LIBRARY OF CONGRESS DDDlEHSDSTt. \: ^ o o ^^%i o ^■■^ ^ i ^ "^. ,aV ^ V? ^-^^^ #: *-<> '•J^. •:.^..i' '"o .^-- ^M ^' .■^ V^' V*' i^m¥.- <.^" - p. >■*. %;!■':#•' c°' .'^^. ■^o ^ :^SM;^ "'•^i^ .^^i^'- ^^'^<^, '\A\iss^- LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS AND THE ADIRONDAC BY / THE REV. J. T. HE AD LEY. NEW YORK: JOHN S. TAYLOR, 143 NASSAU STREET. 1850. V<^\V 40376 Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by JOHN S. TAYLOR, III tlie Clerk's OHice of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. CONTENTS LETTER I. MOUNT TAHAWUS, 5 LETTER IL LOG DRIVING, ....... 10 LETTER IIL ASCENT OF MOUNT TAHAWUS— DIFFICULTIES OF THE WAY— GLORIOUS PROSPECT FROM THE TOP, . . I(i LETTER IV. DESCENT FROM MOUNT TAHAWUS, . . .25 LETTER V. THE INDIAN PASS, . . . . . .31 LETTER YL LONG LAKE, ....... 39 LETTER YII. TROUT FISHING— MITCHELL, . . . .46 IV CONTEXTS. LETTER VIIL 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 XIL 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 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 trees 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 walks 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 ofi* link after link of its bondage, and the soul loses its sternness and fierce excitement, and becomes subdued as a child's 1 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 difi'erent! 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 TAHAWUS. 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 Adirondac 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. 10 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS. LETTER II. LOG DRIVING. Backwoods, July 6t7i. 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 sheet 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 arrow, or rather a visible spirit on some mysterious errand, seeking the loneliest and most fearful passages the LOG DRivma. 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 soon 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 disappeareol 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 froni 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, and 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 iB the depths of the forest. How long I might have stood 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- 14 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS. low. Recoiling from the shock, its head swung off with the stream, and away it shot out of sight. The stream gets full of these logs, which often catch on some rock or projecting root, and accumu- late till a hundred or more will be all tangled and matted together. There they lie, rising and falling on the uneasy current, while a driver slowly and care- fully steps from one to another, feeling with his feet and handspike to see where the drag is. When he finds it, he loosens it, perhaps with a single blow, and away the whole rolling tumbling mass moves. Now look out, bold driver ; thy footing is not of the most certain kind, and a wild and angry stream is beneath thee. Yet see how calmly he views the chaos ! The least hurry or alarm, and he is lost. But no ; he moves without agitation; now balancing himself a moment as the log he steps upon shoots downward, now quickly passing to another as it rolls under him, he is gradually working his way towards the shore. He has almost succeeded in reaching the bank, when the whole floating mass separates so far that he can no longer step from one to another, and, after looking about a moment, he quietly seats himself astraddle of one and darts like a fierce rider down the current. These logs are carried twenty and thirty miles in this way, passing from small streams to larger ones, through lakes and along rivers, and are finally brought up at the wished-for point by stringing poles across the rivef, which stops their further descent. Several different men have clubbed together to drive the stream, and here they pick out each his own, by LOG DRIVING. 15 the mark he has given it, just as you have seen farm- ers, in a confused flock of sheep, select their own, saying ever and anon, ^' This is mine, cropped in both ears and slit in the right," &c. When the logs get fastened together on rocks, &c., it is called a ''jam." I saAV one of these the other day upon a huge mass of rocks, over which the water never flows except in the highest freshet ; and I should think there were four or five thousand of them there thrown into all shapes and attitudes — the most chaotic-looking mass you ever beheld. This "driving the river," as it is called, is one of the chief employments of your backwoodsman in spring time, and it is curious to see what an object of interest the river becomes. Its rise and fall are the chief topics of conversation. So goes the world. New York has its objects of interest — the country village its — and the settler on the frontier his ; each filled with the same anxieties, hopes, fears, and wishes — overcome by the same discouragements and mis- fortunes, and working out the same fate ; — man still with that mysterious soul and restless heart of his, greater than a king, and immortal as an angel, yet absorbed with straws and maddened or thrown into raptures by a little glittering dust. My next will be from the heart of Hamilton county, and I shall have something to say of Long Lake colony. 16 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS. LETTER III. ASCENT OF MOUNT TAIIAWUS — DIFFICULTIES OF TUB WAY — GLORIOUS PROSPECT FROM TUB TOP. I HAD finally resolved to ascend this mountain, tlie highest in the Empire State, and the highest in the Union with the exception of Mount Washington. The hunter Cheney told me that not a human foot had pressed its lordly summit for six years, and that it would require three days to ascend it and return. It was fifteen miles to the top, through a pathless wilderness, across rivers and amid tangled thickets, and over swamps that would task the powers of the strongest man. As he looked at my pale visage and slender frame, he intimated that I could not accom- plish the ascent. I told him I could, and what was more, I could do it all in a day and a half, passing only one night in the woods instead of two. He said it was impossible ; that it had never been done but once in that time, and then it was performed by him- self and another man from necessity, and that he did not get over it for a week after. Notwithstanding these discouragements, our little party concluded to start ; and so, on Friday morning, before the leaves had shaken the dew from their fin- ASCENT TO MOUNT TAHAWUS. 17 gers, we stretched off in Indian file, Cheney the hunt- er leading. With a hatchet in his hand, and a pack filled with pork and venison and bread on his back, he appeared a fit leader for such a vagabond-looking company as we were. Next came B n, carrying a tea-kettle in his hand, while I followed close after, with a long stick in my hand to steady me in leaping chasms and climbing precipices, and a green Scotch blanket, rolled up and fastened by a rope around my shoulders, to cover me with at night. The rest came straggling along, each with something in his hand necessary for our dinner or night's lodging in the woods. After moving in this way about six miles, we came to some burnt logs and a rude bier, on which a dead man had lain all night. Mr. Henderson, a wealthy gentleman of Jersey City, and who owned a portion of the Adirondac Iron Works, had shot himself accidentally with a pistol a short way from this spot, and here he had been brought, to wait for daylight to guide those who bore him through the woods. His little boy, eleven years old, was with him, and "There," said the hunter, pointing to a log, "I sat all night, and held the poor fel!ow in my arms, until at length he sobbed himself to sleep." A little farther on, we came to a small pond beside which stood a rock where the accident happened. "I stood there," said Cheney, pointing across the pond, "with the little boy by my side, and was busy in preparing a raft on which we might take some trout for supper, when I heard a shot. I looked across,