broken mass of the Adiron-
dac Mountains. Far over all towered away the lordly
peak of Tahawas, nick-named Mount Marcy. Its
cone-shaped summit arose out of a perfect sea of
mountains, and as I gazed on it I half regretted my
determination to ascend it. I never looked on an
Alpine height with such misgivings. It was, however,
more than twenty miles distant, and a nearer view
might diminish the difficulties that from this point
seemed insurmountable. Four miles more through
the woods brought us to Lake Sandford, where we
found the hunter Cheney, who took us in his boat
five miles further on, to the Adirondac Iron Works.
These iron works are twenty-five miles from any pub-
lic road, in the very heart of the forest. Mr. Hen-
derson, of Jersey City, first visited them. He was
told by an Indian of their existence, and gave him
two hundred dollars to be conducted to them. The
mountains around are solid ore, of a very good quality;
but the carting of provisions in, and the iron out, eats
up all the profits ; so that though two or three hun-
dred thousand dollars have been expended on the
works, not one dollar has been made. It is a lonely
place, and the smoke of a furnace, and the clink of
' the hammer, are strange sights and sounds there.
But of these, more anon.
86 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
LETTER XIII.
THE FIRE ISLANDS*
How true it is that " half the world does not know
how the other half lives. 1 ' Sixty miles from New
York exists a different race of people, who never see
a city paper, and only know of what is going on in
this great Babel from those who visit them or those
who take their game to market. There is a large
population living on and about the barren Fire
Islands whose whole means of livelihood is the game
they kill. These men do not hunt for sport, but as a
business; and the amount of wild fowl annually
slaughtered on the southern shore of Long Island, for
the New York market, is enormous. A descendant
of an old family here, which has owned a large terri-
tory on the south shore ever since New York was a
colony of England, told me that two families, genera-
tion after generation, have had the lease of two
islands of barren rocks, for the sole purpose of killing
the wild fowl that frequent them. They allow no others
to hunt about them. These hunters pay no attention
to the railroad, and make no use of it for the trans-
portation of their game to market. They keep a
wagon going constantly to and from New York, as
THE FIRE ISLANDS. 87
they did years ago. When winter sets in, and game
becomes scarce, many of them go south, in a sloop of
their own, or hire a passage in some vessel, and shoot
on the Chesapeake Bay, about Charleston and Mo-
bile, supplying the southern market with game. *
But, before speaking further of this peculiar class
of people, I will give a sort of diary of my visit. We
were on a visit to a friend on the south shore, and
late in the afternoon drove up to the century-old edi-
fice, that stood facing the ocean with its time-worn
front. This old family mansion is the relic of another *
one which stood here when New York was a colony,
and the owner of it governor under England. It is
overgrown with vines, and standing as it does in full
sight of the sea, presents a most venerable appear-
ance.
After dinner, we rode over to the old Indian tavern,
" Connetiquoit" (I think that is the right spelling),
where gentlemen from New York stop in their hunt-
ing expeditions in this region. Two deer had been
killed during the day, and one of them lay stark and
stiff before the door as we drove up. Poor fellow !
the fleet limbs that were winged with speed in the
morning, would never bound through the forest again.
The rain beginning to descend in torrents, we
turned our horses' heads homewards, and there, by a
blazing wood fire, such as you find in the new settle-
ments alone, composed ourselves for the evening. It
was Saturday night, and a gloomy night it was. The
heavens were black as Erebus, while a strong south-
east wind came from its long track on the Atlantic,
88 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
and howled with an ominous sound around the old
dwelling in which we were seated. I rose and went
to the door, and looked out upon the sea. No other
building was in sight, and the solitude of the scene
was heightened by the murky heavens, the moaning
blast, and the deep prophetic voice of the surge as it
rolled heavily on the shore. The music of the sea
always finds an answering chord in the human heart,
especially heard at night when the gathering storm is
sounding its trumpet and summoning the reluctant
waves to the coming conflict. There is a sullen
threatening sound in the roar of the ocean heard at
such a time, which fills the heart with gloomy fore-
bodings, and brings before the vision the proud barque,
reeling to and fro in the tempest, with her masts bent
and bowed, and her rent sails streaming to the blast,
and the form of the sailor clinging to the parting
shrouds, and all the tumult and terror of a shipwreck.
As I stood listening to the Atlantic speaking to the
shore that hurled back its blow, the flame of a light-
house five miles distant, on one of the Fire Islands,
suddenly flashed up in the surrounding darkness.
Round and round in its circle it slowly swept, now
lost in the surrounding gloom, as it looked away from
me towards the vexed Atlantic, and now blazing land-
ward through the driving rain. That lantern had
almost a human look as it slowly revolved on its-axis.
It seemed keeping watch and ward over sea and land
— now casting its flaming eye over the deep to see
what vessels were tossing there, and now looking
down on the bay and land to see how it fared with
THE FIRE ISLANDS. 89
them in the stormy night. I love a lighthouse, with
its constant guard over human welfare. After a long
voyage at sea, baffled by calms and frightened by
storms, when I have caught the friendly flame of the
lighthouse welcoming me back to the green earth —
the first to meet me and to greet me — I have felt an
affection for it as if it were a living thing. That
steady watch-fire burning over the deep, through the
long tempestuous night, for the sake of the anxious
mariner, is not a bad emblem of the watch and care
of the Deity over his creatures, tossed and benighted
on the sea of life.
How long I gazed on that revolving light I know
not, but it was the last thing my eye fell on as I
turned to my couch, and I thought, as I left it blazing
through the tempest, that it
a
looked lovely as Hope,
That star on life's tremulous ocean."
I slept this first night in the "haunted room."
I like so mysterious a cognomen to rooms and stair-
cases in old castles and dilapidated buildings : it is
in harmony with the place. A fine, elegant mansion
here on the ocean shore would not have possessed half
the interest this old time-worn building did. This
"haunted room" derived its sobriquet from a sound
frequently heard by those who slept in it, as if car-
riage wheels were rolling up to the door. This sound
had often waked up the owner of the mansion, and
roused him to look out and see what visitors were
coming at so late an hour of the night. The frequent
9
90 LETTERS PROM THE BACKWOODS.
recurrence of this rattling of wheels had ceased to be
an object of remark, and was attributed by the -family
to rats or some other similar cause.
But not long since, a young lady visiting the family
was placed in this room without any mention being
made of the mysterious sounds sometimes heard in it.
She had expected friends during the day, who had
not come, and consequently their arrival was not an-
ticipated till the following day. But at midnight
("the witching hour" when ghosts awake and fairies
walk their nightly rounds) she was roused from her
slumbers by the rapid roll of carriage wheels over the
hard ground. Supposing her friends had come, she
jumped from bed and hastened to the window. The
bright round moon was shining down, making the
woods and fields around almost as light as day. She
looked up the road, but no carriage was in sight, and
naught but the still moonlight sleeping over the scene
met her gaze. She turned back astonished, when the
rattling of wheels again shook the room. Supposing
now that the carriage had gone round to the back
door, she ran through the hall and raised the window
to greet her friends, but naught but the quiet moon-
light was there also. She was now thoroughly
alarmed, and hastened back to her room, when the
rapid roll of wheels again met her ear. This crowned
the mystery, and she gave a shriek and went into
hysteric fits. Since then, it has been called " the
haunted room." $
I slept none the less soundly for these stories, not
being given. to superstitious fears. I am more afraid
THE FIRE ISLANDS. 91
of man than I am of his ghost, and of his spirit than
of all the other spirits and mysterious forms of air
that walk the earth or sea. Besides, I should not
have got up had a dozen carriages arrived ; for if the
fairies or more sullen ghosts choose to take a drive
such a wild and stormy night as that, they were wel-
come to their taste. I had certainly no objection to
their taking their own mode of amusing themselves,
provided they kept out of doors.
But it is strange how strong the superstitious feel-
ing is in man. Some of the best and strongest -
minded men I have ever known have been subject to
fears that a child should be ashamed of. To see the
moon over the left shoulder will bring bad luck, and a
journey commenced on Friday will end unfortunately.
So do men, sensible men, talk. A few rats between
the walls, or confined air creeping through $ome
aperture in the building, will drive a lady into con-
vulsions.
92 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
LETTER XIV.
THE FIRE ISLANDS.
It was Sabbath morning, when I arose and threw
open the shutters. The mist-covered ocean lay like a
sleeping giant before me, stretching his arms up into
the land, and the drizzling rain came down without a
sound. Out by the barn, a negro was feeding a flock of
black turkeys, while three or four goats had mounted
an old wagon, trying, apparently, to imagine it was
a rock. The poor creatures, having nothing else to
climb, and unable to restrain their propensities, mount
the fences, wagons, or anything that looks like an
eminence.
After breakfast, we packed ourselves into a close-
covered Rockaway, and started for the church, some
five miles off. It was built at the private expense of
the lady I was with, and was the only place of pub-
lic worship for miles around. The Methodists had
preaching, now and then, in a school-house in the
woods, which we passed on our way to church. The
church to which we were bound is a little box of a
thing, capable of holding perhaps two hundred peo-
ple. The storm had kept many at home, and the con-
gregation on this day amounted to perhaps sixty or
~ THE FIRE ISLANDS. 93
seventy. The sermon was a mere expansion of the
story of the.woman who was cured of an issue of blood.
The preacher was a young man of ordinary intellect.
He was also somewhat embarrassed, which spoiled the
delivery of the sermon. The simple narrative of the
New Testament he took for an outline sketch, which
he filled up to suit his imagination.
But there was something primitive about this place
of worship that interested me; and as I came out and
looked on the faded forest on one side, and the far-
receding ocean on the other, while all was silent and
still around, it did not seem possible that I was within
a few hours' ride of New York and its Babel-like con-
fusion. It seemed like shoving the western frontier
up to the city, and from its wild borders looking down
Broadway, and through the magnificent churches.
Monday morning was., cold and blustering. A chill
west wind swept the ocean, and raged around the
dwelling, till every shingle and clapboard seemed
drumming against the timbers to keep its fingers
warm. The fragmentary clouds went trooping fiercely
over the intensely bright sky; the sea was covered
with foam, and the deep voice of the waves came
riding inland on the blast; while a schooner, dragging
its anchor, drove rapidly along the shore, its naked
masts reeling to and fro in the gale, around which
the sea-gulls swept in rapid circles. Our friend said
that some hunters were to drive deer that day, and
he wished us to see the manner in which it was done.
The cold, fierce blast did not give us a very cheerful
welcome out of doors, but we bundled up and started.
9*
94 LETTERS PROM THE BACKWOODS.
The call of the master brought the hounds in full
chase after us, and we rode over to the hunters' ren-
dezvous, and were soon in the woods. The common
way of hunting the deer on Long Island is to start
several packs of hounds in different directions, and
then station men along a stream near, in places where
the deer are found by experience generally to come
when they take to the water to throw the dogs off the
scent. I was placed in the heart of the forest, on a
good point of observation, beside the stream whose
current swept the shrubs and flags that almost buried
it- from sight. Standing on a board to keep my feet
dry, I turned to the sun to get the full benefit of his
beams, for I was well-nigh frozen. Here I stood, hour
after hour, with naught but the roaring of the blast
through the pine-trees overhead to break the solitude
of the scene. Scathed and blighted trunks threw out
their long withered arms, and swayed them about as
if reaching blindly after something. in the air, and
groaned on their aged roots; while the tufted tips of
the pine and hemlock bowed and sprung as if curt-
seying to the wind. The deep cry of the hounds, as
they opened on the track, had soon died away on the
blast, and I had nothing to do but stand and watch
the forest as the swaying tree-tops traced all kinds of
diagrams on the sky. Suddenly, one tall pine-tree
seemed to swing to a passing gust as if its founda-
tions were yielding ; then, sallying back as if to col-
lect its energies for the terrible leap before it, it
stretched heavily forward, and came, with a crash that
shook the banks, to the ground. The fall of a lordly
*
THE FIRE ISLANDS. 95
but blighted tree, all alone in the depths of the forest,
is one of the most lonely things in nature. As if it'
were not enough that its green crown should wither
among its fellows, and its glory depart, it must stoop
from its proud, erect position, and lie prone on the
earth. Its great heart is at last broken, and it buries
its mighty forehead in the earth. A falling tree seems
always a conscious being to me. With these thoughts,
however, was mingled a little personal concern for
myself, and I began to measure rather anxiously the
distance between me and several old trees that the
wind seemed determined to rock out of their places.
I calculated with the nicest precision the exact length
of several that bowed towards me, in a salutation I
could have dispensed with, and the direction others
would probably take. No more fell, however, and at
one o'clock I turned my steps out of the forest. I had
seen and heard nothing during the day but the shaking
trees and the fierce blast. Arrived at the place of
rendezvous, no one had seen a deer; but on one of
the stands two successive shots had been heard, and
the gentleman placed there had not come in. He
soon appeared, however, but bringing nothing with
him. He was a gentleman of rank in Europe, and
was equal to business plans that embraced a conti-
nent; but a deer could unnerve him. He had never
seen one of these noble animals, in all its wildness and
beauty, face to face, until this day. Sitting on the
bank, a beautiful doe had entered the stream before
him without seeing him, and there, at the distance of
five rods, stood for five minutes, looking with its wild
i
A
96 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
yet gentle eyes towards his place of ambush. With a
doable-barreled gun, loaded with forty buck shot, he
fired at her. With a sudden bound she .cleared the
bank, and sped unharmed away.
The effect of a noble deer, on one who has never
seen one in the forest, is most singular. The gentle-
man with whom I stopped told some anecdotes of
New Yorkers, that were almost incredible. A fine
deer throwing his proud antlers through the forest,
as he outstrips the wind in his flight, is a beautiful
sight. To kill one, as he thus springs away in all the
pride of freedom, seems downright cruelty; and one's
heart always relents when the deed is done, unless
long practice has rendered him accustomed to it. But
the hunter laughs at such sentiment, and can see no
difference between killing a deer and a lamb.
A gentleman who had never seen a deer in his na-
tive forest, told me that, being stationed in a place
with his gun where one was. expected to pass, he saw
him approach and retire without molestation. He
heard a crashing through the under-brush, and the
next moment a noble buck bounded past him, with all
that beauty and strength for which the deer is re-
markable. He gazed on him as he rose and fell in his
long bounds through the forest, in such perfect ad-
miration, that he forgot he had a gun. It never
occurred to him that such a noble animal was to be
shot, until he was out of his reach. " Why," said he,
"I could not have killed him if my life had depended
on it."
The instinct with which God has endowed the deer
THE FIRE ISLANDS. 97
•
for self-preservation seems sometimes like the cun-
ning and reason of man. A gentleman, an old hunter,
told me that not long since he chased a doe all day
through these woods without success, and was per-
fectly astonished at the cunning she exhibited in
baffling her pursuers. The hounds aroused her early
in the morning, when she bounded away, leaving them
far behind. After running an hour or so she laid down
to rest till the dogs, followed close by the hunter, on
a full gallop through the woods, came up, when she
again started off. She managed in this way till noon,
and then adopted a different expedient. Coming to a
public road, she walked up and down it in the same
track several times, and then sprang with a long leap
into the forest. The dogs, when they arrived, ran up
and down the road, making the forest ring with their
deep bay, perfectly baffled. But when the hunter
came up, knowing the cunning of the animal, he be-
gan to beat about the bushes, and soon set the hounds
on the track. Following close after, he at length got
sight of her galloping slowly through an open field,
apparently not in the least frightened, keeping her
enemies at a safe distance behind her as she stretched
over the plain. Still unable to throw them from the
track, she dashed into a flock of sheep, and began to
chase them over the field. Scattering them hither and
thither in confusion, she soon got the dogs pursuing
them, and then boldly pushed again for the forest.
But the hunter being at hand to assist the dogs, they
were soon again in hot pursuit. As the last resort,
after doubling a while through the woods, she dashed
98 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
towards the ocean, and following an inlet along its
margin at low-water mark (it was low tide), swam
boldly out into the bay, and, taking a long semicircle,
landed on a distant point, and sought for the last time
the shelter of the forest. When the hounds came up,
the rising tide had obliterated nearly all the tracks,
and, it being now dusk, the chase was given up, and
the noble deer that had struggled so bravely for life
was saved. It would have been downright cruelty to
have slain her after such an effort to live. It would
have seemed like slaying a rational being.
What a world this is ! — one half pursuers, the other
half pursued: half straining every nerve to save life,
the other half equally intent on destroying it. Thus
instinct battles instinct, and passion passion, and has
done since the fall cursed the earth.
, THE FIRE ISLANDS. 99
LETTER XV.
THE FIRE ISLANDS.
I will trouble you with only this letter from the
Fire Islands. The morning after our unsuccessful
deer expedition, the huntsmen started out again. It
was an Indian summer day in appearance and tem-
perature. Not a breath of air shook the withered
leaves that drooped from the branches, while the
smoky atmosphere drew a veil over the sky and earth,
giving a soft and dreamy aspect to nature. It was
one of those days when sound is transmitted to a
great distance, and the whole concave seems a great
whispering gallery, save that while it transmits it
also dulls every sound. Again I stood in the depths
of the forest beside the stream ; but how changed
had everything become. There was no motion, no
wild swaying to and fro of the distracted branches,
no struggle of the old trees to keep their ancient
foundations. The stream slipped by with a gentle
murmur, kissing the flags that stooped over it, while
even the light tread of the " chick- a-dee-dee" could be
heard on the dry leaves. Not a cloud was on the
sky, while the sun looked drowsily down through the
100 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS. •
murky atmosphere, and all was silent, as a great
forest without wind always is, for
"The streams -were staid and the maples still."
It was a fine morning for the huntsman, who delights
above all things in the cry of the hounds as they
open on the track. As the forest this morning rang
and echoed with their deep baying as they struck the
fresh track, I did not wonder at the excitement often
witnessed in the chase, and involuntarily there came to
my mind the opening lines of the Lady of the Lake :
The stag at eve had drunk his fill
Where danced the moon on Morna's rill,
And deep his midnight lair had made
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ;
•But when the sun his beacon red
Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head,
The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay
Resounded up the rocky way ;
And faint from farther distance borne'
Were heard the clanging hoof and horn.
Several deer were driven this morning, but none
killed, as most of the hunters were gentlemen from
New York, to whom the sight of a deer was a new
object, and what the hunters call the "buck fever"
is not an uncommon thing with them. The exhibi-
tions they frequently make is very ludicrous. It
was here Mr. Delmonico, of the famous eating-house
of New York, was found dead. A shot was heard
during the day on the stand which he occupied, and
after the hunters had all come in he was missing.
THE FIRE ISLANDS. 101
*
On going to the spot, he was found fallen with his
face in the water. His gun, partly reloaded, lay
beside him. He had evidently seen a deer and fired
at him and missed. The excitement had brought on
an epileptic fit, and before he had finished re-charg-
ing his gun he had fallen. Having pitched forward
into the water, he was drowned before he could re-
cover from the fit.
A Frenchman from the city, standing here one day,
saw a large buck come leaping down the stream,
tossing his huge antlers in the air. Without firing,
he threw down his gun and gave chase, thinking in
his simplicity that the deer could not possibly get
through the tangled woods with his branching horns,
and he could take him alive.
As I stood beside the stream, from the distant sea
came the constant dull report of fire arms. It was
an excellent day for duck shooting on the water, and
up and down the shore, for eight or ten miles, it was
an incessant explosion of fire arms. Those who sup-
ply the New York market with ducks have a curious
way of taking them. A box just large enough to
contain and float a man as he lies on his back is
pushed four or five miles out to sea in some bay, sup-
ported by two flat boards that spread out like wings
on either side, to break the waves that would other-
wise dash over it. Anchoring this in some convenient
spot, they lie down, and throwing out their decoy
duck (made of wood), attract every flock that passes
by to the spot. As they wheel around and stoop to
the water, the unseen hunter fires his huge double-
10
102 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
barreled gun into their midst. In a good day, lie
frequently kills a hundred birds.
At length I strolled away by myself, intending to
take a long semicircle through the forest and strike
the ocean some four or five miles distant. It was
one of those days in which I love to wander alone
"by stream or wave" or through the sombre autumn
woods, and let the poetry, the thoughtfulness, and
even the sadness of nature sink into my spirit. Some-
times I would be ankle deep in the withered leaves
as I strolled on, I scarcely knew or cared whither.
Coming at length to an arm of the sea that stretched
far inland, I followed it down for a mile or two to
the main shore. It was low tide, and so, with the aid
of tight boots, I was able to cross the marshes which
the rising sea floods, and stood at last on the smooth
sand beach, along which I wandered for more than a
mile.
Stand here a moment with me, and look off on the
solemn ocean. Not a breath of air is abroad, and the
mighty waters spread away like an endless mirror
from your feet. The smooth ripple comes with a slow
and sluggish movement, and lays its gentle lip with-
out a murmur on the beach ; while flocks of wild fowl
glance by through the hazy atmosphere, like messen-
gers from the distant deep, where it melts and blends
into the smoky horizon. Not a human habitation is
in sight, and, as you stand and muse, you cannot but
think of that other " vast ocean" in which you are
"to sail so soon."
But listen a moment! Miles out on the slumbering
THE FIRE ISLANDS. 103
water, lost in the smoky atmosphere, comes the in-
cessant report of fire-arms. Scores of these "bat-
teries" are anchored there. The incessant firing they
keep up seems like the cannonading between two
battle ships that are at the work of death. The dull
and heavy sound is increased in volume on the sea,
and, by the state of the atmosphere, and the uninter-
rupted bom! bom! from the distant mist- wrapped
ocean, awakens strange feelings in one just from the
stir and tumult of city life. There is not an interval
of ten seconds between these explosions. Sometimes
there are several discharges at once, like a whole
broadside, and then a rolling fire like that which goes
from stem to stern of a ship, and then a straggling
shot jarring the atmosphere with its report. As a
sort of interlude to all this, from an unseen island,
three or four miles distant, rises a confused and con*
stant scream from myriads of sea fowl congregated
there — keeping up one of the wildest concerts I ever
listened to. Rising as it does out of the mist, and,
as it were, in response to the constant explosion along
the sea, like the cries of the wounded and dying on
a field of battle, and just as twilight is deepening
over the water, it imparts inconceivable wildness and
mystery to the scene. In the midst of this mighty
solitude, I stood absorbed and impressed beyond mea-
sure, and lingered till the increasing darkness and
the rising tide admonished me it was time to return;
A new world of thought and emotion had been born
within me in the few hours I had mused on that soli-
tary shore,
104 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
How impressive nature is in all her aspects.
Whether she looks in one's face from the smiling
landscape of a New England valley, or humbles one
amid the glaciers and snow-fields and shuddering
abysses of Alpine solitudes, or saddens the heart
with the murmur of waves and broad expanse of the
mysterious sea, she presents the same attractions and
has the same chastening effect. I never shall forget
that afternoon stroll by the ocean around the Fire
Islands.
The next morning, we were to leave for the city.
The sky was overcast as I rose and looked out on
the ocean. It seemed preparing for one of those
warm, quiet, drizzling rains. The atmosphere in
such a state always has great refracting power from
the moisture it contains, and I was struck with the
appearance of buildings on the Fire Islands. Usually,
they seemed (as they really did) to stand up some of
them several feet from the shore, but now I could see
distinctly the shining surface of the water beyond
their foundations. Where the island was low, it ap-
peared now to be cut in two, and the bright water
passed entirely through to the ocean beyond. The
lighthouse, which was elevated on a rock, now sat in
the sea, if there was any reliance to be placed in
one's eyes. Through a powerful spy-glass I could
distinguish the water on three sides of it as distinctly
as I could see the lighthouse itself, and had I not been
informed otherwise, should have had no doubt the build-
ing stood in the water, and that the island here and
there was really divided. This deception was owing
to the refracting power of the" atmosphere. The rays
THE FIRE ISLANDS. 105
of light were reflected strongly from the polished sur-
face of the water, while so few came from the dusky
beach to make it invisible to the eye. The atmo-
sphere refracting the rays from this smooth surface
lifted it up from its real level and threw it apparently
above the land. At least this is my explanation,
and it is rational and philosophical whether true in
this case or not. The lady of the mansion told me
that she had frequently seen ships at sea directly
over the island, when no part of the ocean is visible
over it, even from the top of the house. This re-
minds me of the report that, in a peculiar state of the
atmosphere, Lake Ontario has been seen from Ro-
chester lying calm and distinct against the distant
horizon. At sea, I have heard captains relate hav-
ing seen ships that were not visible from deck, mast
downwards in the clouds. Mentioning this circum-
stance to the lady, she said she had witnessed the
same singular appearance several times from her
house. The explanation of this phenomenon I will
leave to some one else.
It was with regret I bid the hospitable, intelligent
and generous inmate of the mansion adieu, and
turned again towards the city. I know of no life
more desirable than that of a large landholder whose
residence is fixed on some such picturesque spot as
this.
THE END.
^1
BOOKS
PUBLISHED BY JOHN S. TAYLOR,
143 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.
RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. By Rev. J. T. Headley. 1
toI. 12mo., illustrated, full cloth. $1 00.
LUTHER AND CROMWELL. By Rev. J. T. Headley. 1
vol. 12mo., illustrated, full cloth. $1 00.
NAPOLEON AND HIS DISTINGUISHED MARSHALS.
By Rev. J. T. Headley. 1 vol. 12mo., illustrated, full cloth. $1 00.
THE SACRED MOUNTAINS. By Rev. J. T. Headley. 1
vol. 12mo., illustrated, full cloth. $1 00.
Do. do. do. gilt edges, extra. $1 50.
SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS. By Rev. J. T.
Headley. 1 vol. 12mo., illustrated, full cloth. $1 00.
Do. do. do. gilt edges, extra. $1 50.
HISTORY OF THE PERSECUTIONS AND BATTLES OF
THE WALDENSES. By the Rev. J. T. Headley. 1 vol. 12mo.,
illustrated, full cloth. $1 00.
Do. do. do. gilt edges, extra. $1 50.
THE POWER OF BEAUTY. By Rev. J. T. Headley. 1
vol. 12mo., illustrated, full cloth. $1 00.
LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS AND THE ADI-
RONDAC. By Rev. J. T. Headley. 1 vol. 12mo., full cloth.
75 cents.
THE SACRED MOUNTAINS. By J. T. Headley. 1 vol.
18mo., without the plates. Sunday School edition. 50 cents.
SACRED SCENES AND CHARACTERS. By J. T. Headley.
1 vol. 18mo., without the plates. Sunday School edition. 50 cents.
HISTORY OF THE WALDENSES. By J. T. Headley. 1
vol. 18mo. Sunday School edition. 50 cents.
? A GREAT NATIONAL PICTURE!
WASHINGTON!
v
From Stuart's most celebrated Painting.
This large and magnificent
PORTRAIT OF WASHINGTON,
from the burin of an American artist, is considered by all who have
seen it to be one of the most beautiful specimens of art ever pub-
lished, and a
CORRECT LIKENESS OF WASHINGTON.
The size of the Plate is eighteen by twenty-eight inches, which will
make a handsome Picture for the Parlor, and should be in the hands of
EYERY AMERICAN CITIZEN.
It is a correct copy from Stuart's celebrated original Painting,
now at the State House, Hartford, Conn. The Publisher has spared
neither trouble nor expense in the mechanical part of this engraving
to make it worthy of its subject.
It is finely engraved, and printed on superior plate paper. That
it may be within the means of all who wish to possess the only cor-
rect picture of the Father of his Country, the publisher has reduced
the price to
$^ONE DOLLAR !^#
All persons remitting that amount may rely upon receiving a
perfect copy by return mail to any part of the United* States, care-
fully put up on rollers made for the purpose, free of postage.
Address all orders, post paid, to the publisher,
JOHN S. TAYLOR,
Bookseller and Publisher,
b New York.
5V. fct
*:••«
> . , - - .
■*..-.*.•
«
• •
.»
i.
» j
•»'A»<'..u»
3 2044 021 008 693
A FINE IS INCURRED IF THIS BOOK IS
NOT RETURNED TO THE LIBRARY ON
OR BEFORE THE LAST DATE STAMPED
BELOW,