THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES : 
 
 GIFT OF 
 COMMODORE BYRON MCCANDLESS
 
 >-**^
 
 HERE AND THERE 
 
 OUR OWN COUNTRY, 
 
 EMBRACING 
 
 SKETCHES OF TRAVEL AND DESCRIPTIONS 
 OF PLACES, ETC., ETC. 
 
 By POPULAR WRITERS. 
 
 "WITH. 127 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
 
 Copyright, 1885, by J. B. LiPPlNCOTT COMPANY.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. EDMUND KIRKE 5 
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION 34 
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB : AMONG FLORIDA LAKES. LOUISE SEYMOUR HOUGHTON 65 
 
 STRATFORD-ON-THE-SOUND -. 79 
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. A. H. SIEGFRIED 95 
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. WILLIAM H. RIDEING . . . 116 
 THE RUINS OF THE COLORADO VALLEY. ALFRED TERRY BACON ... 134 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. GEORGE REX BUCKMAN . 145 
 
 LEADVBLLE. I. BONNER 162 
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. AMELIA A. BARR 174 
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. DAVID H. STROTHER 
 
 (Porte Crayon) 189 
 
 PARADISE PLANTATION. LOUISE SEYMOUR HOUGHTON 204 
 
 3 
 
 973787
 
 HERE AND THERE 
 
 IN 
 
 OUR OWN COUNTRY. 
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 WAS due in 
 Asheville, North 
 Carolina, on the 
 first day of January, 1882. If I were 
 not there by. or before that date, import- 
 ant interests might suffer : therefore, 
 taking "time by the forelock," I set out 
 several days in advance of the appointed 
 period. I had only a hundred and forty 
 miles to go, but I was somewhat expe- 
 rienced in Southern travel, and knew it 
 was well enough to allow a liberal mar- 
 gin of time, even for short distances. 
 
 "You will find Jordan a hard road to 
 travel, sir," said the conductor to me, as 
 
 we went down the Buncombe Railway 
 from Morristown, Tennessee. "The 
 trestle at Deep Water is swept away, 
 and the one at Ivy is hanging by only 
 the couplings ; but you'll get through 
 somehow, if you're one of the ' saints' 
 and b'lieve in ' perseverance.' " 
 
 I was in the wake of a severe storm, 
 which I knew had done some damage to 
 the. roads, but I was not aware that* it 
 had swept away bridges and raised high 
 havoc generally. However, I had no 
 alternative, so I pushed on, trusting to 
 luck and "perseverance." At Wolf 
 Creek the train halted in a driving snow- 
 
 5
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 storm. The stage-driver was on the 
 platform, waiting for the mail-bag, and I 
 asked if he had a spare seat. 
 
 "Yes, sir," he answered, "one, on 
 my nigh mare. But I karn't take you 
 no furder nor Ottinger's ; beyant thai 
 you'll have to take to Shank's mares ; 
 but 'tain't only two miles to the Spring 
 House." 
 
 "Shank's mares?" I asked. "What 
 sort of mares are they ?" 
 
 " Why, yer legs, stranger ; and you'll 
 be lucky if you get through on them, for 
 thar hain't no road ; it's all torned up by 
 the cussed railroad. It's a reg'lar dog 
 in the manger : it don't travil itself nor 
 let no one else travil." 
 
 Calling to mind what the train-con- 
 ductor had said about the " perseverance 
 of the saints," 1 decided to accept the 
 vacant seat on the "nigh mare," and 
 then hurried to the public house to break 
 a long fast and deposit my luggage, 
 which Shank's mares might find incon- 
 veniently heavy to carry. 
 
 Every traveller in this part of the 
 world knows this quaint, old-fashioned 
 inn, nestling among the hills, its low 
 roof and wide veranda overhung with 
 broad-branching trees, which yield a 
 grateful shelter from the torrid heat of 
 midsummer. Very pleasant is it to come 
 upon it when the outer world is swelter- 
 ing in the heated air, and to have the 
 breeze which comes down the mountain- 
 gorge fan your cheek with the cool 
 breath of October. But quite as pleas- 
 ant is the old inn in the depth of winter, 
 though its attractions are then all in- 
 doors, in a warm fire, a warm welcome, 
 and a bounteous repast, which the kindly 
 landlady sets before you in the low-ceil- 
 inged dining-room. I was in the midst 
 of such a repast, when the Jehu thrust 
 his head in at the door-way with " Hurry 
 up, hurry up, sir. The mail can't wait. 
 We shan't git thar before midnight." 
 
 It was an hour before nightfall when 
 we mounted to the "top of the stage" 
 and rode off into the snow-storm. The 
 flakes were falling fast, and the cold 
 wind from the near mountains drove 
 them in blinding gusts into our faces, 
 frosting our hair till our locks were as 
 
 venerably white as those of Old Time in 
 the primer. The "nigh mare" was not 
 the horse which won the last race at 
 Nashville, but a slower animal ; and she 
 stumbled along over the frozen road with 
 a persistent disregard of a direct course 
 and a steadfast footing. It required 
 about all my attention to watch her un- 
 steady gyrations ; but I did now and 
 then give a glance at the country through 
 which we were passing. 
 
 Most of it was covered with magnifi- 
 cent timber, oak, pine, and poplar, 
 straight as the mast of a ship, and tower- 
 ing a hundred feet into the air. The 
 land, I was told, could be bought for a 
 dollar an acre, and there were evidently 
 ten of such trees upon every acre : so it 
 seemed only necessary to put an axe 
 into that timber to realize a fortune. 
 This was my first opinion ; but as I rode 
 on in the dim light of the half-blinding 
 storm I soon came to a different conclu- 
 sion. I discovered that the larger por- 
 tion of the land was set up edgewise, 
 and too near the perpendicular to be 
 trodden by the foot of man until he has 
 invented some new mode of locomotion. 
 
 It soon became dark, and the storm 
 increased with the night ; but we rode 
 on, now wading some stream breast- 
 high to the horses, and then again 
 floundering over the icy ground, my 
 only guide the steady tattoo beat by the 
 heels of the "off horse," as he kept just 
 one length ahead of me on the frozen 
 road. 
 
 " I say, stranger," shouted the Jehu 
 out of the darkness, "a man is a gol- 
 darned fool as drives stage in this 
 weather." 
 
 "And what is the man who doesn't 
 drive a stage?" 
 
 " He's a gol-doner ; and jjiat's what I 
 think of you, sir." 
 
 I was conscious of meriting this en- 
 comium, but I answered nothing, and, 
 cold, benumbed, and half frozen in 
 hands and feet, I pulled my hat down 
 over my eyes to keep out the thick-fall- 
 ing snow, and pushed on into the dark- 
 ness. We had ridden on in silence for 
 another hour, when the driver turned 
 suddenly to me again, this time shouting,
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 "Glory hallelujah! Thar it are the 
 light off yonder." 
 
 It was Ottinger's, and in another five 
 minutes I had alighted from the "top of 
 the stage" and staggered for I was too 
 cold and stiff to walk into the sitting- 
 room. A bright wood fire was blazing 
 on the hearth, shedding a cheerful glow 
 around the cosey but spacious apartment. 
 In one of the chimney-corners sat two 
 men, evidently travellers ; in the other, 
 a cheery, pleasant-faced woman, a little 
 past middle age, who, looking up with a 
 cheerful smile, accosted me as follows : 
 " I knowed you'd come. I've been look- 
 ing for you." 
 
 "Indeed! Looking for me ?" 
 
 " Yes ; for I knowed that an old fool 
 like you would be sure to come out on a 
 night like this." 
 
 "Old, madam? You call me old? 
 Wait till I take off my hat and get the 
 snow out of my hair and beard." 
 
 I suited the action to the word, and 
 then she said, with another cheery laugh, 
 "Well, you're not so very old, but you're 
 a fool all the same, any one is to travil 
 seen a night as this on the back of a 
 broken-down stage-horse. But never 
 mind ; here, take my seat you must be 
 cold : you need something hot : what 
 shall it be ? hot coffee or hot toddy ?" 
 
 "Coffee, if you please, madam. I'm 
 a temperance man." 
 
 " Well, I shouldn't wonder if you was," 
 scanning me closely ; "per'aps a Methi- 
 dist parson ; and you did look like a 
 saint when you come in, like one of 
 'em in white robes, just ready to go up 
 to glory. But, saint or sinner, you shan't 
 freeze to death here, not so long as I kin 
 make the kettle boil." And with another 
 cheery laugh she bustled out of the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 When I had begun to thaw out, I 
 made acquaintance with my fellow- 
 guests at this comfortable hostelry. One 
 was a commercial traveller on his way 
 to Asheville with about a thousand 
 pounds of luggage. He was waiting, 
 like the man in the fable, for the river to 
 run dry ; and if he kept to his intention 
 he is waiting yet. The other guest was 
 a country shoemaker, who had just come 
 
 afoot over the route I should be obliged 
 to travel. His report was much like that 
 of the spies to Joshua. The land was 
 one flowing with milk and sorghum mo- 
 lasses, but to reach it one must cross the 
 French Broad River, and the bridges 
 were down, the river was up, and abreast 
 of Lovers' Leap the water stood six feet 
 deep in the high-road. At other points 
 it was nearly as deep, and farther on 
 estray logs and uprooted trees had drifted 
 in from the stream and so obstructed the 
 road that it was absolutely impassable 
 for any living "critter" except a Bun- 
 combe County pony, and one of them 
 could walk a creek, climb a rail fence, or 
 dance a hornpipe on a tight-rope. The 
 only course for a man to get round the 
 obstructed points was to scale the almost 
 inaccessible cliffs which rose on the left 
 of the road a hundred feet and more al- 
 most perpendicularly. This the shoe- 
 maker had done, but he was sure of foot 
 and steady of nerve ; and if a man 
 wasn't all this he would advise him not 
 to attempt the hazardous exploit. How- 
 ever, these mountain-streams went down 
 about as fast as they went up, and the 
 river might be low enough by the morn- 
 ing to allow of my passing Lovers' Leap 
 with dry feet, if my boots were well 
 coated with a solution of beeswax and 
 tallow. This was on the supposition that 
 I travelled afoot, which I did not intend 
 to do if a saddle-horse could be anywhere 
 obtained for the moderate amount of legal 
 currency I had about me. 
 
 Soon the landlady appeared at the 
 door, saying, " Now, you temperance 
 gentleman, come this way, and I'll give 
 you something to warm your innards." 
 
 I followed her into the dining-room 
 and sat down to a repast fit to "set be- 
 fore a king," and which any king would 
 have enjoyed if blessed with a reason- 
 ably good appetite : hot rolls, hot coffee, 
 hot waffles, hot corn-pone, and hot ham 
 and eggs, everything hot, and all pre- 
 pared by the chubby hands of my warm- 
 hearted hostess. While pouring out the 
 coffee, she opened a conversation, and it 
 was not long before I had her complete 
 autobiography. It was barren of inci- 
 i dent ; but, as it illustrates the life of a
 
 8 
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 class not generally supposed to exist at 
 the South, I may as well give it here in 
 brief epitome. 
 
 "You see," she said, "me and my old 
 man was born and broughten up in Ten- 
 nessee, East Tennessee, where they 
 raise such heaps of live-stock hosses 
 and mules and pigs and horned critters 
 for the Car'lina markets. We was 
 poor; but we married young, for neither 
 of us believed in waitin' till we had 
 enough to rear a fambly. He was sober 
 and 'dustrious, and so was I ; and we 
 got along right smart, bought a nice 
 little farm and paid for it, and when the 
 children come along as was nat'ral they 
 should we had enough to feed and 
 clothe 'em and give 'em a sight better 
 edication than we had ourselves. This 
 was doin' right well ; but you never 
 knowed ary one of the right sperrit as 
 thought they was doin' well enough when 
 they could do any better. We could give 
 our children good edications, but we 
 wanted to set 'em up in life, fur no one 
 kin live upon larnin' 'cept boys, and all 
 our boys was girls, all but one, and he 
 had no more mind for books nor I have 
 for the finer)' those silly women as come 
 to the Springs go crazy over." 
 
 " You mistake, madam. I know a 
 good many young women at the North 
 who live upon their learning, make lots 
 of money by teaching." 
 
 "Teachin 1 ?" she exclaimed. "Do 
 you s'pose I'd let one o' my girls be a 
 schule-marm, a dried-up copy of the 
 multiplication-table ? No, sir ! I'd 
 rather every one of 'em was poor and 
 the mother of sixteen small children. I 
 tell you, sir, the young woman as has a 
 likely boy or girl and brings it up to be a 
 decent man or woman does more for the 
 kentry and the world than all the schule- 
 marms in creation. But, as I was sayin', 
 we had four children, three girls and a 
 boy, the youngest girl you'll see here, 
 and we wanted to look out for settin' on 
 'em up in life. We put our heads to- 
 gether, my old man and me, but we 
 couldn't see no way to do it till one time 
 when he come out here and seed this 
 farm, which we could buy reasonable. 
 You see, this road by Wolf Creek, and 
 
 all along up French Broad to Asheville, 
 was the only road from East Tennessee 
 to Charlotte and Augusta, and all the 
 stock had to be driv' this way for the- 
 Car'lina markets. It had been the old 
 Indian trail, and they had followed it for 
 years, long afore the kentry ever see a 
 white man. And now it is taken by the 
 railroad which they say is a-goin' to bring 
 us right into the centre of civilization. 
 Strange, sir, hain't it, that the railroad 
 engineers, with all thar book-larnin', 
 don't know no more 'bout layin' out a 
 road nor the wild Indians. 
 
 "Well," she continued, "as I was 
 sayin', my husband come down here 
 with a drove of cattle, and he had to 
 bring his fodder along with him, for 
 there wasn't a blessed thing growin' for 
 'em to eat from the time they struck the 
 French Broad, nigh to Newport, till they 
 got 'bout on to Asheville. The whole 
 kentry was steep hill-sides and mountain- 
 tops, as grow'd nothin' but rocks, except 
 a narrow stage-road along the river, the 
 openin' whar the Springs is, and this 
 farm of 'bout seventeen hundred acres. 
 The Springs was already taken up. and 
 had been for a hundred years, and fool- 
 ish women come thar then, just as they 
 do now, a-huntin' for husbands. 15ut 
 this place had nothin' on it 'cept the 
 nat'ral grass, and the moment my hus- 
 band sot eyes on it he seed what could 
 be done with it. He could lay it down 
 in grass and corn and oats, and sell 'em 
 to the drovers as come by, and make his 
 fortune. And, to cut a long story short, 
 he done it. At first we put up a log 
 house, but now, you see, we've got a 
 brick one, two stories and attic, and 
 fifty feet square, and, if I say it, as 
 good a farm as can be found in the State 
 of North Car'lina." 
 
 " I can readily believe it, madam : 
 seventeen hundred acres of such bottom- 
 land is a farm that would be hard to beat 
 anywhere." 
 
 "Well, we hain't seventeen hundred 
 acres now. When our boy come of age, 
 you see, we built him a house and give 
 him three hundred acres. And we done 
 the same by our two older girls when 
 they was married ; and I don't mind
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 tellin' you, for you don't look as if you 
 was huntin' a wife, and, if you was, 
 you're a temperance man, and sech 
 gen'rally makes good husbands we 
 mean to do jest the same by our young- 
 est girl ; she's jest turned of seventeen: 
 you'll see her when you git back to the 
 sittin'-room. So we'll hev only 'bout 
 five hundred acres ; but I reckon that 
 and a good warm house is 'bout enough 
 for my old man and me for the rest of 
 our days." 
 
 At this point in the monologue, a tall 
 man of about sixty, very erect, and with 
 a fine face and forehead, opened the 
 door and said to the lady, " Wife, thar's 
 another stranger come in, who has 
 walked all the way from Stockhouse's. 
 Can't you give him some hot coffee ? 
 He's very cold, and I thought you'd like 
 to do it." 
 
 "Of course I would," said the good 
 woman, rising hastily, "but he'll have 
 to wait a little. You see, this gentleman 
 has been so very entertainin' kept me 
 so busy a-listenin' to his pleasant talk 
 I've forgot to keep the coffee and the 
 other things on the stove. Ask him to 
 wait a little, and I'll have 'em ho ( t ag'in." 
 
 I went into the sitting-room and asked 
 the new-comer how he had come from 
 Stockhouse's. "On foot, sir," was his 
 reply, " and I climbed the cliff at Lovers' 
 Leap and at two places beyond ; but if 
 you are going on I would advise you not 
 to hazard the experiment. The snow 
 which has melted to-day will freeze to- 
 night and be ice by to-morrow, and af- 
 ford you a very dangerous footing." 
 
 When the landlady returned from the 
 dining-room, and took her accustomed 
 seat in the chimney-corner, she said to 
 me, " I know what you're hankerin' 
 after ; you don't drink, but you do smoke, 
 and you want one now, and think it won't 
 suit us women." 
 
 "Madam, you have read me like a 
 book : if you had lived two hundred 
 years ago you might have been hanged 
 for a witch." 
 
 "Well, don't you mind us, for, if you 
 won't mention it, I'll tell you I don't 
 mind a quiet whiff now and then my- 
 self." 
 
 All now produced their cigars, except 
 the landlady. She drew from the pocket 
 of her dress a small yellow bag and a 
 colored clay pipe, called the Powhatan 
 because it is supposed to be the identi- 
 cal utensil which the renowned John 
 Smith, first of that name, found in use 
 among the Indians when he first set foot 
 
 TRAVELLING ALONG THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 in Virginia. Holding out the bag to me, 
 she said, "You had better try some of 
 my tobacco, sir. It is better nor your 
 cigar ; it are the genuine ' bright yellow,' 
 the pure ' golden-leaf,' and it don't grow 
 nowhere like it do here in Madison 
 County." 
 
 I filled a pipe with the fragrant leaves, 
 and when I had imbibed a few whiffs I 
 remarked, " It is excellent, madam : you 
 are a judge of the weed." 
 
 "I orter be," she answered. "I've 
 smoked it ever since I was born ; and all 
 my gals smoke too, but they do it behind 
 the door, whar folks won't see 'em. But
 
 10 
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 I tell you, sir, it's nothin' to\>e ashamed 
 of, for tobacco is a-goin' to be the makin' 
 of this kentry." 
 
 " How is that, madam ?" 
 
 "Why, ever since it was found out, 
 'bout ten year ago, that this sile was the 
 best in the world for it, every little farmer 
 in Madison and Buncombe has gone to 
 growin' it. 'Fore they done that they 
 didn't get more'n enough to jest keep 
 soul and body together, but now they 
 clear fifty and a hundred dollars a year 
 from every acre. It brings 'em in money, 
 so they kin send their children to school, 
 wear better clothes, and hev somethin' 
 to eat 'sides bacon and corn-pone. It's 
 the poor fare they has lived on that has 
 made the back-kentry people down yere 
 sech a mis'rable, no-account set of crit- 
 ters." 
 
 " It was parched corn that settled this 
 country, and you think tobacco will civil- 
 ize it?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. But how did parched corn 
 settle it?" 
 
 " It was all that John Sevier had in his 
 knapsack when he beat the British at 
 King's Mountain and flogged the Chero- 
 kees in thirty-five battles." 
 
 But the delicious "golden-leaf" in my 
 pipe was soon exhausted, and. knocking 
 the ashes from the bowl, I rose, and, 
 bidding my kindly entertainers "good- 
 night," I went to the quiet slumbers that 
 are apt to follow a long ride on the back 
 of a broken-down stage-horse. 
 
 In the morning I found the storm had 
 cleared away, and the day opened cold 
 but clear and sunshiny. I was assured 
 that I could secure a saddle-horse at 
 Warm Springs ; and that assurance and 
 the beautiful morning led me to set out 
 early on my journey. My genial hostess 
 saw me to the door-way, and, as she 
 held my hand in a kindly "good-by," 
 said, "Ye'd better take stret up the corn- 
 field. The railroad has gobbled up the 
 stage-road, and ye'll find it powerful 
 hard walkin' on the track." 
 
 I took "stret up the cornfield." The 
 earth was still covered with the lately- 
 fallen snow, but the ground was yielding 
 to the foot, for I was on bottom-land, 
 which at longer or shorter intervals had 
 
 been submerged by the river freshets. 
 The cold air contained just enough elec- 
 tricity to send the blood tingling through 
 the veins and render the simple act of 
 walking a most exhilarating exercise. 
 Soon I struck a piece of marshy ground, 
 and was forced to take to the track, which 
 there ran along an enbankment with not 
 width enough at the side of the rails to 
 admit of the passage of the " living skele- 
 ton," so I was obliged to keep in the 
 middle of the track ; and I soon learned 
 that "Jordan is a hard road to travel." 
 To keep their contract with the State, the 
 railroad-managers were obliged to finish 
 their work by the 1st of February, and, 
 in the haste of laying the track, one 
 cross-tie had been made to do duty for 
 two, and, the ties being fully four feet 
 apart, it was somewhat beyond the stretch 
 of an ordinary man's legs to straddle 
 from one tie to another. The only course 
 was to take one step upon a tie and the 
 next into the interval between, which was 
 filled with a snowy slush, and the conse- 
 quence was that my boots were very soon 
 in a most unpleasant condition. 
 
 When I had gone on in this manner 
 for a mile or more, I came upon a "sec- 
 tion-boss" overseeing a gang of laborers. 
 They were mostly negroes, and all were 
 clad in the variegated garb of the State 
 convict. Only one was a white man, 
 and he had intelligent features ; the rest 
 were black, and of the very lowest type 
 of humanity, coarse, brutal-looking 
 fellows, whom one would not care to 
 meet alone on an unfrequented highway. 
 Near by, leaning upon his musket, 
 which I noticed was at the half-trigger, 
 was the guard, a pleasant- faced young 
 man, scarcely more than a stripling. 
 He stood at his ease, giving little appa- 
 rent heed to his prisoners ; and I could 
 but think how easy it would be for any 
 one of those stalwart fellows to spring 
 upon him unawares, disarm him, and 
 then escape with the rest of the gang to 
 the neighboring forest. This would be 
 very sure to happen if the convicts were 
 white men ; but they are nearly all black, 
 and of a more docile character. Why 
 so large a proportion of them are colored 
 I did not learn till afterward.
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 I I 
 
 Exchanging a few words of salutation 
 with the "boss " and the guard, I trudged 
 on again over the miry track, and was 
 soon warming my chilled limbs before a 
 rousing wood fire in the spacious hotel 
 at Warm Springs. This is a favorite 
 summer resort, and every season it is 
 crowded with guests fleeing from the 
 sultry atmosphere of the Southern sea- 
 board. It derives its name from a re- 
 markable spring, which rises at the very 
 brink of the river and maintains at all 
 seasons a temperature of 102 to 104 
 Fahrenheit. Though highly charged 
 with minerals, the water is tasteless, and 
 it is so very buoyant that it will sustain 
 the human body. The hotel was now 
 bare of guests, for the birds of fashion 
 had flown southward with the first ap- 
 proach of cold weather. 
 
 My first inquiry was about the condi- 
 tion of the road farther on to the east- 
 ward ; but I could get no information 
 beyond what I had learned from the man 
 who had scaled Lovers' Leap the day 
 previous. It is astonishing how little 
 people seem to know in this section : 
 nobody appears to understand even his 
 own business, or to be in any hurry to 
 attend to it. From this last remark, 
 however, must be excepted the French 
 Broad River, which rushes on as if racing 
 against time and intent upon getting 
 somewhere in the shortest period pos- 
 sible. It has decidedly a purpose and 
 a will of its own, and withal an eye for 
 the picturesque. This last trait is but 
 natural, seeing it was born amid some 
 of the wildest scenery on this continent. 
 Its waywardness had just been strikingly 
 shown in the remorseless fury with which 
 it had a dozen times swept away the un- 
 sightly wooden structures which the rail- 
 way-engineers had time and again tried 
 to throw across its current. Iron bridges, 
 high above its reach, and with a span 
 from shore to shore, are the only things 
 that will ever withstand its resistless 
 energies. 
 
 The agent of the stage-line kept the 
 only livery-horses in the neighborhood, 
 and in search of him I went as soon as I 
 had thawed my chilled limbs at the hotel 
 fire. I was a long time in finding him, 
 
 and a still longer time in extracting from 
 him the unpleasant fact that he would let 
 neither horse nor mule go on to Marshall 
 for "no consideration whatsomever." 
 He "toted" the mail, but only two days 
 back his mule and darky "come nigh 
 onter drownin' a-swimmin' the Big Lau- 
 rel," and he wasn't "a-gwine" to risk 
 that "wuth of hoss-flesh ag'in for nary 
 gov'ment on earth," unless it paid mor'n 
 three hundred dollars a year ; and ef he 
 wouldn't do it fur gov'ment, to keep the 
 wheels of society in motion, he reckoned 
 he wouldn't do it fur no "private indi- 
 vidooal." 
 
 "Then I must take again to Shank's 
 mares. Can you tell me if there's much 
 water in the road?" 
 
 "There was a right smart chance yes- 
 terday. How it are to-day I hain't 
 yered." 
 
 " How much is a right smart chance ?" 
 
 "A powerful sight. It mought be five 
 foot, it mought be six, but it's too deep to 
 git over unless ye climb Lovers' Leap. 
 Howsomever, if ye kin git round that and 
 over the Laurel, ye'll be shore to git 
 either a hoss or mule to Stockhouse's, and 
 then ye kin take right over the mountin' 
 to Marshall, and be thar by sundown." 
 
 I had lost time in this interview, and 
 it was now past nine o'clock ; but the 
 cool, bracing air invited exercise, and it 
 was less than five miles to Stockhouse's. 
 So, crossing the rickety bridge at the 
 Springs, I was soon coursing along the 
 river-road at a pace not much less than 
 that of a Buncombe County pony. I 
 soon came to Lovers' Leap, and, from a 
 close inspection with my eyes and the 
 limb of a tree, with which I took sound- 
 ings, I discovered that the river was fully 
 four feet deep in the highway. As my 
 lower extremities, though reasonably 
 long, are not sufficiently elongated to 
 ford comfortably that depth of water, I 
 sat down on a stone by the roadside to 
 devise ways and means to overcome this 
 serious obstacle. 
 
 The cliff, as has been said, rises a 
 hundred feet in a sort of broken perpen- 
 dicularity. Here and there upon its face 
 was growing a stunted spruce or hem- 
 lock, but the most of its surface was
 
 12 
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 naked rock, on which could be seen no 
 trace of a footprint, not even that of a 
 squirrel ; and yet my friend the shoe- 
 maker had scaled this precipice and lived 
 to tell the story. How he did it I could 
 not imagine, and therefore shall not at- 
 tempt to describe. 
 
 One thing was reasonably certain : I 
 should not essay the foolhardy enter- 
 prise. But, as it would be sheer reck- 
 lessness to attempt to surmount the 
 difficulty, how could I manage to get 
 round it ? This was now an interesting 
 problem, and to aid in its solution I drew 
 out my pipe, filled it with some of the 
 pure "golden-leaf" presented me by my 
 kindly hostess, and went to smoking 
 away with all the energy of Jonah when 
 imprisoned in the bowels of the whale, 
 and he, I had been told in this country, 
 "smoked away like a house on fire, 
 smoked away to kill, smoked away till 
 the whale, not being used to 'backer, 
 took sick at the stummach and throwed 
 Jonah right up on the coast of North 
 Car'lina, and thet's how this kentry 
 come to be diskivered." 
 
 This reading of the Scripture story is 
 not according to the " Revised Version," 
 but I am told it is devoutly believed in 
 some of the back-country districts of 
 Western North Carolina ; and the moral 
 of it is that if Jonah had not smoked 
 tobacco North Carolina would not have 
 been discovered, nor settled by the pres- 
 ent race of white men, nor they been 
 able to boast, as some of them do, of a 
 very elongated pedigree. 
 
 However, be the Jonah story true or 
 not, there is no denying the fact that 
 there is great virtue in a whiff of tobacco. 
 Let who will rail at the delicious weed, I 
 do not propose to join in the chorus, for 
 it carried me over thirty feet of rushing 
 water with scarcely a moistening of the 
 soles of my boots ! And how many an- 
 other has it helped out of even a worse 
 dilemma ! how many aching heads has 
 it soothed, how many wounded hearts 
 assuaged ! To how many sluggish brains 
 has it lent eloquent expression ! to how 
 many half-fledged poets, vainly trying to 
 expand their wings, has it given the soar- 
 ing inspiration ! Even upon me it flashed 
 
 the needed illuminations, rousing my in- 
 ventive faculties, so that with the first 
 wreath of gray smoke that curled up from 
 my pipe and vanished in the clear wintry 
 sky I saw my route over the deluged 
 causeway. 
 
 Along the road, and between it and 
 the river, was a low breakwater of stones, 
 intended to prevent fractious vehicles 
 from running off into the furious torrent. 
 At the edge of the overflowed road this 
 breakwater was nearly three feet high, 
 and, though the submerged portion was 
 hidden by the turbid stream, it was rea- 
 sonable to suppose that the wall was there 
 equally high. If this were so, and I 
 should place loose stones a foot or so 
 in thickness upon the submerged wall, 
 what was to prevent my stepping safely 
 from one stone to another and crossing 
 as. dry-shod as the children of Israel 
 when they passed over Jordan ? 
 
 Trimming the branches from the limb 
 of a tree, to serve as a balancing-pole 
 and prevent my toppling over into the 
 river, I selected suitable stones from the 
 side of the road, and, dropping them one 
 after another upon the sunken break- 
 water, essayed the perilous passage. One 
 misplaced or unstable stone, or one false 
 step, would plunge me into the stream ; 
 and should I fall on the river-side, no 
 amount of praying would avail to save 
 me, for the current was rushing at a 
 speed which would have instantly swept 
 the most expert swimmer beyond the 
 reach of all human succor. 
 
 Slowly and cautiously I moved a score 
 of heavy stones out upon the sunken 
 breakwater, and, with my pole planted 
 firmly in the river's bed, felt my way to 
 and fro along the narrow wall, never 
 venturing to look down at the rushing 
 torrent, lest its whirling motion should 
 get into my brain, till at last, after a 
 most toilsome hour, I planted the last 
 stone and sprang upon the dry ground 
 on the farther side of the deluged high- 
 way. Then I sat down on the break- 
 water to recover my expended energies 
 and look about at the magnificent sce-nery 
 by which I was surrounded. 
 
 A more picturesque region is not to 
 be found in this country east of the
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 Rocky Mountains. The rapid, turbu- 
 lent river here not less than two hun- 
 dred yards wide is bordered on both 
 sides by high, rugged hills, broken often 
 into tall, jutting cliffs, which rise one 
 above another to a height of more than 
 a thousand feet. One of the most 
 striking of these cliffs is that which I 
 had just passed, and which is called 
 Lovers' Leap, from a tradition that was 
 current among the Indians when it was 
 first visited by the two white hunters 
 who discovered the Warm Springs in 
 1766. 
 The tradition is of a young warrior 
 
 and maiden belonging to tribes divided 
 by long hereditary hatred. They loved 
 not wisely but too well, and, forbidden 
 to marry by the bitter animosity of their 
 people, sought a permanent union in the 
 happy hunting-grounds of the hereafter. 
 From the top of Lover's Leap they sprang 
 into the turbulent bosom of the French 
 Broad, and, sinking in each other's 
 arms, awoke together in the land of 
 Elysium. It is the story of Romeo and 
 Juliet and of the Montagues and Capu- 
 lets, originating with some poet of the 
 red race ages before the white man came 
 among them ; and what is most remark- 
 
 able is the universality of the legend. 
 It is current from the Penobscot to the 
 Rio Grande, and everywhere, in every 
 wild region where rises some tall, jutting 
 rock from which a break-neck leap might 
 comfortably be made, is the same legend, 
 the same hapless lovers standing with 
 clasped hands upon the high summit and 
 leaping together into an eternal bridal. 
 Does not the universality of the legend 
 show it to be a fragment of some aborig- 
 inal Iliad sung by some Indian Homer in 
 some far-away century ? 
 
 But, leaving the dusky lovers to their 
 
 fate, I trudged on again, and the reader 
 may imagine my dismay when at the 
 end of a short half-mile I came upon 
 another tall cliff beetling over the road, 
 and the boisterous river ploughing along 
 its base with a depth of fully six feet. 
 This was Peter's Rock, so named from 
 a hermit who is said to have made his 
 home upon this summit late in the last 
 century. By no extemporaneous break- 
 water could I hope to ford this flood, 
 and one upward glance at the precipitous 
 cliff convinced me that it would take 
 younger legs than mine to scale the al-
 
 4 
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 most perpendicular rock. The logical 
 conclusion was that I was in a "box," 
 bottled up, corked, and hermetically 
 sealed. To go forward seemed impos- 
 sible ; going backward was retracing my 
 steps over the unsteadfast causeway at 
 Lovers' Leap. To get out of the "box " 
 seemed hopeless ; but, calling to mind 
 the inventive powers of "golden-leaf," 
 I again sat down by the roadside, lit 
 my corn-cob pipe, and sent a few whiffs 
 of the fragrant smoke skyward. 
 
 The gray wreaths curled lazily up into 
 the still atmosphere ; but before they 
 had melted into thin air I heard a sound 
 overhead, and, glancing upward, saw 
 rising out of the earth at the very sum- 
 mit of Peter's Rock a human head, or 
 rather a human hat, badly worn, and 
 perforated with sundry holes, through 
 which protruded great masses of black 
 wool. Eagerly I watched the apparition 
 thus evoked by the wonderful weed, 
 and rapidly it grew into a human form, 
 first the face, then the "torso," then 
 the limbs, and at last, as it moved down 
 a few paces from the topmost height, 
 the feet. And such feet ! They re- 
 minded me of those of the dusky maiden 
 in the negro hymn, which "covered up 
 the whole sidewalk." As I looked up 
 at the figure, it seemed at least seven 
 feet high and of immense proportions, 
 broad of shoulder and long of limb. 
 It was a very Hercules, though sooty of 
 color and arrayed in the horizontal stripe 
 which is the State uniform of North 
 Carolina. It held in one hand a long 
 pole, and now, planting it firmly in the 
 edge of the cliff, it paused as if to sur- 
 vey the ground before venturing down 
 the declivity, which was here a hundred 
 feet in almost perpendicular descent. 
 
 Soon I heard a voice from the farther 
 side of the rock. "Jack," it said, "bring 
 yer pole. I can't fetch dis lass stretch, 
 nohow." The figure then moved out of 
 sight, but soon reappeared with another 
 of the same garb and complexion, but of 
 less herculean proportions. The two 
 paused as if to rest for a few moments 
 at the summit of the rock, then, moving 
 a short distance along the face of the 
 cliff, began the perilous descent. Slowly 
 
 they felt their way down the ice-crusted 
 slope, planting their poles at every step, 
 and often clutching at some stunted 
 spruce ; and it was a full quarter of an 
 hour before they sprang into the high- 
 road and stood beside me. Looking at 
 them on level ground, I saw that their 
 proportions were not so absolutely gigan- 
 tic ; and yet they were splendid speci- 
 mens of physical development, and, de- 
 spite their convict garb, had good-hu- 
 mored, honest faces. 
 
 "And you have been able to get over 
 that rock ?" I said to them. 
 
 "Oh, yes, boss; dat am nuffin," an- 
 swered the one addressed as Jack. " It 
 take only a stout pole and a steady 
 head." 
 
 "And a stout pair of legs. Now, Jack, 
 suppose I give you enough to keep you 
 in tobacco for a month, will you help me 
 over this rock ?" 
 
 "Jack 'ud like to, boss; but he can't 
 see how he could gib you his legs. 'Sides, 
 we hab to gwo on to de Springs to git 
 suffin' for de men : dey'm 'bout out ob 
 rations." 
 
 " But it won't take long ; and the men 
 won't starve for an hour's delay." 
 
 " Dat's so, boss," answered Jack ; "but 
 how kin we do it ?" 
 
 " I'll cut a pole like yours ; then one 
 of you go before me and the other fol- 
 low, to catch me in case I slip." 
 
 Jack reflected a moment, then said, 
 " I reckon dat ud do it. We am a-willin' 
 to try, boss." 
 
 I had a moderate sum of money about 
 me, and to guard it carried a revolver in 
 my trousers-pocket. The weapon would 
 be a sufficient protection against both 
 convicts on level ground, but ascending 
 or descending that precipice I could not 
 use it, and so should be completely in 
 the power of those two stalwart fellows 
 whom the State of North Carolina had 
 branded as high - pressure scoundrels. 
 However, I had heard that "the Lord 
 writes English," and I clearly read hon- 
 esty in their faces : so I cut an alpen- 
 stock and began with them the toilsome 
 passage. 
 
 I slipped several times while ascend- 
 ing, but was each time caught by one of
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 the negroes ; and in descending on the 
 opposite side, when about half-way down, 
 I lost my foothold altogether. I clutched 
 a shrub, which held me for a moment 
 dangling in the air fifty feet above the 
 rocky bed of the road. I felt the shrub 
 giving way, and shouted, "Jack!" but 
 before the word was out of my mouth his 
 huge hand had grasped the collar of my 
 coat, and there it held me as firmly as if 
 our feet were on level ground. This was 
 the most dangerous part of the passage, 
 and for the rest of the way his grasp nev- 
 er left my collar ; and in several places, 
 where the distance from one jutting rock 
 to another was beyond the reach of my 
 legs, he actually lifted me a hundred 
 and fifty pounds solid avoirdupois 
 over the difficult passes with as much 
 apparent ease as he would have handled 
 a bag of feathers. 
 
 When I had recovered my breath at 
 the foot of the cliff, I said to him, "Jack, 
 tell me, why has the State put you into 
 those clothes?" 
 
 " 'Case, boss, dey say I done stole a 
 turkey four yere ago lass Crismus." 
 
 " A turkey ! They gave you four years 
 for stealing a turkey ?" 
 
 " Wuss'n dat, boss, seven yere. But 
 Mas'r Stamp he say dey'll done let me 
 out 'fore de time am clean gone. He'm 
 bery good man, and I reckon dey'll do 
 as he say." 
 
 " Seven years for stealing a turkey ! 
 Well, Jack, that was a high price for a 
 Christmas dinner." 
 
 " It was dat, boss," now said the other 
 negro ; "but 'twa'n't like what dey done 
 wid me : dey gub me five yere jess for 
 libin' wid my wife ; a good ooman as I'd 
 been a-libin' wid ten yere. You see, 
 boss, we hadn't been a-jined by de book, 
 nigh on to nary one ob my color am, 
 an' it am ag'in de law not to do it ; so 
 dey gub me five yere. But 'tain't no 
 more dan de white folks do demselfs ; 
 dar hain't half ob de white folks round 
 yere in Madison County as wus eber 
 jined by de book." 
 
 "But I don't see them working on the 
 road," I remarked. "You mean the law 
 is not enforced against them ?" 
 
 " Dat'm so, boss," said Jack. "'Pears 
 
 to me dar hain't no justice for a man ob 
 my color down yere. Long time ago, 
 when I was a little chile, I yered dat de 
 good Mas'r Linkum had sot all de brack 
 folks free ; but 'tain't so, boss. We hain't 
 no more free dan de hoss or de mule dat 
 you drives 'bout and beats like you hab 
 a mind." 
 
 " But why is this, Jack ? No one ever 
 does an injustice without having a reason 
 for it." 
 
 " It'm 'case dey hab dese railroads to 
 build, boss, an' doin' dat dey git our 
 wurk for jess our clothes and de rations 
 dey gib us, an' dey'm pore 'nuff, boss, 
 pore 'nuff. 'Sides, boss, de white folks 
 don't like to see de black folks git on ; 
 jess so soon as one ob us am 'dustrious 
 an' like to git up a little in de worl', dey 
 git up some false sw'arin' ag'in' him an' 
 git him inter de chain-gang, like dey 
 done me. It was false sw'arin' as done 
 it. I neber stole no turkey ; I neber 
 stole nuffin in all my life." 
 
 " I can believe it, Jack. Men with a 
 face like yours don't do such things. 
 But how is it that, being convicts, you 
 are allowed to come and go without a 
 guard ?" 
 
 "Oh, dat's along ob Mas'r Stamp, sar. 
 He t'ought we wudn't run 'way, so he 
 hab us made trustys. But we hab to be 
 in de quarters ebery night an' gwo 'bout 
 our work prompt like." 
 
 "And who is Mas'r Stamp?" 
 
 " He'm de great man 'p'inted by de 
 State to luck after de whole ob us ebery- 
 whar. He sees dat we hab 'nuff to eat 
 an' to wear, all, up to de bery last morsel 
 dat de State allows. He'm a good man, 
 an' ajuss man, sar; an' I knows dough 
 he neber said it, but I knows from de 
 look in his eye and de sound ob his 
 voice when he speak to us dat he feel 
 for" us 'way down to de bottom ob his 
 heart. He'm a very good man, one ob 
 de Lord's own chillen." 
 
 It was touching, this gratitude of the 
 poor convict toward the man who, how- 
 ever kind he might be, was still, if Jack 
 told me the truth, the agent in inflicting 
 upon him a most cruel wrong, an acces- 
 sory after the fact in a great crime. But 
 could Jack's tale be true ? Could a great
 
 16 
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 State permit such injustice to be practised 
 upon any class of its citizens ? I could 
 not believe it, for I called to mind the 
 couplet, 
 
 No man e'er felt the halter draw 
 With good opinion of the law, 
 
 and the doubt checked my sympathies ; 
 yet when I came to reward the two men 
 for the service they had done me, the 
 sum was several times larger than I had 
 promised to make it. Then I trudged 
 on again to Stockhouse's. 
 
 The distance was only four miles, but 
 the road was so horribly bad that I made 
 very slow progress ; and when I came 
 to the Laurel Run I found that the bridge, 
 though not actually carried away, had 
 been so badly damaged by the recent 
 freshet as to afford unsafe crossing for 
 even foot-passengers. The only course 
 was to cross upon the long trestle which 
 here spans the stream ; and, encrusted 
 as the stringers and sleepers now were 
 with ice, this was a tedious and difficult 
 undertaking. It occupied me a full half- 
 hour, and it was long after the dinner- 
 hour when I entered the small country 
 store which, with a snug cottage half-way 
 up the hill, composes the summer resort 
 known as Stockhouse's. The deaf land- 
 lord was behind the store counter, and 
 he was not long in conveying to me the 
 unpleasant intelligence that my dinner 
 would have to be of crackers and cheese, 
 all the hotel servants being away for 
 Christmas. "Niggers nowadays," he 
 added, "are just good for nothing. They 
 go and come when they like ; and if you 
 complain, they leave you altogether." 
 
 But more than my dinner I mourned 
 the loss of the spirited mule I had ex- 
 pected to secure at Stockhouse's. I was 
 told that he was a "noble critter," and 
 astride of him I could safely swim the 
 swollen streams and be in Marshall long 
 before sundown ; but the landlord would 
 not trust him with "nary stranger," not 
 even if he were paid the " full valu' of 
 the critter," unless one of his own darkies 
 should go along to bring back the animal. 
 However, a man about a mile up the 
 road had a mule, which, as he was a pore 
 man, he would no doubt let go for a 
 proper con sid-er-a-tion. So, with that 
 
 "pore man's" mule in my mind, I 
 trudged on again. 
 
 I soon arrived at a shanty by the side 
 of the track, which at first I took for a 
 dilapidated pig-sty. A slatternly woman 
 was in the door-way, of whom I inquired 
 for the mule's owner. He was, she said, 
 her husband, and he and the mule had 
 both gone on to Marshall, and wouldn't 
 be back "afore sundown," but if I went 
 on about two miles to the convict-station 
 I should be sure to get one, for Captain 
 
 R , who held command there, had a 
 
 "heap of mule critters." 
 
 So again I trudged on, this time with 
 several mules in my mind. I passed 
 numerous gangs of convicts on the way, 
 with the guards and overseers who were 
 directing their work. The convicts were 
 mostly black, healthy, robust, and pow- 
 erful fellows, whose labor was certainly 
 cheap at the price a hundred and twenty 
 dollars a year paid by the contractors. 
 But time was precious with me : so, with 
 a passing salutation to the guards, I hur- 
 ried on, and at the end of two hours came 
 to the convict-station. 
 
 It was a collection of whitewashed 
 shanties, where the prisoners were 
 housed at night, and I judged it would 
 accommodate the number I had passed 
 on the road, which was about five hun- 
 dred. In a spacious log barn near the 
 track was a pair of fine hybrids, either 
 one of which would have taken me to 
 Marshall in time for a sumptuous hot 
 supper; and, with that repast already 
 partaken of in imagination, I rapped at 
 the door of the "office," where I was 
 
 told I should find Captain R , the 
 
 commander-in-chief of the prisoners. 
 Some one growled, " Come in," and I 
 went into a room about twelve feet square, 
 littered over with broken bottles, old har- 
 ness, worn-out saddles, and cast-off gar- 
 ments, about the filthiest apartment ever 
 tenanted by a human being. A wood 
 fire was smouldering on the hearth, and 
 in one corner was a huge soap-box, made 
 to do duty as a desk ; in the other, a low 
 tattered bed, the bedstead manufactured 
 from old joist clapboards which had been 
 torn from some dismantled dwelling. 
 At one end of this bed was a pair of huge
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 Wellington boots, at the other an enor- 
 mous black beard, from above which 
 protruded a couple of owl-like eyes ; but, 
 partly owing to the beard and partly to 
 the duskiness of the room. I could dis- 
 tinguish no other human features. The 
 figure lay at full length, and motionless, 
 except that the eyes turned slightly in 
 their sockets on my entrance, as if to in- 
 quire my business. 
 
 I soon made it known, when there was 
 a movement of the beard, and a cavern- 
 ous voice issuing from its dark depths 
 replied, " Sorry, sir, but both my mules 
 is over the mountain." 
 
 " I saw a pair as I passed your barn ; 
 can't you let one of those go ? I am a 
 stranger, but I will deposit his full value 
 with you." 
 
 "Sorry, sir, but them hain't my mules, 
 can't let 'em go for no price. If you 
 go on 'bout three miles to Barnard's 
 Stand, you'll get one thar. They hev a 
 heap of mule critters." 
 
 I had negro evidence that the two 
 mules I had seen were the property of 
 the recumbent gentleman ; but those gi- 
 gantic boots and that ferocious beard 
 made it evident that it would not be wise 
 to disclose my knowledge. Such fellows, 
 
 LAUREL RUN BRIDGE AND THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 though the most accomplished liars in 
 creation, have a strong repugnance to 
 being informed of the fact, and when so 
 told invariably call for "pistols and cof- 
 fee" without ceremony. 
 
 With that last " heap of mule critters" 
 now in my mind I took to the road again, 
 and trudged on to Barnard's Stand. I 
 had come about ten miles over probably 
 the worst road ever invented in this coun- 
 try. Where it was not slush and railroad- 
 ties it was broken stones and ice-covered 
 rocks, among which I had to pick my 
 way with great caution. The thermome- 
 ter was now falling rapidly, and the night 
 was fast coming on. Marshall was still 
 ten miles away, and between me and it 
 there was not a solitary house where I 
 
 could get decent lodging. In fact, there 
 was scarcely a building that could be dig- 
 nified with the name of dwelling. The 
 road ran between the river and the moun- 
 tain-cliffs, and, except at Barnard's 
 Stand, there was not on the whole route 
 a patch of arable land large enough for 
 a flower-garden. The house at Barnard's 
 Stand, I was told, was little better than 
 a pig-sty, and if I should fail to secure 
 one from among that "heap of mule 
 critters" I should be forced to ford swol- 
 len streams and cross slippery trestles, at 
 the imminent risk of my neck, after 
 dark, and not get to Marshall before 
 midnight, altogether too late for that 
 hot repast on which I had already regaled 
 in imagination. The outlook was some-
 
 18 
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 what discouraging, but I walked briskly 
 on, and at last came upon an opening 
 among the hills, where a sadly-dilapi- 
 dated frame house and a half-dozen 
 negro shanties answer to the name of 
 Barnard's Stand. 
 
 Not a solitary mule was in sight, and 
 my heart sank suddenly several degrees 
 below zero ; but, plucking up courage, I 
 strode boldly to the house and asked for 
 
 Captain B , who, I had been told by 
 
 the bearded commander-in-chief, was 
 the owner of the animals. 
 
 A ragged, old-looking boy of about 
 twelve years, who answered my sum- 
 mons, said that his father was in the "sit- 
 ting-room," and at once led the way to 
 that apartment. From the outer wall of 
 this room had evidently come the joist 
 and weather-boarding which formed Cap- 
 tain R 's bedstead, for there was an 
 
 opening in its side as large as an ordi- 
 nary window. The inside walls and 
 ceiling were black with smoke, and two 
 or three broken-backed split-bottom 
 chairs were the only furniture of the 
 apartment. Crouched over a huge fire 
 which blazed on the hearth was the figure 
 of a man clad in mud-besmeared " but- 
 ternuts." He was lean and raw-boned, 
 with a cadaverous countenance which 
 was surmounted by a shaggy shock of 
 unkempt hair. Under both his eyes 
 were heavy black blotches, showing that 
 his face had gone into mourning over 
 some recent sin of violence he had com- 
 mitted. He was evidently just recover- 
 ing from a deep debauch, and this had 
 been his way of celebrating the birthday 
 of Him who came into the world to seek 
 and to save just such wretched perver- 
 sions of humanity as he was. 
 
 I made known my wants to him, add- 
 ing that Captain R had assured me 
 
 that he could supply me with either a 
 horse or a mule with which to get on to 
 Marshall. 
 
 " Captain R is a d d liar, sir. 
 
 He knows thar hain't nary mule within 
 five mile of here," he answered fiercely. 
 
 Despite the difficult position I was in, 
 I had to smile at the ferocious energy 
 with which the man uttered this speech, 
 
 and I said, "Isn't it unhealthy to use ex- 
 pressions of that kind in this latitude ?" 
 
 " Not to such a cuss as he are. He's 
 both a liar and a coward ; but, coward 
 or not, I allers speak what I think, and 
 take the consequences." 
 
 "I've no doubt you do; you look like 
 a brave man, and a good-natured one 
 too. So I feel sure you'll in some way 
 help me on to Marshall." 
 
 " I would if I could, I sw'ar I would, 
 but I don't see how in the world I kin 
 do it." 
 
 "I'll tell you how. I noticed along- 
 side the track, as I turned down here, a 
 dump-car. Now, rig up a couple of 
 darkies, and let them take me on with 
 that to Marshall. I will pay them well 
 for it." 
 
 " How much will you pay ?" asked the 
 old-fashioned boy, not giving his father 
 time to answer. 
 
 " Whatever you ask, if it doesn't over- 
 go my pile." 
 
 "Will you give a dollar, in two half- 
 dollars ?" asked the boy. 
 
 " Yes, I will, two just out of the mint ; 
 and I'll give more, if you ask it." 
 
 "No, that's enough," said the father. 
 "You can get the nigs to go for fifty 
 cents, Sam, and put the rest in your 
 pocket." 
 
 "And if you hadn't said nothing I'd 
 ha' put a dollar and fifty cents in my 
 pocket," said the dutiful son. Then to 
 me he added, " Dad hain't wuth shocks 
 at a trade ; thet's the why we'se so pore. 
 But you'll pay in advance ?" 
 
 "Yes, and give you the two dollars," 
 handing him the silver. "Now, Sam, 
 make the best trade you can with the 
 darkies, and tell them I'll give them a 
 dollar more if they get me to Marshall 
 before nine o'clock." 
 
 " I will, sir," he said, and he popped 
 out of the room like a bullet out of a 
 musket-barrel. When he was gone, his 
 father drew a black flask from his 
 pocket, and, picking up a broken glass 
 from the floor beside him, said to me, 
 "I say, stranger, take a little apple-jack, 
 'twill warm you up : you've a cold ride 
 before you."
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 CLIFFS ALONG THE FRENCH BROAD RIVER, NEAR 
 LOVERS' LEAP. 
 
 " No, my friend ; I can stand the cold 
 better without that kind of wanning." 
 
 "Well, I thought you was a Yankee 
 when you come in ; now I know it." 
 This was said in a friendly tone, and not 
 at all disrespectfully, 
 
 " How do you know I am a Yankee ?" 
 
 " By your being so free with your 
 money, and knowing enough not to 
 
 P drink before going i; 
 out into the cold." 
 "What do you 
 know about the Yankees ?" 
 
 "A heap. I was a prisoner 
 to Johnson's Island, and after 
 the surrender I stayed three 
 years among them." 
 
 "Well, my friend, I am a 
 Yankee, and, whatever you 
 are, you're a very decent fel- 
 low ; you've only one fault, and if you 
 won't shoot me I'll tell you what it is." 
 
 "I won't. What is it?" he asked, 
 smiling. 
 
 "And you won't draw that butcher- 
 knife you carry in the back pocket of 
 your trousers ?" 
 
 "I don't carry one: so I won't draw 
 it," he answered, now laughing outright.
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 "Well, it's that flask of apple-jack in 
 your side-pocket. Throw it away, and 
 there isn't anything vou couldn't make 
 of yourself." 
 
 " Do you b'lieve that ?" 
 
 " I don't believe it ; I know it." 
 
 "Then, I sw'ar, I'll throw it away." 
 
 " Do it at once. Pitch it out of the 
 window, and never taste the cursed stuff 
 again." 
 
 He took the flask from his pocket and 
 gazed at it fixedly for a moment ; then 
 he said, " But how kin I do it, stranger? 
 What other comfort has a man that has 
 had such losses and disappointments as 
 I've had ? It's only when I take it that 
 I feel like a man." 
 
 "It's only a bogus manhood. No man 
 who takes it habitually has any real man- 
 liness. It keeps him poor, and it makes 
 his wife and children suffer. I wouldn't 
 hurt your feelings, but I can see that Sam 
 knows it is ruining you : so give it up on 
 the boy's account, if for no other reason." 
 
 The man rose and paced the room 
 with an unsteady step for a few mo- 
 ments ; then he paused, and, turning to 
 me, said, " Be you a preacher ?" 
 
 "No, I am not; and I have no dis- 
 position to preach to you ; but I've seen 
 a good deal of the world, and it isn't in 
 me to see a fine, manly fellow like you 
 going straight to the devil without saying 
 a word to stop him." 
 
 He took a few more turns up and 
 down the room while I was speaking, 
 and then, with a long swing of his arm, 
 he threw the flask of apple-jack out of 
 the opening in the weather-boarding, 
 saying, when he had done so, " Sir, I 
 don't know your name, and I may never 
 see you again, but I promise you, before 
 the God that made us, never to taste a 
 drop of the cursed stuff from this time 
 forth forever." 
 
 He kept his word, as I learned from 
 him and others more than a year after 
 this occurrence. He told me then that 
 he had often before come to the brink 
 of that resolution, and that when I met 
 him it needed only a feather to turn the 
 trembling scale which was to decide his 
 future. That feather was my reference 
 to his boy Sam. 
 
 I record this little incident simply to 
 encourage those who would do unobtrus- 
 ive good by the wayside. We know lit- 
 tle how much a few words dropped here 
 and there and "fitly spoken" may help 
 some poor fellow who has fallen and is 
 struggling to get upon his feet again. 
 
 The reader has never ridden seven 
 miles on the six-feet-by-six deck of a 
 dump-car, seated on a block of wood 
 and unable to change his position, on 
 a cloudy night, with the wind blowing 
 keenly down a mountain-gorge, and the 
 thermometer in the near neighborhood 
 of zero. He has never had such a three- 
 hours' experience on a steep up-grade, 
 and therefore cannot sympathize with my 
 feelings when at half-past eight o'clock I 
 staggered off that dump-car and into the 
 warm, cheerful, hospitable inn at Mar- 
 shall. 
 
 Marshall is without doubt the only fin- 
 ished town in the United States. Built 
 along a narrow shelf of land, between 
 the river and the mountain-ridge, it has 
 no room for expansion, and the spirit of 
 enterprise which is beginning to animate 
 Western North Carolina must look else- 
 where for a suitable field for its operations. 
 Here it will have no space to spread. It 
 is a drowsy place, and not yet fully awak- 
 ened from the Rip-Van-Winkle nap in 
 which this whole section has been sunk 
 for unrecorded centuries. There is a som- 
 niferous quality in its very atmosphere, 
 which somehow crept into my veins and 
 held me for ten long hours in most pro- 
 found slumber, after my long and un- 
 comfortable ride on the dump-car. The 
 sun, and everybody else, had been long 
 up and about his business, when I open- 
 ed my eyes on the following morning and 
 looked around the two-bedded room into 
 which I had been ushered the night be- 
 fore. 
 
 A bright hickory fire was blazing on the 
 hearth, and before it sat a gentleman, 
 evidently not "a native," for he was clad 
 in the raiment of outside civilization, 
 and not in the butternut garb common 
 to this region. He was canted back 
 in a chair, one foot planted against the 
 wall, and he seemed engrossed in watch- 
 ing the smoke as it curled up from the
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 21 
 
 short Powhatan pipe he was smoking. 
 Everybody man, woman, and child 
 smokes in this region, and does so on all 
 occasions. Tobacco is the staple produc- 
 tion of the district, and the people be- 
 lieve in encouraging domestic industry. 
 The men use "plug" and "short-cut," 
 the women "plug" and "maccaboy," 
 the last being usually taken in the mode 
 denominated "dipping." Hence it was 
 not at all strange that the aforesaid gen- 
 tleman should be smoking in my bed- 
 room before I was awake in the 
 morning. However, he had as 
 large an ownership in the apart- 
 ment as I, for I very soon learned 
 that he had occupied the bed in the 
 opposite corner, and, more to my 
 surprise, that he was the identical 
 person on whom "Jack" had pro- 
 nounced so warm a eulogy the day 
 before. 
 
 When this last fact disclosed it- 
 self, I said to him, "Oh, ho! then 
 you're the gentleman of whom I 
 heard such a character yesterday." 
 "What sort of a character, sir?" 
 he asked, smiling. 
 
 "That you are a ' bery good man, 
 sir, one of the Lord's own chillen,' 
 and all that sort of thing." 
 
 "I see you have been interviewing 
 the convicts," he answered, evident- 
 ly not displeased with the bluntness of 
 my remark. "I suppose they do think 
 well of me, for I try to do my duty by 
 them." 
 
 He then replied very freely to my in- 
 terrogations, and said that he had no 
 doubt that the stories told by Jack and 
 the other convict were true ; that the 
 policy in many parts of the State was to 
 inflict severe punishment upon the blacks 
 for very trifling offences, many of the 
 justices acting on the opinion that noth- 
 ing but extreme severity would restrain 
 the negro from his natural disposition to 
 thievery. This was not his own view : 
 he thought that not the severity but the 
 certainty of punishment was what de- 
 terred from crime. Probably one-half 
 of the blacks then undergoing sentences 
 of from three to ten years had been con- 
 victed of offences that were properly 
 
 "petty larcenies;" but neither the State 
 nor its officials were responsible for this 
 harshness, perhaps injustice. It was the 
 act of the local justices before whom the 
 negroes were tried ; and they should not 
 be judged too harshly, for the negroes 
 were now a difficult class to deal with, 
 and if they were not kept in order no 
 white man could live in the State. There 
 were no doubt individual cases where 
 innocent men had been made to suffer, 
 but such cases occurred in administering 
 
 
 THE UNITED STATES MAIL. 
 
 justice everywhere, North as well as 
 South. 
 
 There was not a horse or a mule in 
 the entire town that I could hire to take 
 me on to Alexander's, a one-house town, 
 about eleven miles to the eastward. No 
 one was willing to risk his animal in 
 swimming the Ivy, a mountain-stream 
 that flows into the French Broad about a 
 mile up the road, and which was now 
 very much swollen and rushing in a 
 furious torrent. But the landlord had in 
 his stable a colt, "two year old next 
 spring," which belonged to a Mr. Brown, 
 who lived up the river about four miles 
 on the hither side of Alexander's. He 
 had been ridden down by a gentleman 
 before "the fresh," and the landlord had 
 been waiting ever since for some one fool 
 enough to risk getting him home over 
 the Ivy. The colt was kind, but way-
 
 22 
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 ward and unbroken, and if I was dis- 
 posed to risk my neck upon his back the 
 landlord had no objection. 
 
 Calling to mind the adage, "any port 
 in a storm," which for the occasion I 
 rendered "any vehicle in an emergency," 
 I asked for an introduction to his colt- 
 ship. The hostler led him out into the 
 street, which, from the contracted char- 
 acter of the town, had to do duty as a 
 stable-yard, and then put him "through 
 his paces," as a jockey does a horse 
 when about to sell the animal. He was 
 a nondescript beast, about fourteen hands 
 high, of a dun-brown color, and with a 
 coat as shaggy as a spaniel's. He looked 
 as if he had not been combed since he 
 was born, and even through his rough 
 coat I could count every rib in his body. 
 But he had an eye which showed there 
 was a spirit within him: large and lus- 
 trous, it was also gentle and coquettish 
 as any woman's. I stepped up to him, 
 and, patting him on the neck, asked his 
 name of the landlord. 
 
 "Sam," he answered. "And he 
 knows it. Bid him good-morning." 
 
 I did so, and instantly the colt bowed 
 his head and lifted his right fore foot, 
 which I took in my hand and shook 
 gently. 
 
 " Now talk to him and see if he don't 
 understand you," 
 
 "Sam, my boy, do you want to go 
 home?" I asked; and Sam bowed his 
 head in assent. 
 
 "If I take you along will you behave 
 like a gentleman ?" Another bow was 
 the prompt reply. 
 
 "Now ask him something that requires 
 ' no ' for an answer." 
 
 "Are you afraid to swim the Ivy ?" 
 
 He shook his head instantly, but think- 
 ing he might not have understood me, 
 and seeing the advantage of having the 
 wild youth fully pledged to good beha- 
 vior, I changed the form of the previous 
 question : " Will you run away with me 
 and break my neck ?" 
 
 A shake of the head, twice repeated, 
 was the prompt reply. Then I put my 
 arm about his neck, and he put his face 
 against mine and stroked my beard in a 
 fondling manner. " You and I are going 
 
 to be good friends, Sam," I said, patting 
 him affectionately. Instantly he nodded 
 his head very decidedly by way of affir- 
 mation. 
 
 I concluded that the pony had been 
 trained to distinguish between questions 
 meant to be answered "yes" and "no" 
 from the inflections of the voice ; but I 
 am simply recording a fact, and I leave 
 it to those who deny to brutes an intelli- 
 gence less in degree, but similar in kind, 
 to that of man to give the fact an ex- 
 planation. 
 
 " It is a wonderful animal, Mr. Gudger," 
 I said to the landlord. "I would trust 
 him to take me anywhere." 
 
 "It's just as you say, sir," he answer- 
 ed. " If he breaks your neck it won't be 
 my funeral." 
 
 The colt was soon saddled, and we set 
 out on the journey. He went along very 
 well until we had passed the railroad- 
 station and crossed the track to where 
 the road, going down a steep incline, 
 runs close to the river-bank and was 
 here and there still overflowed with wa- 
 ter. Here he slackened his pace and 
 began to pick his way very gingerly, as 
 if afraid of wetting his feet. Tiring of 
 this at last, I touched him gently with a 
 switch I had cut at starting. Instantly 
 his head revolved in a savage shake, 
 but he did not alter his pace. Then I 
 touched him again, this time a little more 
 smartly, when quick as a flash of light- 
 ning his head went down and his hind 
 heels went up to an angle of about nine- 
 ty. I was as quick as he, or he would 
 have thrown me over his head and upon 
 the sharp rocks which had been blasted 
 from the railroad-bed above us, and which 
 here littered the whole highway. He 
 now stood stock still, his legs as firmly 
 planted on the ground as if they had 
 been pillars of masonry. Evidently, 
 moral suasion was the only argument 
 suited to the occasion, so I spoke to 
 him kindly : " Get up, Sam. I see I 
 made a mistake. I won't use the switch 
 again." 
 
 But Sam was not disposed to take my 
 unsupported word. He still stood as if 
 rooted to the ground, but quiet as a 
 Quaker meeting, and unconcerned as if
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 listening to a political oration. Seeing 
 that he required ocular demonstration 
 of my good intentions, I tossed the switch 
 over his head, saying, as I did so, " You 
 see, I mean what I say : so get on, Sam, 
 that's a good fellow." He nodded his 
 head, and then went on as before, pick- 
 ing his way again carefully around the 
 
 many puddles and broken rocks that 
 encumbered the high-road. 
 
 It was not long before, looking off at 
 the river, I noticed two distinct currents, 
 both coffee -colored, but one several 
 shades darker than the other, flowing 
 along side by side, but refusing to mingle, 
 and each keeping its separate way for a 
 
 MARSHALL, NORTH CAROLINA. 
 
 long distance. The one nearer the shore 
 I knew to be the Ivy, and just above 
 must be the place where I had to cross. 
 I raised myself in the stirrups to catch a 
 glimpse of the stream where it issues 
 from the mountain, and just then espied 
 a " solitary horseman " emerging from the 
 ravine through which it pours into the 
 French Broad. He 1 was clad in common 
 
 linsey, with high top-boots and a hat that 
 would have been a curiosity anywhere 
 but in this region of nondescript head- 
 gear. And, by the way, if some enter- 
 prising individual were to make a collec- 
 tion of the hats worn among these moun- 
 tains, he would be sure to realize a for- 
 tune by their exhibition. I never saw 
 two alike, nor any one that at all resem-
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 bled anything ever worn by man in any 
 civilized country. 
 
 The horseman was mounted on a raw- 
 boned nag; and as he picked his way 
 down the rocky road he held his reins 
 with both hands, and braced himself well 
 back in the saddle as if to help his steed 
 to hold himself up over the broken places. 
 Behind him was slung a pair of govern- 
 ment saddle-bags, which showed that he 
 was the ubiquitous United States Mail. 
 
 As he came in sight, Sam first pricked 
 up his ears and then uttered a musical 
 sound, which, starting in a deep bass, 
 ended in a treble so high that it echoed 
 through the entire canyon. Then he 
 came to a dead stand and waited the 
 coming of the strange animal, which up 
 to this time had taken no notice of his 
 salutation. When the horseman came 
 nearly abreast of where I was, he greeted 
 me with the customary "How d'ye?" 
 and was about to pass on, but Sam, 
 planting himself directly in his way, 
 thrust his nose into the strange horse's 
 face and insisted upon a short conversa- 
 tion. The larger beast then recognized 
 his diminutive brother, and they began 
 a somewhat animated confab with each 
 other. Knowing that the only course 
 was to let Sam take his own time and 
 way,. I said to the stranger, "The little 
 fellow is only half broken : he'll let you 
 pass in a moment." 
 
 " I'm in nothin' uv a tucker, sir," he 
 answered. "I've the day afore me." 
 
 "You carry the mail?" 
 
 "Yas, 'tween Marshall and Demo- 
 crat and Sodom." 
 
 "Sodom! Is there a place of that 
 name about here?" 
 
 " Yas, 'bout twenty mile back on Shel- 
 ton Laurel, the wust hole on yerth ; the 
 women and the men all live thar to- 
 gether, sort uv 'misc'ous, and hit are all 
 a man's life are wuth to go thar with a 
 dollar in his pocket." 
 
 " But you go there regularly with the 
 mail ?" 
 
 "Yas, but only oncet a week, and they 
 don't bother me, fur they know I allus 
 hev the shootin'-irons 'bout me." 
 
 Then, saying "Good-day, sir," he 
 passed on, and Sam followed. I reined 
 
 him to the right and to the left, and in 
 the most gentle and persuasive tones be- 
 sought him to turn about and remember 
 his pledge to behave himself like a gen- 
 tleman, but it was all of no avail : he 
 would not turn, and he would not stop, 
 but persisted in going on with his new 
 acquaintance. 
 
 At length the mail-rider said to me, 
 "Waal, he are a contrary critter. War 
 you gwine ter cross the Ivy ?" 
 
 "Yes ; I'm going on to Alexander's." 
 
 "Then I'd better sot you "cross the 
 run. Git that atween the critters, and 
 you won't hev no trouble ; 'sides, you'd 
 better not trust the ole darky to put you 
 over: the Ivy are a-tearin' like mad." 
 
 " I should be greatly obliged if you 
 would do so, and I will pay you liber- 
 ally." 
 
 " Never mind the pay, sir : ye're a 
 stranger; that's enough." 
 
 We turned back, and were soon at 
 the crossing. The run, now swollen 
 greatly beyond its banks, was fully two 
 hundred feet wide, and running furious- 
 ly. Moored to the bank by a chain was 
 an old "dug-out," about thirty feet long 
 and thirty inches wide, and half full of 
 water. The mail-rider had hitched his 
 nag to the limb of a tree, and was un- 
 fastening the "dug-out," when the old 
 darky came from a low cabin near by, 
 preceded by an ugly-looking cur, yelp- 
 ing furiously. "An" what am you gwine 
 to do, Mas'r John ?" he said. "You can't 
 mean to cross de run wid dis curren' a- 
 runnin' ?" 
 
 "Thet's what we're a-gwine ter do, ole 
 man: so bring yer settin'-pole, quick; 
 and bring two, 'case one mout break, 
 and I don't keer to git inter the French 
 Broad, a-tearin' as hit are now." 
 
 " Lord-a-massy, Mas'r John, ef eber I 
 know'd a crazy one, you am." 
 
 "Shot up, ole man, and bring the 
 poles." 
 
 While the old negro was away, the 
 mail-rider baled out the canoe with his 
 umbrella of a hat, and he now explained 
 to me the way in which he proposed to 
 cross the Ivy. It was simply to start 
 from some distance up the run, he pro- 
 pelling the canoe across the current as
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 well as he 
 could by 
 means of the setting- 
 pole, while I held the 
 bridle of Sam, who 
 
 FRENCH BROAD RIV- was CXpCCted tO 
 
 ER ABOVE WARM sw i m alongside. 
 SPRINGS. The only dang er 
 
 was of the downward rush of the water 
 being too strong for our cross-movement 
 and sweeping us into the French Broad 
 before we could reach the opposite bank. 
 In that case our situation would be hope- 
 
 less, for nothing could float in 
 those furious rapids. But if I 
 was willing to hazard the pas- 
 sage he was. Reflecting that the 
 mail-rider's life was worth to him 
 as much as mine was to me, and 
 that he knew the stream thor- 
 oughly, I said, " Go ahead." 
 
 We went fully a quarter of a 
 mile up the run, he dragging the canoe 
 and I leading Sam, who followed me 
 over the rocks and fallen trees that lined 
 the bank with all the docility of a kitten. 
 He made some slight objection to enter- 
 ing the water, but, when once in it, took 
 to swimming as naturally as if he had 
 been a spaniel. When all was ready, 
 the mail-rider gave a strong push to the 
 canoe, and then, springing into it and 
 seizing the pole, he put forth all his 
 energies. We got on reasonably well, 
 making perceptible headway toward the 
 opposite shore', till we neared the middle 
 of the stream, but then the current struck
 
 26 
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 us with resistless force and bore us down- 
 ward with a rush that was terrific. 
 
 " Drop the colt ! tuck ter the pole, or 
 we're goners !" shouted the mail-rider. 
 
 I did as he bade me, handling the 
 pole precisely as he did, and putting all 
 my strength into the work ; but our 
 united efforts had no perceptible effect 
 on the downward progress of the dug- 
 out. The mail-rider was in the stern, I 
 forward ; and now he said to me, "Plant 
 yer pole firm ag'in' the bottom uv the 
 run, and squat in the middle uv the dug- 
 out. Hold for dear life, and I'll git her 
 forrard." 
 
 And he did. The two feet of gunwale 
 kept me from being swept overboard ; 
 and, while I could not hold the canoe 
 steady, I checked its downward rush and 
 enabled him to push it diagonally across 
 the current. Not until we were well over 
 the swiftest part of the stream did I give 
 much heed to the colt. Then I noticed 
 that he was close under the lee of the 
 canoe and handling his slim legs as if 
 he were beating a tattoo upon a kettle- 
 drum. He landed when we did ; and 
 when he had shaken some of the water 
 from his hairy coat, he sidled up to me 
 with a look in his eye that plainly said 
 he was right glad to have done with the 
 Ivy. 
 
 All this while the old darky had been 
 watching us from the opposite bank, and 
 now he shouted across the stream, " Bress 
 de Lord, Mas'r John, you'm safe ! Bress 
 de Lord ! I feared you both was a-gwine, 
 shore." 
 
 "We're all right, ole man," answered 
 the mail-rider. "You luck out for the 
 mail-bags. I'll gwo up the run to git 
 across." 
 
 Both the mail-rider and I had been 
 too much engrossed in crossing the 
 stream to give attention to what was pass- 
 ing around us, or we should have noticed 
 that an engine and several flat-cars had 
 come in and halted on the opposite side 
 of the French Broad, where a wooden 
 trestle spans the river in a diagonal curve, 
 striking the bank we were on a few rods 
 below the mouth of the Ivy. The tres- 
 tle was about thirty feet above the present 
 level of the water, and was supported by 
 
 stout timbers placed some thirty feet 
 apart and secured more or less firmly in 
 the bed of the river. Three or four of 
 these supporting timbers in the middle 
 of the trestle and directly over the most 
 furious part of the rapids had been 
 wrenched from their moorings and swept 
 away by the violence of the freshet, and 
 the rails, stringers, and cross-ties, for a 
 distance of a hundred feet or more, now 
 hung suspended in the air thirty feet 
 above the torrent, held together by noth- 
 ing but the iron couplings which fastened 
 the rails to each other. The rails were 
 supporting the cross-ties and stringers, 
 instead of being supported by them, as 
 would be the case on solid ground. In 
 wrenching away the supports the current 
 had thrown one rail considerably higher 
 than the other, and this to the eye of any 
 one but a North Carolina railway engi- 
 neer would have seemed to render im- 
 possible the passage over it of so light a 
 thing as a dump-car, even if the con- 
 necting rail-clamps would have supported 
 the weight. 
 
 Loaded upon the flats were several 
 dump-cars, and numerous bales of hay 
 and bags of corn and bacon, evidently 
 intended for the gangs of convicts I had 
 seen farther down the river, and who 
 were short of rations, as I had learned 
 from convict Jack. Though operating 
 in a fine farming-region, the railroad con- 
 tractors could obtain no supplies from 
 the country-people, who raised nothing 
 for man or beast beyond what was need- 
 ed for their own wants, and those were 
 scanty enough, judging from the condi- 
 tion of the few horses and cattle I had 
 seen, which appeared to have been fed 
 on barrel-hoops and cultivated solely for 
 their hides. 
 
 The presence of the dump-cars and 
 the bags of corn and bacon clearly indi- 
 cated that the railway-conductor intend- 
 ed to attempt the sending over of sup- 
 plies upon those unsteadfast rails, held 
 'together thirty feet above sudden death 
 by only a few brittle iron couplings. I 
 spoke of this to the mail-rider, saying, 
 "Can they mean to attempt the cross- 
 ing?" 
 
 " I reckon they does," he answered,
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 27 
 
 FRENCH BROAD RIVER BELOW SMITH'S BRIDGE, 
 NEAR ASHEVILLE. 
 
 "fur the fools hain't all dead yit. I'd a 
 durned sight ruther tuck my chance 
 ag'in a-crossin' the Ivy," 
 
 Soon I saw a man dressed in blue 
 evidently the conductor or engineer of 
 the train go out upon the trestle, step- 
 ping firmly from one cross-tie to another 
 till he got to the middle of the river, 
 four or five hundred feet from the shore 
 and directly above the most furious part 
 
 of the torrent, which here was rush- 
 ing along over huge, half-sunken rocks 
 at a speed, as it seemed, of not less 
 than twenty miles an hour. 
 
 At this point about every other cross- 
 tie had fallen away, so that the man was 
 forced to take alternate steps upon the 
 ties and the string-pieces ; and I noticed 
 that he now with every tie he stepped 
 upon gave a spring, coming down upon 
 it with his full weight, as if he would test 
 the strength of its fastenings. I held my 
 breath, expecting every moment to see 
 him go down into the torrent below ; and 
 soon he did fall, a tie suddenly giving 
 way under him and he going down, but 
 with wonderful presence of mind catch- 
 ing upon the iron rail, and there hanging, 
 suspended by only his arms, over the
 
 28 
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 foaming caldron below. Thus he hung 
 for a moment, as if to collect his strength, 
 and then with a sudden spring threw one 
 leg over the rail and drew himself up on 
 the string-piece. 
 
 " Talk of acrobats," I said to the mail- 
 rider ; "that fellow would take the medal 
 anywhere." 
 
 "Talk uv what?" he asked. 
 
 " Rope-dancers, circus-men. I never 
 saw any 'lofty tumbling' equal to that." 
 
 " Waal, hit war raather lofty tumblin' ; 
 but thet feller are a durned fool all the 
 same." 
 
 I repeated this remark to that conduc- 
 tor when I met him on the following 
 night at Alexander's, and his reply was, 
 "I knew what I was about. The men 
 had to be provisioned, and it was neces- 
 sary to take some risk ; but, if you no- 
 ticed, I kept close to the rail, and when- 
 ever I tested a tie I was ready to spring 
 at the first sign of its giving way." 
 
 Meanwhile, the mail-rider had hauled 
 the dug-out high up on the bank, chained 
 it to a tree, and was now ready to set 
 out on his return over the Ivy, which he 
 said he could cross farther up the ravine, 
 where the stream was narrow and spanned 
 by a fallen tree. He had refused to ac- 
 cept any recompense for the very essen- 
 tial service he had rendered me ; but 
 now, when I again urged him, he said, 
 " Ef it wud make ye ary easier in yer 
 mind, mister, I wouldn't refuse that quar 
 pipe ye has in yer breast-pocket." 
 
 It was a "corn-cob" of some patent 
 description, and its cost had been pre- 
 cisely a dime. Labor is cheap in this 
 mountain-country, and the working-class 
 has never been known to strike for higher 
 wages. 
 
 As the mail-rider was about to take his 
 departure, two new-comers appeared on 
 the scene. They were a man and a 
 woman coming down the road, and, as 
 they were fair representatives of the coun- 
 try-people of this region, they are entitled 
 to a few lines of description. He was tall 
 and gaunt, and clad in ragged home-spun, 
 with a full meal-sack slung over one 
 shoulder and a short stick supporting a 
 bundle over the other. He walked with 
 a shuffling, unsteady gait, as if fatigued 
 
 ' with a long journey and unable to keep 
 up with his more energetic companion. 
 The woman was about as tall as the man, 
 and equally gaunt, but she came on with 
 a firm, quick stride, her limbs going at 
 every step to the extreme verge of a 
 scanty cotton skirt that fell a little short 
 of her ankles. This garment was of the 
 precise color of the road she travelled, 
 and of a piece with the limp sun-bonnet 
 she wore upon her head. Her feet were 
 encase'd in a pair of stout brogans, which, 
 with her naked ankles, were so thickly 
 encrusted with mud that nothing short 
 of a small deluge would restore them to 
 their original condition. She carried a 
 sack under her arm, while from a cord 
 wound about her neck was suspended in 
 front of her and striking her knees at 
 every step a battered coffee-pot. At her 
 back, dangling from the other end of the 
 cord, was the frying-pan in universal use 
 among the "natives." Evidently they 
 were on a journey, lodging in hay-ricks 
 or the open air, and with those rude 
 utensils preparing their meals by the 
 wayside. 
 
 The woman walked a few paces in ad- 
 vance of the man, and as she came 
 nearer I noticed that she had well-formed 
 features, a wealth of light-brown hair, 
 and eyes dark, soft, and kindly, but with 
 a latent fire that showed she might ex- 
 plode on occasion. Still, about her mo- 
 bile lips played a smile which betokened 
 a genial nature, capable of enjoying a 
 joke or a hearty laugh on any reason- 
 able provocation. She was about thirty 
 years old, the man nearer forty, and they 
 were evidently married, or at least mated 
 after the fashion of their class in this 
 mountain-country. 
 
 I was speculating upon the figure the 
 woman would make in a fashionable 
 drawing-room and whether a few months 
 among refined surroundings might not 
 transform her into some nearer sem- 
 blance to a civilized being, when, tossing 
 her bonnet back from her face and re- 
 moving from her mouth the small stick 
 in use among snuff-dippers, she said to 
 me, " Kin ye tell me how we kin git over 
 the Ivy ?" 
 
 "Yes, madam ; follow my friend here.
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 29 
 
 
 He knows a path that will take you 
 across about a mile up the mountain." 
 
 "Thank ye," she answered, seating 
 herself upon a stone by the roadside. 
 "I'se tired: we'se come plumb from 
 Asheville." 
 
 "What! this morning ?" 
 
 " Yaas ; took a early start. But we'se 
 come a bit furder'n thet, from back ter 
 Roothurford, nigh a hundred mile." 
 
 "And walked all the way, with the 
 mud up to your knees ?" 
 
 "Yaas; bufwe doan't mind thet: we 
 hain't none of yer in-door chickens. 
 We're gwine furder yit, ter see our 
 folks over ter Tennessee." 
 
 "Well, you'll have a hard time getting 
 there ; the roads are in very bad condi- 
 tion." 
 
 " Oh, we doan't keer fur the roads : 
 hit's only the runs. We karn't swim 
 'em a-tearin' like this are." 
 
 "Why, can you swim ?" 
 
 I, ' 
 
 A BUNCOMBE-COUNTY TOBACCO FARM. 
 
 " In coorse I kin ; ary bench-legged 
 fyse [short-legged cur] kin do thet." 
 
 " Well, you'll do to travel in this coun- 
 try Were you born here ?" 
 
 " Yaas ; up ter Roothurford ; but we'se 
 folks over ter Tennessee."
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 "And how is the road between here 
 and Alexander's ?" 
 
 " Tol'able ; but ye karn't git over hit 
 wuth thet critter. Thar's a piece 'bout 
 two miles up whar the drift has washed 
 in thet wud spile the legs uv ary four- 
 futted critter, shore." 
 
 In the intervals of these remarks she 
 had replaced the snuff-stick in her mouth, 
 every now and then expectorating as if 
 firing at a target. The energy and di- 
 rectness of this operation excited my 
 astonishment. If any one desires to be 
 cured of the tobacco-habit, he has only 
 to witness the way the women use the 
 weed in this region. 
 
 The mail-rider now remarked that it 
 was about time for him to be attending 
 to Uncle Sam's business ; and the woman 
 rose, and, chirruping " Come on " to the 
 man, who all this while had stood silent 
 and at a respectful distance, she followed 
 the mail-rider up the mountain. The last 
 I saw of her she was climbing the steep 
 path with a firm, manly stride, while her 
 lazy, loose-jointed husband with a slow 
 and faltering step was bringingup the rear. 
 
 I now mounted the colt and pursued 
 my way along the river ; but it soon be- 
 came apparent to me that a singular 
 change had come over Sam. He no 
 longer went on by fits and starts, now 
 fast, now slow, and veering from side to 
 side of the road as a wayward fancy 
 took him, but straight ahead, and with 
 a steady jog that would have done credit 
 to a broken-down stage-horse. He had 
 either been born again or changed into 
 another pony. His late immersion in 
 the Ivy may have sobered his mind, or 
 the thought of home have come to him 
 to spur his progress. At any rate, he re- 
 fused all conversation with me, and jog- 
 ged along steady as a church-clock and 
 demure as any deacon. 
 
 I was revolving in my mind how to get 
 him over the drift-wood, when, at a sharp 
 curve in the road, we came suddenly 
 upon it. It was a serious obstruction. 
 The river here made an abrupt bend, 
 and the flood had piled up in the road- 
 way a tangled mass of estray logs, Up- 
 rooted trees, and branchy undergrowth, 
 to a height of full ten feet, and all so 
 
 densely packed that I could detect no 
 opening through which I could safely 
 get the pony. Leading him along the 
 margin of the river was impossible, for 
 the water was too deep to ford, and the 
 current was so swift it would have swept 
 him away in a moment. It looked as if 
 the woman was right : that tangled mass 
 of debris would certainly "spile the legs 
 uv ary four-futted critter." But I dis- 
 mounted and climbed upon the drift- 
 wood to reconnoitre. 
 
 Lying diagonally across the road was 
 a huge poplar, at least eighty feet long 
 and at the butt five feet in diameter. 
 About thirty feet of the lower part of its 
 trunk had been hollowed out with an 
 axe for the evident purpose of making 
 a "dug-out." If I could get Sam upon 
 that tree there would be no difficulty in 
 leading him across, for he was in the 
 mood of mind that would render it pos- 
 sible. All that was needed was a few 
 planks to form a bridge by which to get 
 him upon the poplar ; and there they 
 were, right under my feet, drifted down 
 from some up-country saw-mill. I lost 
 no time in placing the planks against the 
 fallen tree, and then Sam crossed upon 
 it, thus justifying what had been told me 
 of the tight-rope performances of the 
 Buncombe County pony. 
 
 I was now in the midst of surprisingly 
 grand and beautiful scenery. The nar- 
 row road in many places blasted from 
 the rocks along the water's edge fol- 
 lowed the windings of the river, and 
 where it made some wide sweep we 
 came often upon a scene absolutely be- 
 yond description, the broad river now 
 foaming around huge rocks, now whirl- 
 ing in some boiling pool, now tumbling 
 in white cascades over a sunken ledge, 
 and now again flowing on, wide and deep 
 and placid, as if it had never known an 
 angry mood in its whole career. And 
 over it nil were the high, enclosing moun- 
 tains, their wooded slopes and bare gran- 
 ite cliffs towering up hundreds of feet and 
 often toppling over the very roadway. 
 
 The day was clear, the weather had 
 moderated greatly, and Sam and I jogged 
 lazily on, enjoying the sunshine, with no 
 incident worthy of note, until we came
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 to the house of his owner. The kind- 
 ly gentleman was willing I should ride 
 his colt on to Alexander's, but I soon 
 found I must also get the consent of his 
 coltship. However, this I did with the 
 bribe of a few ears of corn, with which I 
 lured him up the highway till I got him 
 to a safe distance. Then I mounted him 
 again, and had no further trouble with 
 the wayward fellow. 
 
 For several miles the mountains had 
 been running down into hills, and we 
 now came into a broken country, where 
 every slope with a southern exposure was 
 cultivated in tobacco. But 
 I saw but one dwelling, and 
 that was in a broad field, 
 from every acre of which I 
 was told its owner cleared 
 a yearly profit of a hundred 
 dollars ; and yet his house, *':> 
 
 about twelve feet square, 
 would have been thought 
 by any Northern farmer 
 unfit for the stabling of his 
 cattle. These people have 
 no conception of order, or 
 neatness, or comfort. 
 Looking at the way in 
 which they live, one is not 
 surprised at the reckless 
 disregard of life, or at a 
 loss for the answer they 
 would give to Mallock's 
 question, "Is life worth 
 living ?' ' 
 
 A little farther on I came 
 upon another shanty, also 
 about twelve feet square, and with no 
 visible opening except a door-way, and 
 near it was a barber's shop. This last 
 was roofed with the sky and had neither 
 doors nor windows. I could see the 
 whole interior, but discovered nothing 
 in the way of furniture except an op- 
 erating-chair, and that was a hen- 
 coop. Seated upon this was a ragged 
 "native," the very picture of forlornness, 
 and kneeling on the ground beside him, 
 in his shirt-sleeves, was another " native," 
 the artist in hair, who had trimmed 
 the other's locks in a horizontal "bang," 
 and was in the act of combing them 
 straight down in the latest mountain- 
 
 fashion. "What is the price for trim- 
 ming hair in this shop ?" I asked the 
 artist, as I rode by. 
 
 "A dime," answered the artist, without 
 looking up or altering his position. "An" 
 we ax fools only half price. Will you 
 hev yours done ?" 
 
 Without further incident we reached 
 Alexander's, and then Sam and I part- 
 ed, never, I fear, to meet again. Of his 
 subsequent career I know nothing ; but 
 I feel assured that, if a proper account is 
 kept of the deeds of ponies, his service 
 to me on that day will be placed to hi? 
 
 Orx 
 
 v^o-i * *i 
 
 A WAYSIDE BARBER'S SHOP. 
 
 credit and be allowed to balance no small 
 array of misdoings. 
 
 Alexander's has been a summer resort 
 for more than fifty years, and it was a 
 comfortable place to arrive at after my 
 experience during the preceding two days. 
 Still, I must go on, and my first inquiry 
 was for a conveyance to Asheville. None 
 could be had, neither horse nor mule, 
 and I was forced to wait the return of 
 the construction-train, which I was told 
 would come back from the Ivy and go 
 up the road on the morrow. To while 
 away the intervening time I made ac- 
 quaintance with my fellow-guests at the 
 comfortable hostelry.
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 One was a cultivated gentleman from 
 South Carolina, who had served in the 
 Confederate army and still carried a Fed- 
 eral bullet in his body ; and another 
 not so cultivated, but more of a "charac- 
 ter " had also served in the Confederate 
 ranks, and, according to his own account, 
 had been engaged in nearly all the im- 
 portant battles of the war. He was a 
 broad-shouldered fellow, who, starting in 
 life when he was twelve years of age, 
 had worked thirteen years in a saw-mill, 
 fought eighteen years in the Southern 
 army, and was now serving on his elev- 
 enth year as an engineer for the Western 
 North Carolina Railroad. And still, by 
 his own admission, he was only thirty- 
 five years of age ! He had an open, hon- 
 est face, a frank though somewhat swash- 
 buckler manner, and a talent at compos- 
 ing history which, should he but dip his 
 thoughts in ink and be able to obtain a 
 publisher, would secure to him fame and 
 perhaps immortality. I did not learn his 
 nationality. On different occasions and 
 in various localities he had, I was told, 
 claimed to be of both Northern and 
 Southern birth ; but his birthplace was 
 in reality unknown, and, like that of 
 Homer, is likely to go down to the future 
 one of the unsolved problems of history. 
 
 As we gathered, after supper, around 
 the great roaring wood fire in the sitting- 
 room of the hotel, I said to these gentle- 
 men, " I am a stranger here : be good 
 enough to tell me something about the 
 people of your section." 
 
 "It is not my section, sir," answered 
 the South Carolinian, "but I can tell you 
 something about it. The poet had this 
 region in mind when he wrote, 
 
 Where every prospect pleases, 
 And only man is vile. 
 
 Nature has done her best here, and man 
 has done his worst. The country -people 
 are the meanest race of Yankees on the 
 earth." 
 
 "Yankees!" I said. "I supposed they 
 were confined to the North." 
 
 " Not at all. A Yankee is a thing of 
 race, not of latitude. The natives about 
 here are low, mean, narrow, dishonest, 
 and those are the traits we Southerners 
 ascribe to the Yankees ; but we have 
 
 found out of late years that we have as 
 many of them at home as can be found 
 anywhere. In addition, these people 
 have neither morals nor religion, and 
 are addicted to vices not to be named 
 among gentlemen." 
 
 " How do you account for this ?" 
 
 "They come from wretchedly poor 
 stock. The first settlers in these moun- 
 tains were either too lazy and too shift- 
 less to get a living in a civilized com- 
 munity, and so were driven back from 
 the seaboard, or they were horsethieves 
 and other criminals who had fled from 
 justice and could be safe only hiding 
 among these woods. Here the two 
 classes herded together, and their pro- 
 geny has partaken of the traits of both, 
 laziness and rascality. They have 
 the shiftlessness of the pauper and the 
 sharpness and cunning of the thief. This 
 railroad will improve them, for it will 
 take their surplus produce to market and 
 bring them in contact with the outside 
 world. But the ' cussedness ' is in their 
 blood, and nothing except the grace of 
 God can get it out. What they need 
 most are teachers and missionaries ; and 
 they need them more than the blacks, 
 for they are far lower down." 
 
 " But this certainly does not apply to 
 the whole farming population ?" 
 
 "To the largest part in this section. 
 Of course I speak only generally : there 
 are many exceptions." 
 
 My own impression was that the gen- 
 tleman drew too dark a picture of these 
 people ; but I had then seen them only 
 on the great thoroughfares. I subse- 
 quently met some of them in their 
 homes, and concluded that he had not 
 overstated their characteristics. 
 
 The conversation soon turned upon 
 the events of the war, and the engineer 
 gave some of his wonderful experiences, 
 in which he displayed remarkable talent 
 at fictitious narrative. His railway ex- 
 periences partook of the same general 
 character ; but one of them will perhaps 
 bear repetition." 
 
 "I have," he said, "come reasonably 
 
 near to sudden death on a railroad a 
 
 number of times, but I think I never 
 
 l came any nearer than I did one night
 
 ON THE FRENCH BROAD. 
 
 33 
 
 going down the Blue Ridge. We were 
 crossing the Big Fill, beyond Black 
 Mountain. You see, the Fill is two 
 hundred and ten feet high, and the 
 grade a hundred feet to the mile. The 
 night was so dark you couldn't see your 
 hand before you, and it had been rain- 
 ing hard all day, so the ground was soft 
 and the rails slippery. The train had 
 got under tremendous headway, when 
 right about half-way down the Fill I felt 
 the engine jumping the track and going 
 over. There were eighty passengers on 
 the train, and I reckoned one life wasn't 
 worth so many as eighty, so I sprang 
 upon the tender and undid the coupling ; 
 and that saved the train, for not one of 
 the cars left the track, but all went on 
 safe down the mountain. After uncoup- 
 ling the tender, quick as lightning I 
 sprang back upon the engine, and over 
 we went, I holding on for dear life." 
 
 "And the engine waited for you to get 
 back before it went over ?" remarked the 
 South Carolinian. 
 
 " Not a bit of it : it was going over all 
 the time. It was a forty-ton fellow, and 
 I tell you it went with a rush. I don't 
 think it was more than half a second in 
 leaving the track and turning completely 
 over, landing on its wheels. And so it 
 kept on going over and over till it had 
 made three or four revolutions, and I 
 saw it wouldn't bring up till it got to the 
 bottom of the Fill, two hundred feet 
 and more down, and I knew that 
 amount of somerset would be the end 
 of me ; for, hold on as well as I could, 
 I was bound to be knocked about mis- 
 cellaneously. So I made up my mind 
 to take French leave of that engine, and 
 I did. I sprang to one side, and let the 
 durned thing go down alone. Now, the 
 tender had been uncoupled when the 
 engine sprung the track, and it was fol- 
 lowing it at a gewhittiker speed and in a 
 bee-line for the place where I had landed. 
 When I saw it was bound " 
 
 " But I think you said the night was so 
 dark you couldn't see your hand before 
 you?" 
 
 " So I did ; but I saw that tender ; and 
 so would you see it, I reckon, a thing 
 about as big as a meeting-house tum- 
 3 
 
 bling down upon you, if the night had 
 been darker than the nethermost pit. 
 But, as I was saying, I saw the tender 
 coming, and I threw myself flat, face 
 downward, at full length upon that fresh 
 earth, soft as corn-mush, for it was just 
 wet with the rain ; and the tender went 
 right over me and buried me in the mud 
 out of sight, but didn't do me a dollar's 
 worth of damage. However, I was two 
 hours in prying myself out, and when I 
 did and climbed up to the track, there was 
 enough North Carolina soil on my clothes 
 to fill a quarter section a foot deep. I 
 walked on to Henry Station, six miles, 
 over the highest trestles in this country, 
 and there was the train standing at the 
 station. Not a soul of them knew what had 
 become of me or the engine, but they all 
 reckoned we'd gone on to Marion to 
 spend Sunday with the wife and children." 
 
 "Well, my friend," said the South 
 Carolinian, "how much of that story do 
 you expect us to believe ?" 
 
 "Just as much as you like ; but here's 
 a bit of corroborative evidence you'll 
 find it hard to doubt." Saying this, he 
 handed to us a very fine gold watch, on 
 which was an inscription showing that it 
 had been presented to him by the West- 
 ern North Carolina Railroad Company 
 for saving the lives of eighty passengers 
 and the train of cars above mentioned. 
 
 It was a fact : he saved the train, and 
 risked his life in doing it. But this fact 
 as he related it embellished and exag- 
 gerated in his peculiar fashion became 
 fiction and lost all credibility. He was a 
 typical character, a queer compound of 
 brag, exaggeration, and downright lying, 
 with energy, honesty, and true bravery. 
 The traveller who has his eyes about him 
 will find many of his class at the South. 
 
 At eight o'clock on the following night 
 I took the construction-train for Ashe- 
 ville. A thick bed of earth had been 
 spread on the floor of one of the flat-cars 
 and a rousing pine fire built upon it, 
 round which the two gentlemen I have 
 mentioned and I seated ourselves on tin 
 canisters, emptied of the "giant pow- 
 der" used in blasting the track, and, 
 though the night was cold, rode on to 
 our destination with tolerable comfort.
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 CATSKILL VALLEY AND CREEK, FROM JEFFERSON HILL. 
 
 AS we journey up the Hudson the 
 river - scenery, beginning with the 
 bold precipices of the Palisades, seems 
 to culminate at West Point, where the 
 spurs of three separate mountain-ranges 
 meet in a group of lofty peaks. There 
 34 
 
 is Cro'nest, crowned with verdure to 
 its summit: behind it rises round, bare 
 Donderbarrak, and opposite is Brek- 
 nock, while at their bases winds through 
 the deep narrow gorge the serpentine 
 channel which used to be called Wind-
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATS KILL KEG ION. 
 
 35 
 
 Gate. Nothing on the continent can 
 compare with these shores, except some 
 parts of the Saguenay River. 
 
 After passing these wild and romantic 
 Highlands the more striking picturesque 
 features vanish. The majestic Hudson, 
 which below is forced to writhe through 
 those rocky fastnesses in swift and deep 
 currents, lazily stretches its bulk from 
 shore to shore: the horizons recede, 
 showing in the west the blue wavy out- 
 lines of the Catskills. It is then that the 
 experienced traveller begins to look for 
 the Sleeping Giant. When once his huge 
 figure looms along the sky, while he takes 
 his eternal siesta clothed in the quivering 
 opal hazes of the summer noon, or rests 
 at sunset against the curtains of his cloud- 
 couch wrought of crimson and cloth-of- 
 gold, one may know that Catskill town 
 is near. 
 
 Formerly, the tourist carried away 
 from this delightful resort merely a rem- 
 iniscence of the hubbub of the wharves 
 and the intolerable glare of the dusty vil- 
 lage streets. The mountains beckoned 
 him on, and he set out for them at once, 
 regardless of the attractions of Catskill 
 itself. Now-a-days, all that is changed, 
 and everybody lingers, or should linger, 
 for a week or two by the river-side. In 
 fact, those who love tranquil enjoyment 
 of scenery without effort or fatigue may 
 here dispense with mountain - climbing 
 altogether. It was, after all, the Tempt- 
 er who led the way up to an exceeding 
 high mountain and showed the king- 
 doms of the world and the glory of 
 them. 
 
 Let us stay in Catskill for a while, 
 watching the lights and shadows on the 
 lofty chain, look at the beautiful Hudson 
 flowing from the dim blue distances of 
 some enchanted land, view the wooded 
 hills opposite which Church the artist has 
 crowned with his castellated towers, and 
 below the embowered slopes of Livings- 
 ton Manor. In this leisurely mode of 
 making acquaintance with the river- and 
 mountain-scenery we can best appreciate 
 its admirable beauty and picturesqueness, 
 and moreover study up the history and 
 traditions of the most interesting town 
 on the North River. 
 
 Nor is there wanting the attraction of 
 an admirably-kept and luxurious hotel to 
 detain the traveller. Prospect Park Hotel 
 has without doubt the most superb situa- 
 tion on the river. From every window 
 and door, and, above all, from the great 
 piazzas, open a thousand vistas of surpass- 
 ing loveliness river, wooded heights, isl- 
 and, lovely banks and distant villages 
 all sublimed by the magnificent setting 
 which the mountain -line affords. The 
 grounds of the house slope to the shore, 
 and are dotted charmingly with groups 
 of the native cedars, which grow spon- 
 taneously with a perfection of form that 
 suggests the most careful pruning. The 
 walk along the river-bank is one of the 
 most charming experiences Catskill af- 
 fords. The path is slippery with pine- 
 needles, so narrow that it suggests soli- 
 tary rambles rather than a place for 
 lovers' loiterings, and is often interrupt- 
 ed by stiles ; but from the shadow of 
 the lofty pines and knotted oaks one has 
 glimpses through the greenery of an en- 
 chanted prospect which might open into 
 Paradise itself. 
 
 As we have said, Catskill is well worth 
 starting with. The village is divided, like 
 other notable places, into an upper and a 
 lower town. Or the hill are no bustles, 
 no turmoils : all about Prospect Park 
 Hotel stretch streets lined with villa- 
 like residences surrounded by pleasant 
 grounds and great fruit - gardens. At 
 the foot of the hill, along the shores of 
 the creek, go on the activities of a stir- 
 ring and practical people. Outside the 
 village spreads a rolling country, rising 
 in easy fertile slopes from the rich bot- 
 tom-lands. The soil is of clay, but admi- 
 rably adapted to agricultural purposes: 
 all the fruits and vegetables suited to the 
 climate are raised in the utmost perfec- 
 tion in Catskill. To relieve this charm- 
 ing landscape of its mere prettiness and 
 over-luxuriance the mountains tower be- 
 hind, wrapped in their vapory veils. 
 
 An enthusiastic Catskillite might well 
 challenge the world to surpass the beau- 
 ties of the landscape opened before the 
 gazer near the junction of the Jefferson 
 and Snake roads. "Grant's" Hotel is 
 located at this point, and, although re-
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 moved from the Hudson, is admirably 
 situated for a summer resort, command- 
 ing the superb view we have noticed, with 
 the Catskilland Kaaterskill Creeks, beau- 
 tiful centres of a rich and characteristic 
 country well worth making acquaintance 
 with. These two creeks will have indeed, 
 before we are through with the Catskill 
 region, far more than this cursory men- 
 tion. The very name of the Kaaterskill 
 brings up associations of the wildest ra- 
 vines in the deep mountain-gorges, with 
 their cascades and waterfalls. The two 
 
 streams unite just before they merge into 
 the Hudson near a hill called, to the con- 
 fusion of philologists, Hop-o'-Nose. 
 
 All the early settlements in Catskill 
 were made along the banks of these 
 creeks. The Dutch were always famous 
 for settling in easy and pleasant quarters, 
 and when their fur-traders brought news 
 of the rich lands full of woods and streams 
 that lay waiting for possessors at the base 
 of the great mountains, they began to sail 
 up the river in search of them. It was 
 they who first purchased of the Indians 
 
 THE "SLEEPING GIANT," FROM THE MOUTH OK CATSKILL CRKKK. 
 
 the river-bottoms in Catskill and there- 
 abouts. Although we picture the North 
 American savages as a stern and warlike 
 race, the fact is nevertheless well known 
 that they never by any chance made their 
 settlements among the mountain - fast- 
 nesses, but, like other simple agricultu- 
 ral people, chose the fertile lands which 
 lay along the banks of small streams. 
 The tribe which the Dutch found in 
 possession were the Esopus Indians. 
 
 Catskill may be said to have been dis- 
 covered by Hendrick Hudson in 1609. 
 He anchored near the present boat- 
 landing and made acquaintance with 
 the savages, who were described by the 
 chronicler as "very loving people and 
 very old men." They wanted him to re- 
 
 main with them, and on his refusal, fan- 
 cying that his disinclination arose from 
 some dread of their weapons, the chiefs 
 took their arrows, broke them and put 
 them into the fire. Nevertheless, he per- 
 sisted in going away, and left the Indians 
 " very sorrowful." He and his men seem 
 to have selected Catskill, however, as the 
 scene of their long revels at nine-pins 
 after they quitted the scenes of their 
 old exploits in navigation. 
 
 It was more than seventy years after 
 Hudson's voyage up the Hudson that 
 a Dutchman by the name of Bogaeit 
 bought the lowlands of Catskill from 
 the Indians for a quantity of rum, a 
 gun, two shirts, a kettle and a keg of 
 beer. This purchase was followed by
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 37 
 
 others, until the red man no longer had 
 a fertile place to plant his corn, and the 
 tribe moved away and joined the Mo- 
 hawks. There is a pretty tradition that 
 a band of them used to return every 
 summer and encamp on a part of the 
 Salisbury farm, near Potick Mountain 
 in Leeds, and mournfully look at their 
 forests vanishing under the settler's axe 
 and their fishing -places spoiled by his 
 saw-mills. Near the mouth of Catskill 
 Creek is one of the old Indian burying- 
 grounds, where curious relics have been 
 unearthed. 
 
 The whole Catskill region belonged or- 
 iginally to a few large proprietors, who 
 bought the lands for the merest trifle, 
 then obtained patents for them from the 
 king or the company, and so enjoyed a 
 legal right to them. These grants or pat- 
 ents covered from eight hundred to thou- 
 sands of acres : that of Sylvester Salis- 
 bury, for instance, embraced four square 
 miles. Other considerable patents were 
 Lindesay's, Leverage's, Beekman's, Van 
 Vechten's, Greene's, etc. With a landed 
 aristocracy like this it is easy to preserve 
 traditions, and Catskill is accordingly 
 rich in genealogical interest, and many 
 of the old families still reside on their 
 ancestors' estates. It is asserted by those 
 who have studied the matter that in no 
 section of this country has there been so 
 little change of residents as in Catskill. 
 Some of the old Dutch houses which be- 
 longed to the original proprietors are still 
 standing : one of the oldest is the Van 
 Deusen house in Leeds (a part of Cats- 
 kill), which bears the date of 1705. The 
 oldest house in Catskill village is now call- 
 ed the " Stone Jug," but originally went 
 by the name of "Dies's Folly," from its 
 surpassing all other houses of the period 
 in splendor and costliness. John Dies was 
 a major in the British army, but on mar- 
 rying Miss Jane Goelet of New York he 
 retired to Catskill in 1763, and there erect- 
 ed this house. Its situation is charming, 
 with a view down the creek. Mr. Dies is 
 said to have spent his time skipping silver 
 dollars across the stream. His wife was 
 called Madam Dies, and was considered 
 one of the most learned and remarkable 
 women of her time. Her portraits and 
 
 her letters have been preserved by her 
 descendants, and we give one of the lat- 
 ter as an instance of a great lady's style 
 of correspondence in the last century : 
 
 CATTS KILL TOWN, March 15, 1796. 
 DEAR GATE : 
 
 I Received all you Sent, for wich Receive 
 my harty Thanks. Your Brother tels me of 
 your Suffering, for wich am Sory. I have 
 you and all your Sisters and Brothers with 
 me in my Approches at the Throne of Grace, 
 Morning and Evening, that the Almighty out 
 of his Infinite Goodness and Merci will be 
 pleased to Restore you to your Health ; if it 
 is our Blessed Saviour's will to take you to 
 himself, to fit and Prepare you for your next 
 Remove and Receive you into his Blessed 
 Arms, Aman. 
 
 You my dear Children that are in health, 
 Seek the Lord while he may be found, then 
 I shall have my wish in the Family that I 
 am connected with and in the Bonds of Love 
 and Friendship. I feal for Richard on the 
 Water. I Pray that the Lord will Send his 
 Gardian Angel to Protect him and Send him 
 Safe to his Family again. Gate sent me Last 
 fall 2 Viols I she said was Lavandar. I did 
 not smell the Lavander; the Other was for 
 Weekness but did not Say how it was to be 
 Taken. Dear Gate I send you eggs as you 
 Desired. I gave 3 shillings a dozen, you 
 must Counte them and pay for the 2 Viols 
 and let me know how I am to take this Mid- 
 cine for Weekness. 
 
 Hope this may Meet you in better Health 
 and Our Blessed Jesus Grant you Some 
 Longer time on Earth with the Under Aged 
 Children. Inclosed you have 5 Doller wich, 
 with the Eggs for wich I was Obliged to 
 give 3 Shillings a dozen, Please to pay 
 Post for the 2 Viols and send twelve shilling 
 Kag Corn, Hams, Buiskets : Mark it J. D. : 
 and the Remainder send in Sugar Candy and 
 Candied Oranges : my Gate joyns me in ten- 
 der Regard for Self and all the Family, and 
 after my best wishes for your better healt, 
 believe me 
 
 Your sinciar frind 
 
 JANE DIES. 
 
 I forgot 5 Ib. of Pepper Mint Losingis, 
 wich Please to Send and Less of the other. 
 Please to Return the Baskit, you can pack 
 up my things in it. 
 
 [Directed] Miss Cornelia Blaare att Doct, 
 Post's, New York. 
 
 Favored by Capt. Van Loan.
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 PROSPECT PARK HOTEL, FROM THE EAST BANK OF THE HUDSON, OPPOSITE CATSKILL; 
 AND VIEW OF SCENERY TO THE NORTH. 
 
 One of the largest and most interest- 
 ing of the old Catskill families is that 
 of Dubois, to one of whom, the grand- 
 daughter of Madam Dies, the preceding 
 letter was addressed. A pathetic story is 
 
 told of the original settler of this name, 
 Louis Dubois, a French Huguenot, who 
 came home from a hunting -expedition 
 to find that his wife Catherine and her 
 three children had been carried away by
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSK1LL REGION. 
 
 39 
 
 the Indians during his absence. These 
 outrages were but too common, and could 
 not fail to suggest to the frantic husband 
 the extremity of violence and atrocity. 
 A friendly savage confided to him the 
 direction the party had taken, and he 
 at once set out with a company of his 
 neighbors and their dogs in search of 
 his family. After a march of twenty- 
 six miles through the unbroken forest 
 along Rondout and Walkill Creeks, Du- 
 bois came upon an Indian scout, and 
 thus discovered that they were close 
 upon the tribe. But when they reached 
 the camp the Indians fled, carrying their 
 prisoners with them. Dubois, in a great 
 dread, ran after, calling his wife's name 
 frantically and imploring her to return ; 
 and she contrived to escape from her 
 captors, and did return. Here comes the 
 point of the story : The Indians had de- 
 cided to burn their captives alive, and 
 had placed them on the pile of fagots, 
 to which they were about to set fire when 
 Mrs. Dubois, sitting on the logs and feel- 
 ing that the hour of her death had come, 
 began to sing. She sang of the captive 
 Jews who beside the waters of Baby- 
 lon hung their harps upon the willows, 
 and, thinking of their people far away, 
 wept over their melancholy fate. While 
 she sang her voice took such cadences 
 of heavenly sweetness that the savages 
 gazed at her with delighted awe, and 
 listened, forgetful of their cruel purpose. 
 When she would have ceased they urged 
 her to renew her song, and time after 
 time she repeated her strains of faith and 
 longing until hours had passed and the 
 moment of her deliverance came. This 
 story seems to be well authenticated, and 
 has been preserved in many histories of 
 our early Huguenot settlers. 
 
 But among all the Catskill families rich 
 in story and tradition, the Salisburys are 
 pre-eminent. We have already spoken 
 of the enormous grant of land to Syl- 
 vester Salisbury. This gentleman was 
 a direct descendant of Sir John Salis- 
 bury, whose father married Catherine 
 Tudor, a kinswoman of Queen Eliza- 
 beth. Captain Sylvester Salisbury was 
 sent out from England in 1664 in the 
 expedition against' the Dutch. After tak- 
 
 ing New Netherlands from them and es- 
 tablishing British supremacy along the 
 river to Albany, Captain Salisbury return- 
 ed to England : then came back in 1676 
 with his famous grant of land and many 
 valuable tokens, some of which still re- 
 main in the family as heirlooms. 
 
 Among other memorials, a portrait, 
 which at present hangs against the walls 
 of General Salisbury's house, is worthy 
 of particular mention. It had lain un- 
 cared for for generations, although its 
 history had never been forgotten. It 
 had grown black with age and dingy 
 with the accumulated dust of over three 
 hundred years. The picture was like a 
 woman's image behind a veil : the vo- 
 luptuous outlines could be seen, but the 
 features were lost. It was submitted to 
 a "restorer," Herr Volmering by name, 
 and thoroughly cleansed, and the en- 
 crusted dirt gave way and yielded the 
 fresh, living tints of the original canvas. 
 There seems to be irrefragable proof that 
 it is the work of Holbein, and that the 
 subject is Anne Boleyn. The portrait 
 possesses a rare force, and is powerful 
 in its effect to draw the interest and riv- 
 et the thoughts of the observer. It is 
 life-like no mere abstract of general 
 feminine loveliness, but showing an in- 
 dividual woman of rare attractions and 
 of a queenly repose and strength. Sev- 
 eral minor details seem to form a chain 
 of circumstantial evidence that the orig- 
 inal of the portrait was the ill-fated 
 mother of Queen Elizabeth. She had, it 
 is chronicled, a high forehead, which she 
 made every effort to cover by loose curls ; 
 a mole somewhat disfigured her right 
 breast ; and her left hand was deformed 
 by the removal of a superfluous finger. 
 All these points are confirmed by the 
 portrait : the forehead is too high for the 
 proportions of perfect beauty, and is hid- 
 den by curls ; her right hand clasps her 
 breast, as if to conceal the blemish ; and 
 a vestige of the lost finger is plainly no- 
 ticeable on the left hand. It is related 
 that Queen Katharine, when growing 
 jealous of her blooming maid-of-honor, 
 used to force this deformity upon general 
 notice by keeping her always at playing 
 cards. The Salisbury family have also
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATS KILL REGION. 
 
 in their keeping two 
 swords, marked 1544 
 and 1616, which be- 
 longed to their early 
 ancestor, who brought 
 the painting from 
 England. 
 
 A later incident in 
 this family history 
 has been made the 
 groundwork of a ro- 
 mance by Mrs. Har- 
 ris, called The Suth- 
 erland*. Several ac- 
 counts are given of 
 this tragedy, and the 
 novelist made use of 
 the most striking. 
 The story as it has 
 been frequently giv- 
 en to the world is as 
 follows : A young wo- 
 man bound to service 
 in the f am i 1 y ran 
 away: she was pur- 
 sued by her master, 
 overtaken, captured, 
 and tied to the tail of 
 his horse, which, be- 
 coming frighten- 
 ed, ran 
 
 DEVIL'S ASPECT, CATSKU.L CKEKK. 
 
 and dashed her to pieces among the rocks 
 and stones of the mountain -road. The 
 master was tried for murder, found guil- 
 ty and condemned to death. The influ- 
 ence of his friends and family was thrown 
 into the scale : it was represented that the 
 girl's fate was not the result of intention, 
 but of accident, and the sentence was in 
 
 Part 
 U remit- 
 J ted, 
 and the exe- 
 cution ordered to be 
 delayed until the man 
 was ninety -nine years 
 old. This reprieve was 
 of course considered as 
 a virtual pardon, but he 
 was condemned to wear, 
 as a continual reminder 
 to himself and others of 
 his crime and punish- 
 ment, a halter around 
 his neck. This part of the sentence is 
 said to have been literally carried out, 
 and he was always seen with a silk cord 
 knotted about his throat. The most sin- 
 gular circumstance in the story is that 
 he lived until two or three years past 
 the time when the penalty of the law 
 was to be exacted. The sentence was of 
 
 '
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 course a dead letter after so many generations 
 had passed : the old colonial courts had passed 
 away, and the new republic had begun. After 
 seventy-five years of doom the old man finally 
 died peacefully in his bed. 
 As we have seen, a large proportion of the 
 
 VIEW FROM NORTH MOUNTAIN, NEAR 
 BEAR'S DEN. 
 
 early settlers of Catskill were Dutch. 
 They seem to have been a thrifty, fru- 
 gal, and, if not sober, respectable and 
 never riotous people. "Some located 
 along the creek," writes Mr. Pinckney, 
 a pleasant chronicler of local traditions 
 and reminiscences, " near its confluence 
 with the Hudson. Some followed up the 
 stream to its junction with the Hans 
 Vassen and Kaaterskill ; while some ven- 
 
 tured a little far- 
 ther inland and 
 settled at Kaats- 
 baan and the Embaught 
 and the pleasant Bockhover. 
 Here spring found these early 
 settlers preparing the generous soil for 
 the grain ; here summer smiled upon 
 their waving fields ; here autumn was 
 fragrant with the ripened fruit of their 
 orchards ; and here winter listened to 
 their Christmas carols, the kitchen-songs 
 of their happy darkies and the merry 
 ringing of their sleigh-bells as they trav- 
 elled with sleek horses and high-backed 
 'pungs' to interchange visits and the 
 compliments of the season with distant 
 relatives, acquaintances or friends, all 
 included in the comprehensive title of 
 neighbors. Here they lived in the good 
 old customs of their Low - Dutch pro- 
 genitors, keeping holiday the festivals 
 of Paas and Pinkster, and here they 
 died and were buried in the convivial 
 fashion of their fatherland."
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 The only evidence of wickedness re- 
 corded against these worthy pioneers is 
 a complaint of blasphemous swearing 
 lodged with a Catskill magistrate in 
 
 1650 against one Van Bremen: the tes- 
 timony goes to prove, however, that his 
 profanity amounted to no more than the 
 declaration that "the devil might draw 
 the fodder in a cart : he would not." 
 
 These early Dutch settlers in many 
 cases acquired a competence by their 
 traffic in furs, and their names are now 
 synonyms of wealth and respectability, 
 and in many cases of the highest aris- 
 tocracy of our republic. Others never 
 found an easy road to fortune, but con- 
 tinued to live more or less thriftily 
 on the paternal acres, and their 
 descendants have never kept up 
 with the advancing age. When 
 the Dutch took Catskill, as it is 
 easy to infer from the excep- 
 tion noted of Van Bremen's 
 dereliction, they were in 
 general a pious and God- 
 fearing people. One of 
 
 their descendants of 
 
 to-day was invited 
 
 to subscribe some 
 
 small amount for a 
 
 lightning - rod to give 
 
 safety to a church in 
 
 his neighborhood. He 
 
 puffed solemnly at his pipe, turning 
 
 the matter over in his own mind, then 
 
 inquired, " Whose house is dat meetin'- 
 
 house, anyhow?" 
 
 " It is of course the Lord's house." 
 
 "An* vy, den, should I put myself in de way an' 
 hinder if de Lord wants to send de lightning to burn 
 down His own house ? I will give no money for no 
 dunder-pole." 
 
 In the latter part of the last century Catskill open- 
 ed a field of Western emigration for enterprising New 
 England men. Among others, Stephen Day of Wal- 
 lingford, Connecticut, invested largely in lands, 
 which were afterward settled by Connecticut men, 
 
 who, with their usual industry and thrift, set about developing the great natural 
 resources of the town and country. Until within thirty years Green county made 
 more leather than all the rest of the State together. The region above the Kaaters- 
 kill Clove is called Tannersville, and the business largely increased the population 
 and wealth of the whole section. But with the waste and over-work the hemlock 
 
 CLIFF ON SOUTH MOUNTAIN.
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 43 
 
 bark vanished, and with it the thriv- 
 ing trade. 
 
 Catskill was formerly a great wheat- 
 market, with extensive flour-mills. In 
 fact, until the opening of the Erie Canal 
 in 1825 the place steadily grew, and seem- 
 ed with vigorous strides to be making 
 headway toward great commercial pros- 
 perity. But when the canal opened the 
 great and fertile West, and railroads 
 penetrated still farther into new regions, 
 Oitskill began a little, if not to decline, 
 at least to grow stationary. There was 
 once a railroad running west from Cats- 
 kill, which was not attended by the pros- 
 perity that renders railroads necessary to 
 a community, and the vestiges of its track 
 are now pointed out along the beautiful 
 turns of the creek above Austin's paper- 
 mill a pathetic suggestion of vanished 
 enterprise. Other and new railroads open- 
 ing Catskill to the West are discussed, but 
 whether such schemes are chimerical or 
 substantial time only can determine. Pav- 
 ing-stones, brick, lime and cement are 
 among the products and manufactures 
 of the section : there are many factories, 
 woollen, cloth and other mills, among 
 which may be mentioned those of A. T. 
 Stewart. Another prominent industry of 
 Catskill is thegathering of the " ice-crop." 
 Thousands of tons of ice are stored in 
 the houses on Rogers's Island (midway 
 between Catskill and the opposite shore 
 of the Hudson) and along the banks 
 of the creek. Except that these un- 
 sightly buildings give evidence of local 
 thrift and prosperity, one might be tempt- 
 ed to quarrel with them for spoiling the 
 river-scenery ; but beauty cannot always 
 be made the bride of use, and this ice- 
 harvesting is the sole means of support 
 of thousands of families along the Hud- 
 son in the cold weather. A mild winter, 
 welcomed among the poor elsewhere, is 
 in this country a time of suffering and 
 dearth. 
 
 Catskill township originally embraced 
 several of the surrounding towns, and the 
 two pretty villages of Leeds and Jefferson 
 are still incorporated with it. The for- 
 mer, nestling under Potick Mountain, 
 contains a picturesque old stone bridge 
 over the creek, which commemorates a 
 
 terrible freshet of some sixty years ago 
 that swept away every landmark in 
 the vicinity. The town of Athens was 
 once a part of Catskill, and the road 
 thither along the river is one of the 
 many pleasant drives which the place 
 proffers inexhaustibly in every direction. 
 A daring and atrocious murder occur- 
 red near Athens in 1813, which gave rise 
 to some of the most curious complications 
 known in our criminal courts. A young 
 and lovely girl was missing from her fa- 
 ther's house, and it was remembered by 
 several persons in the vicinity that on 
 the evening of her disappearance they 
 had heard muffled shrieks. The place 
 was searched, and after two or three days 
 the girl's body was found bruised and 
 mutilated under the bridge that crosses 
 the creek. She had been last seen in 
 the twilight only a few yards from her 
 father's gate. The natural and only con- 
 clusion was that she had been dragged 
 away by ruffians and cruelly murdered, 
 and then hidden under the planks of the 
 bridge, which showed signs of having 
 been recently removed ; but no clew to 
 the identity of the scoundrels could be 
 obtained. Some time afterward, how- 
 ever, a soldier by the name of Lent made 
 confession that the murder was commit- 
 ted by himself and a comrade, Sickles. 
 He gave a circumstantial account of the 
 tragedy from beginning to end. Other 
 testimony corroborated his story, but the 
 evidence was not received. Lent and 
 Sickles were serving in the army at the 
 time, and their officers were summoned 
 as witnesses, and positively swore that 
 both the men were in barracks thirty 
 miles away on the evening of the mur- 
 der. The consequence was that Sickles 
 was discharged, and Lent, who had turn- 
 ed State's evidence, was convicted of 
 perjury and compelled to serve a term 
 in the State prison. Notwithstanding all 
 this, there could be little doubt of the fact 
 that Lent and Sickles were not in the 
 barracks at the date of the murder, but 
 had deserted two days before, and every 
 step of their way was traced to Catskill, 
 where they slept in a barn and were seen 
 on the very day of the tragedy. Sickles's 
 own counsel told him that he was a guil-
 
 44 
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 ty man and deserved to be hanged, and 
 a few years later Sickles, on his death- 
 bed, made a full confession of his guilt. 
 So much for judges and juries in 1813. 
 
 The Athens road was 
 also the scene of another 
 noticeable tragedy some 
 five years ago, when a 
 poor peddler stopping over 
 night at a humble farm- 
 house was murdered in 
 cold blood by the son of 
 his host, a young fellow of 
 little more than twenty, by 
 the name of Joseph Waltz. 
 The murder was one of 
 wanton atrocity: the evi- 
 dence was clear, and the 
 sentence extreme. The 
 young man was, however, 
 made the centre of much 
 tender sympathy on the 
 ground of a certain poetic 
 aberration of mind which 
 caused him to pretend to 
 see visions and dream 
 dreams. He wrote very 
 poor rhymes, which, while 
 he was languishing in pris- 
 on under sentence of death, 
 appealed to the kindliness 
 of his keeper and of the 
 community generally. He 
 had his wits sufficiently 
 about him, however, to plan 
 an adroit escape, which he 
 almost effected after com- 
 mitting a second murder 
 by killing his keeper. 
 
 But such grisly reminis- 
 cences should not be al- 
 lowed to sully the pure 
 mountain-streams and the 
 clear luminous air of Cats- 
 kill. Rather should be in- 
 spired the thought of 
 
 Such sights as youthful poets 
 
 dream 
 
 On summer eves by haunted 
 stream. 
 
 The place possesses to the full that 
 charm of scenery and fairy-like witch- 
 ery of picturesque association which open 
 the widest realm of fancy to poet and to 
 
 painter. The name of Thomas Cole is 
 associated with Catskill both as artist 
 and author. Mr. Cole was an English- 
 man who came to this country at nine- 
 
 EAGLE ROCK, 
 SOUTH MOUNTAIN, NEAR 
 THE MOUNTAIN HOUSE, 
 CATSKILL. 
 
 teen years of age. He en- 
 countered many vicissitudes 
 as a young man, but afterward ac- 
 quired an enviable fame and for- 
 tune. However his works may be 
 regarded by the critics of to-day, 
 who consider any visible idea or 
 distinct conception a base sub- 
 serviency of art to conciliate the old fo- 
 gies, there need be no doubt of his hav- 
 ing painted pictures which made the 
 most powerful and worthy impression
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 45 
 
 upon his day and generation. He was 
 an ardent lover of Catskill and its moun- 
 tains, and after frequent visits finally 
 made it his permanent place of resi- 
 dence. His house is now occupied by 
 his son, and is admirably situated, front- 
 ing on a superb view of the Catskill 
 range, while behind it a forest of oaks 
 and pines extends to the water's edge. 
 At his death he left unfinished a series 
 of pictures called The Cross and the 
 World, similar in imaginative concep- 
 tion and deep religious sentiment to his 
 Voyage of Life and Course of Empire. 
 The unfinished pictures remain as the 
 master -hand left them, and his house 
 contains other works The Architect's 
 Dream, etc. etc.* 
 
 The pleasantest residences in Catskill 
 adjoin the Cole place, with a view of the 
 mountains on the one hand and the riv- 
 er on the other. Among them may be 
 mentioned those of Sherwood Day, Esq., 
 George McLanahan, and a pretty me- 
 diaeval cottage fashioned after Shake- 
 speare's house, and called from some 
 reminiscence of the artist who built it 
 "More's Folly." Mr. Thurlow Weed 
 and Mr. Edwin Croswell, respectively 
 editors of the Albany Evening Jour- 
 nal and Albany Argus, were natives 
 of Catskill, and both have contributed 
 reminiscences of the place to the local 
 papers. There seems to have been a 
 club of these loyal sons of Catskill call- 
 ed the " Turtle Club " some thirty years 
 and more ago, which furnished occasions 
 for much genial speech-making, and in 
 many ways the spirit of the old times, 
 the anecdotes and entertaining gossip, 
 have been kept alive. We quote one 
 story from the printed memoranda in 
 Sketches of Catskill: "On a leaf torn 
 from the day-book of Mr. Orrin Day, 
 the well-known merchant and father of 
 S. Sherwood Day, we find the following 
 reference to the uncle of Mr. Thurlow 
 Weed under date of May 18, 1811 : 
 
 " JOSEPH WEED Dr. 
 
 To I Blk coat 40*. 
 
 [If he goes regularly to one of the churches 
 
 * His studio, on the fine grounds which surround 
 his house, is at present occupied by our artist, Mr. 
 B. B. G. S'.one. 
 
 every Sunday for one year, and keeps away 
 from the grog-shops on the Sabbath, and re- 
 forms his moral conduct, then this is to be a 
 present.] 
 
 " On the left - hand margins are the 
 memorandums : 
 
 " 1st Sunday in June, absent. 
 
 2 d " 
 
 And on the opposite margin the follow- 
 ing: 
 
 " Mr. Weed attended public worship a few 
 Sabbaths, but very soon broke off, and has 
 not been seen in a church for several months. 
 
 " March 27, 1812. 
 
 " Then Mr. Day despairingly wrote in a 
 bold hand across the entry, ' GAVE IN.' " 
 
 Having explored the walks in and 
 about Catskill, rowed up the creek past 
 Devil's Aspect, walked up the ravine 
 past the paper - mill to the falls, and 
 pondered over the curious strata and 
 the geological formations of the rocky 
 bed and walls of the stream, gossiped 
 over the old traditions, visited the stu- 
 dios, we must set out for the mountains 
 the Katzbergs, as the early Dutch used 
 to call them. 
 
 The Indians' name for these mountains 
 was "Onti Ora " or "Clouds of the Sky." 
 And it is true that lights and shadows 
 never played over mountains which more 
 truly and tenderly reflected every mood 
 of the changing hour and of the sea- 
 sons. It would be difficult to say in 
 which aspect they are most beautiful 
 in the rose -tints of dawn, the purple- 
 gray of the morning sunlight, which 
 changes to amethystine violet at noon, 
 then to a vivid blue as the shadows 
 turn eastward, or in the splendors of 
 sunset, when the great fires flame up 
 to the zenith and the unveiled glories 
 of the skies spread from horizon to ho- 
 rizon. Approaching Catskill by rail to- 
 ward evening, one may catch one of the 
 most charming effects of mountain -sce- 
 nery. The sun races along the peaks as 
 it were, now vanishing behind High Peak, 
 gleaming out in intolerable splendor to 
 hide under the huge dome of Round Top. 
 " It has gone now," one says, half glad 
 to be able to gaze at the blue chain un-
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 blinded, but it emerges more radiant than 
 ever, and hangs over South Mountain, 
 dazzling with its straight beams converg- 
 ing from the brilliant disk : then at North 
 Mountain it pauses an instant, gleaming 
 with gem-like hues as it strikes the rocky 
 
 wall ; then is seen no more. When the 
 mountains look near the weatherwise pre- 
 dict rain for the next day. In storm and 
 mist their forms of course vanish, and 
 often in summer-time, when the forest 
 fires are raging over the mountain-woods, 
 
 NORTH LAKE, NEAR MOUNTAIN HOUSE. 
 
 the smoke enfolds the whole chain, hid- 
 ing it from view. 
 
 The Mountain House is eight miles 
 from Hudson River as the crow flies, 
 and twelve miles by road. In the clear 
 luminous air the distance does not seem 
 so great. All mountain-scenery is de- 
 ceptive and the ranges loom too near. 
 A story is told of two Englishmen used 
 to Alpine climbings who arrived some- 
 where in Colorado at evening, and next 
 morning, catching sight of a splendid 
 peak apparently only a mile or two 
 away, they set out to make the ascent 
 before breakfast. After walking an hour 
 or two, however, without seeming to de- 
 crease the distance, the first Englishman 
 turned back, leaving his friend to press 
 on undaunted, while he ate his breakfast. 
 
 found a horse, and then set out again. 
 After a ride of many miles he overtook 
 his comrade, and found him sitting on 
 the brink of a ditch a yard wide, re- 
 moving his shoes and stockings and 
 rolling up his trousers. 
 
 "What on earth are you doing?" ask- 
 ed the Englishman on horseback. 
 
 " I'm going to ford that river," said the 
 pedestrian in an inflexible voice. 
 
 "Ford that river?" said the first, be- 
 lieving that his friend's mind was totter- 
 ing. "It is only a ditch : you can jump 
 across it easily." 
 
 "Don't tell me," retorted the other, 
 irate. " You can't calculate on any dis- 
 tance in this blasted country. For all 
 you or I can tell, it may be three hun- 
 dred feet wide."
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATS KILL REGION. 
 
 47 
 
 There are two roads from Catskill to 
 the Mountain House the stage-road and 
 the road through the Clove. Each has 
 its characteristic attractions which the 
 other does not possess. We leave the 
 Kaaterskill Clove for our second pa- 
 per, and now make the regular ascent 
 along the winding road up the eastern 
 side of the mountain, which rises abrupt- 
 ly from the plain, following the margin 
 of the glen through which Rip Van Win- 
 kle found his way on that memorable 
 afternoon. In the morning the road is 
 in sunshine, or at least chequered by the 
 play of sun and shadow through the 
 pine-tassels and birch-leaves, but after 
 noon it is gloomed over by the lofty 
 heights, which cast their shadows far 
 eastward toward the river. On the right 
 as you ascend you can see nothing save 
 the towering perpendicular wall to which 
 the verdure clings, and on the left the 
 lofty trees shut out the view of the val- 
 ley below. This glen or gorge gradually 
 opens into a vast amphitheatre, in the 
 centre of which babbles a clear moun- 
 tain-spring from which every one quaffs 
 to the repose of Rip Van Winkle, whose 
 kindly " Here's your good health, and 
 that of your family : may you live long 
 and prosper!" calls for answering good 
 wishes. " Passing through the ravine," so 
 goes the chronicle, "they came to a hol- 
 low like a small amphitheatre, surround- 
 ed by perpendicular precipices, over the 
 brinks of which impending trees shot 
 their branches, so that you only caught 
 glimpses of the azure sky and the bright 
 evening cloud. . . . On a level spot in the 
 centre of the amphitheatre was a com- 
 pany of odd-looking personages playing 
 at nine-pins. They were dressed in a 
 quaint, outlandish fashion." 
 
 At the base of the rocks is situated 
 " Rip Van Winkle's Cabin," as it was 
 formerly called, and where at one time 
 one might obtain a glass of cheer, if not 
 as sparkling and bright as the water from 
 the mountain-spring, more apt to induce 
 some of the drowsiness to which Rip fell 
 a victim on this very spot. But the li- 
 cense laws have changed all that, and 
 the owner of the "Van Winkle House" 
 now drives a thriving trade in rustic fur- 
 
 niture gracefully designed from the gnarl- 
 ed and knotted roots of the great trees in 
 the vicinity. A little way up the sides 
 of the lofty ramparts of rock may be 
 seen the stone where Rip slept his long 
 sleep. It must be confessed that a sor- 
 rier place for a twenty years' siesta could 
 scarcely be chosen. Besides being hard, 
 it is narrow, and slopes from the horizon- 
 tal so far toward the perpendicular that 
 one wonders how the good fellow man- 
 aged to avoid being swept down by the 
 avalanches and land -slides of that dou- 
 ble decade. 
 
 The road turns after passing this stop- 
 ping-place, and in general, for the re- 
 mainder of the way, runs parallel with 
 the river. It is well not to be too curious 
 to gain glimpses of the magnificent land- 
 scape which the dense greenery on the 
 left in part veils and in part discloses. It 
 is better to leave it for the supreme reward 
 after the toils of the ascent, and pay heed 
 to the nearer beauties of the scene. There 
 is no end to the picturesque and charm- 
 ing vistas at every turn of the road. The 
 study of tree-trunks alone is one full of 
 beauty the straight and sturdy pine, the 
 delicate feminine white birch that vir- 
 gin among trees the beautiful cedars, 
 all mingling their leafy domes with the 
 billowy verdure which clothes the moun- 
 tain-sides. Huge boulders fantastically 
 piled and decked with emerald ferns wav- 
 ing like plumes ; rocks clad in moss, ev- 
 ery crack allowing a foothold for rugged 
 thickets of growth, and cooling the streams 
 that trickle down from the mountain- 
 sides; vast and gloomy chasms, all 
 these may well delight the eye and 
 quicken the throbs of the heart, for one 
 seems here to be initiated into Nature's 
 sweetest and most sacred secrets. 
 
 But one is always reaching forward to 
 the goal : accordingly, when at one turn 
 in the road the Mountain House seems 
 close at hand, it is hard to be told that 
 ridge after ridge and summit after sum- 
 mit are yet to be passed before the heights 
 are actually gained. It seems a palpable 
 trick to deceive the traveller, for the Moun- 
 tain House in all its pillared beauty is ap- 
 parently only a few rods distant. 
 
 One is rarely enthusiastic over the last
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL KEG ION. 
 
 stage of the journey. Wtyit one meets, 
 nevertheless, on the platform - rock in 
 front of the Mountain House revives the 
 spirits, and so recompenses the traveller 
 for all his fatigues that they are forgotten. 
 He feels, to begin with, the peculiar and 
 
 exquisite sense of freedom which belongs 
 to the lofty heights : the skies seem near, 
 and the very sensation of inhaling the 
 untainted upper airs invigorates body and 
 soul. Then before him is spread out the 
 most magnificent of panoramas. Between 
 
 MOUNTAIN HOUSE, 
 SOUTH MOUN- 
 TAIN, FROM 
 NORTH MOUN- 
 TAIN. 
 
 the mighty circumference of the far -re- 
 moved horizons there seems room for the 
 whole created world. The best time for 
 gaining impressions of this mighty view 
 is from four o'clock until sunset on sum- 
 mer afternoons. Earlier in the day, bathed 
 in sunlight, beautiful as it is in its clear agrial depths, 
 it is still somewhat disappointing, and resembles noth- 
 ing so much as a map sketched in faint greens and 
 browns, with the Hudson River folded like a ribbon 
 across it. The mountains rise so abruptly from the 
 plains that they seem to overhang the farms below, 
 where one may see farmers and their oxen the size of 
 beetles crawling over the fields. The squares and triangles defined by the fences 
 resemble patchwork, and the eye, seeking for sublimity, returns unsatisfied and 
 fastens on the summits of North and South Mountains behind. 
 
 But late in the afternoon, when the shadows extend nearly to the river, and 
 the sun touches only the topmost edges of the oceans of verdure on either hand.
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL KEG ION. 
 
 49 
 
 the dark foreground gives charm to the 
 middle distance, showing the lovely un- 
 dulations of the wooded hills, and en- 
 hances the worth of the distant moun- 
 tains the Adirondacks, the Green, the 
 Berkshire, etc. etc., which show their 
 dim wavy outlines in the wonderful 
 horizons. It is a life above the earth 
 that one experiences then. 
 
 One has probably as little difficulty in 
 harmonizing the mood which seems im- 
 pelled by "this ampler ether, this diviner 
 air," to actual mortal existence at the 
 Catskill Mountain House as anywhere 
 in the wide world. It is fifty-five years 
 since the hotel was established, and, as 
 it has enjoyed continuous prosperity, it 
 has easily avoided all those drawbacks 
 to the pleasure of the guests which usu- 
 ally exist in such resorts. It is a quiet, 
 well-managed, excellent house, and sum- 
 mer after summer one may meet almost 
 the same set of refined and educated peo- 
 ple gathered there as boarders. The pro- 
 prietor owns and controls not only the ho- 
 tel itself, but the long road from the foot 
 of the mountain, admirably kept, and 
 
 most of the wooded land on either hand, 
 besides a large amount of real estate in 
 Catskill itself. 
 
 Catskill Mountain House is twenty- 
 eight hundred feet above the sea-level, 
 hung like an eagle's nest on the very 
 edge of the precipice. Behind it are the 
 two beautiful sheets of water known as 
 North and South Lakes. Above and be- 
 low the hotel are North and South Peaks, 
 each rising upward of a thousand feet 
 above the plateau. The ascent is not 
 too toilsome, and the pictures framed in 
 pine and cedar and birch foliage, and 
 seeming to float in an ocean of pale 
 crystalline blue, grow more and more 
 beautiful at every point. From the top 
 is gained a still wider sweep of the great 
 view first seen from the platform be- 
 fore the Mountain House. From North 
 Mountain the hotel itself, with its lakes, 
 lends beauty and interest to the land- 
 scape, and new ridges of forest and 
 new lines of hills in the horizon, and 
 the Atlantic Ocean itself, are added to 
 the limitless circumference of the vast 
 circle. 
 
 I 
 
 N old times, say the Indian tradi- 
 tions" thus writes Mr. Diedrich 
 4 
 
 ENTRANCE TO KAATERSKILL CLOVE. 
 
 Knickerbocker "there was a kind of 
 
 Manitou or Spirit who kept about the
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 wildest recesses of the Catskill Moun- 
 tains, and took a mischievous pleasure 
 in wreaking all kinds of vexations upon 
 the red man. Sometimes he would as- 
 sume the form of a bear, a panther or a 
 deer, lead the bewildered hunter a weary 
 chase through tangled forests and among 
 ragged rocks, and then spring off with a 
 loud Ho ! ho ! leaving him aghast on the 
 brink of a beetling precipice or raging 
 torrent. The favorite abode of this Man- 
 itou is still shown. It is a great rock or 
 cliff on the loneliest part of the moun- 
 tains, and, from the vines which clam- 
 ber about it and the wild flowers which 
 abound in its neighborhood, is known 
 by the name of Garden Rock. Near the 
 foot of it is a small lake, the haunt of the 
 solitary bittern, with water-snakes bask- 
 ing in the sun on the leaves of the pond- 
 lilies which lie on the surface. This place 
 was held in great awe by the Indians, 
 insomuch that the boldest hunter would 
 not pursue his game within its precincts. 
 Once upon a time, however, a hunter 
 who had lost his way penetrated to the 
 Garden Rock, where he beheld a number 
 of gourds placed in the crotches of the 
 trees. One of these he seized, and made 
 off with it, but in the hurry of his retreat 
 he let it fall among the rocks, when a 
 great stream gushed forth, which wash- 
 ed him away and swept him down the 
 precipice, where he was dashed in pieces, 
 and the stream made its way to the Hud- 
 son, and continues to flow to the present 
 day, being the identical stream known by 
 the name of the Kaaterskill." 
 
 This account of its enchanted birth 
 may be readily received by all the lov- 
 ers of the picturesque who have follow- 
 ed the Kaaterskill from its source to its 
 junction with the Catskill Creek just be- 
 fore it loses itself in the Hudson. Its 
 path down the mountain-gorges is diver- 
 sified by every variety of waterfall, cas- 
 cade, rapid and whirlpool. As a mere 
 matter of curiosity, one is interested to 
 see what a small stream may accomplish 
 in the course of a few miles in its frantic 
 haste to reach the valley. The Kaaters- 
 kill has its head-waters in the North and 
 South Lakes, near the Catskill Mountain 
 House, and sets out upon its career with 
 
 a bold plunge of two hundred and six- 
 ty feet into the ravine the Kaaterskill 
 Falls. Next, after a leaping, swirling, 
 foaming, eddying course down the glen, 
 it makes the descent known as Bastion 
 Falls, after which it pursues a winding 
 way through the grottos and caves and 
 around the beetling crags, ledges and 
 cliffs of the Kaaterskill Clove. 
 
 The word clove in this significance 
 perhaps requires interpretation. All the 
 passes or clefts in the Catskill Mountains 
 are called cloves. Besides the Kaaters- 
 kill Clove there are Plattekill and Stony 
 Cloves, each offering grand and roman- 
 tic scenery. -The Kaaterskill Clove is 
 perhaps the dearest of all to artist and 
 tourist, from its combination of a lavish 
 and large - featured sublimity with the 
 most delicate and subtle effects of pic- 
 turesqueness. The ascent to the Moun- 
 tain House by this road is in every re- 
 spect a contrast to the one described in 
 our first paper. Along the old road the 
 eye is tempted every moment to the mo- 
 mentarily-widening circumference of the 
 grand view opening behind. Through 
 the Clove the mountain-ranges close in 
 upon one another and shut out all but the 
 peaks themselves and the skies above. 
 After passing through Palensville the 
 beauty and the grandeur of the Mountain 
 Pass all at once open before the eye. On 
 the right towers High Rock of Palensville 
 Overlook, seventeen hundred and twen- 
 ty-eight feet of sheer precipice above the 
 bed of the Kaaterskill below, with Grand- 
 view House perched on the summit. The 
 effect is sudden and startling, and the key 
 of strong feeling is at once definitely 
 struck. The feeling of utter wildness; 
 the majestic repose of the peaks above ; 
 below, the shaded and cool track of the 
 ravine through which the stream finds 
 its way among rocks and ledges in in- 
 tervals of cascade and foam ; ahead, the 
 dark and misty gorge curving far away ; 
 while behind rise the grand mountain- 
 forms, all combine to impress the eye 
 and charm the heart. Few hints of ani- 
 mate life are to be met here. An eagle 
 resting on the dead branch of some 
 towering pine, or a bear issuing from a 
 rocky grotto, would be eminently in keep-
 
 CATS KILL AND THE CATS KILL REGION. 
 
 5 1 
 
 ing with the scene, which now impresses 
 one almost too vividly with its wide, un- 
 broken, desolate solitude. 
 
 Bears, panthers, wild -cats, and even 
 deer, were until within thirty or forty 
 years numerous among the Catskills, 
 and within fifteen or twenty years sol- 
 itary bears and panthers have ranged 
 near enough to the dwellings of men to 
 be seen and fired at ; but it is now only 
 a tradition about the howling of 
 wolves and the scream of the 
 panther alarming the farmers by 
 night, and an occasional eagle 
 soaring aloft over his old eyries 
 is certain to become the billet of 
 some presumptuous bullet. 
 
 Mr. Hall, the artist, has a 
 charming summer-house, built 
 in picturesque mediaeval fashion, 
 in the very midst of these wild'" 
 deep, lonely gorges. And the 
 "summer boarder" too may find 
 quarters here. The "summer 
 boarder," indeed, is the steady 
 developing force through all the 
 Catskill region, and sets in mo- 
 tion enterprises for which any- 
 thing except a powerful pecuni- 
 ary motive would be inadequate. 
 Years ago, when the lovers of the 
 picturesque were rarer than to- 
 day, and when the only notion 
 of mountain - scenery was the 
 wide view to be gained from the 
 top of the heights, a gentleman 
 from New York, an enthusiastic 
 tourist, came to Catskill and en- 
 gaged one of the mountaineers 
 to pilot him about the less -fre- 
 quented paths and byways. 
 The visitor was of an imagina- 
 tive and poetic frame of mind, and en- 
 tered upon each fresh scene with delight 
 as he traversed the glens and followed 
 the rocky beds of the streams through 
 tortuous ravines. His cicerone bore his 
 zeal, his exclamations, his quotations, his 
 loudly-expressed admirations, as long as 
 he could, then cynically remarked, " I 
 say, mister, you come from New York, 
 don't you?" 
 
 Yes, the gentleman came from New 
 York. 
 
 "Wa'al, then, what would you say 
 s'pose I went down there an' was to go 
 gawkin' round as you do here?" 
 
 That was a generation and more ago : 
 the Catskill mountaineer of to-day may 
 wonder in his secret heart what strange 
 impulse sets the steady stream of sum- 
 mer boarders moving toward the moun- 
 tains, but he accepts the idiosyncrasy 
 as a providential interposition in his 
 
 ROCK, ON CHURCH'S LKUGK, KAATERSKILL 
 CLOVE. 
 
 own behalf, and makes his profit out 
 of it. 
 
 We have already called this " a land 
 of streams." All the Catskill region 
 abounds in waterfalls : there are by 
 actual computation about one hundred 
 and fifty cascades of noticeable beauty. 
 Along the Clove road one hears from 
 every side the sound of the rushing, roar- 
 ing streams, softened by distance and 
 blended into a murmuring music with a 
 plaintiveness and suggestiveness all its
 
 5 2 
 
 CATS KILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 own. In order to find the streams whose 
 perpetual babble fills the ears it is neces- 
 sary to make many a detour, to descend 
 into glens, struggle along rocky beds and 
 penetrate deeply-wooded ravines. Mus- 
 ing over flood and fell is apt to be the re- 
 ward of considerable climbing. It would 
 be impossible to give an idea of the va- 
 riety of beautiful and lovable cascades 
 to be found within an hour's walk from 
 different parts of this road. Drummond's 
 Falls, Bastion Falls, Dog Hole, Butter- 
 milk Falls, Fawn's Leap, are but a few 
 of the names. The two latter are too 
 easily accessible to demand fatigue. It 
 would be difficult to find a more charm- 
 ing stretch of road-scenery than is pre- 
 sented between Profile Rock and Fawn's 
 Leap. Church's Ledge overhangs the 
 road, and on the other hand the Kaa- 
 terskill plunges down the rocks, swirling 
 and eddying around the great boulders 
 which impede the way. A little farther 
 on the thunders of Fawn's Leap drown 
 the gradually -decreasing sound of the 
 rapids. This is an exceeding beautiful 
 waterfall, named from the incident re- 
 counted of a fawn's escaping a hunter 
 by a bound from one brink of the pre- 
 cipice to the other. The stream falls 
 over a perpendicular wall seamed and 
 channelled with the water-marks of the 
 long centuries. 
 
 Following this brook up its wild bed 
 to the foot of Haines's Falls is one of 
 the most charming of pedestrian excur- 
 sions. The rocks, the prostrate and de- 
 cayed trunks of giant pines cushioned 
 with moss or entwined with creepers, the 
 green nooks on every hand embowered 
 in vines, the tall pines towering from the 
 cliffs above, the silver birches with their 
 long roots clinging closely to the rocks 
 and scanty soil, all these offer hints to 
 be worked up into poems or pictures, or 
 simply to charm the mind and heart of 
 the lover of such wild secluded places 
 where Nature, and Nature alone, shows 
 her handiwork. 
 
 But to ascend to Haines's Falls we 
 will return to the road, and pass along 
 the site of the great tanneries which for- 
 merly filled this region with activities. 
 On the right are signs of a clearing where 
 
 there was once a settlement of tanners, 
 now overgrown with a slight second 
 growth, with here and there lofty pines 
 of the primitive forest raising their state- 
 ly heads. As the way grows gradually 
 more steep we pass the place where the 
 terrible landslide occurred, which still 
 shows such fresh marks of the destruc- 
 tion it wrought that one is compelled 
 to shudder. In fact, the whole stretch 
 of the Clove road suggests the ease with 
 which accidents might happen : it is nev- 
 er broad, and the narrow gauge, mended 
 on the brink of a precipice with spruce 
 and pine boughs and stones, calls for 
 prudence on the part of the traveller. 
 The spring freshets make the road whol- 
 ly impassable for a time, and the sum- 
 mer storms cause terrible havoc. The 
 soil in these parts is of red sandstone 
 clay, and the dust is fine, penetrating, 
 and often so deep that it seems actually 
 impossible to walk through it. A gentle 
 shower would often help the pedestrian, 
 to say nothing of the teamsters. But it 
 was probably of Catskill Mountains that 
 it was first said, " It never rains but it 
 pours;" and the effect of praying for 
 rain might be similar to the experience 
 of the good woman who lived on the 
 side of a hill and had a garden which in 
 a dry summer was parched by drought. 
 She applied to a Methodist minister, ask- 
 ing his prayers in this emergency. His 
 supplications were at once answered by 
 a terrible deluge, which not only watered 
 the good woman's vegetables, but swept 
 her garden entirely away. " There !" she 
 exclaimed, "that is always the way with 
 them Methodists: they never know when 
 to stop." 
 
 Looking back after passing the "land- 
 slide," one begins to estimate the diffi- 
 culties of the long ascent through the 
 gorge. The mountains no longer inter- 
 lock, shutting out the horizons, and from 
 the heights now gained the valley of the 
 Hudson and the blue hills of New Eng- 
 land become visible. 
 
 The Haines House is situated on the 
 bluff above the falls. None of the nu- 
 merous hotels and boarding-houses of 
 Tannersville has a better reputation, and 
 the guests have the privilege of hearing
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 53 
 
 a manly and vigorous expounding of the Word every Sunday morning by the zeal- 
 ous and worthy landlord. The ravine of Haines's Falls is of indescribable beauty. 
 The waterfall itself is the flow of a hundred rivulets over the brink of the tremen- 
 dous precipice. When the full stream is not turned on, 
 the rills become almost lost in the descent, and blow about 
 like ribbons of fine gauze floating in the air. Down in 
 the shady, mossy depths of the ravine this phantom of 
 mist and foam becomes like a procession of ghosts, ever 
 plunging on, beckoning, pointing. 
 
 There is no end to the falls of this stream. In one quar- 
 ter of a mile the descent, all told, is almost five hundred 
 feet. The cascades are 
 eight in number, and of 
 every variety and degree 
 of beauty. One from its 
 lustrous and gleaming 
 splendor might well be 
 called the Silver Cas- 
 cade ; another is roof- 
 ed in by rocks ; almost 
 every one is gemmed by 
 an iris and played over 
 by the most exquisite 
 hues. To look back at 
 one point and catch a 
 glimpse of the long se- 
 ries of cataracts is to en- 
 joya moment of startled 
 and delighted surprise. 
 There is in the Catskill 
 region such a wealth of 
 loveliness that one hes- 
 itates where to place a 
 resting finger and de- 
 clare, "This is the most CHURCH'S LEDGE AND BRIDGE, KAATERSKILL CLOVE. 
 beautiful ;" but in the ra- 
 vine beneath Haines's Falls one is tempt- 
 ed to decide that one can ask for noth- 
 ing- better. 
 
 Tannersville is now the favorite resort 
 of the regular summer boarders in the 
 Catskill region. There can be no health- 
 ier place in the world. As we have said 
 before, the "summer boarder" is every- 
 where here the lever of advancement. 
 Telegraph-wires run all over the moun- 
 tains, and the Wall street operator may 
 enjoy recreation in this bracing air and 
 at the same time not lose sight of the 
 fateful bulletins of the Stock Exchange. 
 There are boarding-houses and hotels 
 vithout end, and there are enterprising 
 Haineses on every hand, varying in rep- 
 utation, it is currently whispered, from 
 
 saints to sinners. "Mulford's" is a great 
 resort of Philadelphians, and the good- 
 humored, handsome face of the proprie- 
 tor, combined with his rare ability in 
 keeping a hotel, has made him for years 
 a favorite with the summer travellers from 
 the Quaker City. " Norman Gray's," 
 which for more than two generations has 
 been the most frequented hostelry in the 
 section, is now kept by Mr. Roggen. 
 
 Round Top and High Peak raise their 
 massive forms above this broad table- 
 land we have gained. Midway between 
 these two mountains were formerly the 
 remains of a fort used during the Rev- 
 olution as head-quarters for the Indians 
 in the pay of the British, from which they 
 used to descend into the valleys below,
 
 54 
 
 CATS KILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 seize unarmed men and carry them off 
 as hostages and prisoners. These acts 
 of hostility were common all through the 
 war. Accounts of these captures, and the 
 long imprisonment which followed, have 
 been preserved. The Abeel house, some 
 three or four miles from Catskill on the 
 road to the mountain, is still standing. 
 " One Sabbath evening in the spring of 
 1781 the Abeels, having just returned 
 from a religious meeting, were taking 
 their supper, when their house was sud- 
 denly entered by Indians and Tories. 
 They were taken wholly by surprise, so 
 that there was no time to seize their guns, 
 which were on the brackets attached to 
 the great beams overhead ; nor would 
 they have been of any use to them had 
 they done so, for the negro servants or 
 slaves of the family, being leagued with 
 the Indians, had during the day taken 
 the priming from the guns and put ashes 
 in the pans. . . . The house was plun- 
 dered, chests and tables were split in 
 pieces by the Indians with .their toma- 
 hawks, beds were ripped open, feathers 
 scattered, and small articles of value 
 were carried away. The women of the 
 family were not molested, but David and 
 his son Anthony were taken prisoners. 
 As David was advanced in life, he would 
 not have been taken away had he not 
 recognized one of his Tory neighbors 
 who was painted and disguised as an 
 Indian, incautiously saying to him, ' Is 
 that you ?' The Tory replied, ' Since 
 you know me, you must go too.' . . . 
 The prisoners were led by way of the 
 mountains, and spent one or two nights 
 in a small fort on the south-west slope 
 of Round Top, beyond the Kaaterskill 
 Clove. From this fort they went down 
 the banks of the Schoharie Kill. Da- 
 vid Abeel, being old, fell behind in the 
 march, until, having overheard one of 
 the party say that it would be necessary 
 to kill him, he strained every nerve and 
 kept up with them. . . . Their destina- 
 tion was Canada : they had a vast un- 
 broken wilderness to pass, and, finding 
 no game in the midst of it, they well- 
 nigh died of hunger." 
 
 Arrived in Canada, they were deliver- 
 ed up to the British authorities, who had 
 
 a humane and merciful way of paying 
 their savage emissaries a certain reward 
 for prisoners or their scalps. The Abeels 
 were confined first at Montreal, then at 
 Quebec, and lastly on the Isle of Jesu. 
 with a large party of American prison- 
 ers. From this island they contrived to 
 make their escape, the record of which 
 is worth studying. 
 
 During their captivity, under the very 
 eyes of sentinels and guards, it is related 
 that they celebrated the Declaration of 
 Independence on its anniversary with 
 four gallons of wine, two of rum and a 
 suitable amount of loaf-sugar ! It may 
 seem to us, a century later, as if destiny 
 had appointed such an admirable work 
 for our forefathers to achieve that it was 
 well worth the suffering for, but they 
 knew nothing of the rewards, and grim- 
 ly and patiently and hopelessly held by 
 their opinions, treading in paths which 
 it was difficult to keep, feeling the chill 
 air and waiting through darkness. There 
 were good patriots among the Catskill 
 Mountains. 
 
 It is a fortunate circumstance for the 
 lovers of Catskill scenery that the present 
 generation of landowners have awaken- 
 ed to the necessity of preserving the beau- 
 ty of their forests and wooded nooks. The 
 most magnificent forests have been hith- 
 erto wantonly sacrificed on every hand 
 to the paltry needs of the hour. The 
 pioneer and early settler is a true van- 
 dal, and the instinct of destruction is 
 strong within him, while he has not the 
 discrimination to choose the place he is 
 to devastate, and ends by injuring his own 
 property for generations. It is a strange 
 sight to see the landowner who has re- 
 lentlessly given over acres of magnif- 
 icent oaks, chestnuts and pines to the 
 woodchopper, setting out puny saplings 
 to build up shade and beauty again for 
 his possessions. One instance of wanton 
 sacrifice is related. The owner of some 
 acres of the heavily-timbered mountain- 
 side offered them to one of the largest 
 real-estate proprietors in the section, set- 
 ting the price at an extravagant figure. 
 Not being ready to pave the ground with 
 gold, although he desired the property, 
 the rich man declined to buy except at
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 55 
 
 a reasonable price. The owner retorted [ 
 by cutting down every tree on his lots, 
 thus doing his best to injure the beauty 
 of the lovely mountain - road. Nature 
 exerts herself to repair such wanton mis- 
 chief with her lavish 
 gifts of vine and fern 
 and moss and cop- 
 pice. Everywhere in 
 the clearings may be 
 found the glossy lau- 
 rel, which in June 
 and July delights the 
 eye with its lovely 
 clusters of pink-and- 
 white blossoms; 
 ferns of every variety 
 known to the climate 
 the exquisite maid- 
 en-hair, the delicate 
 lady - fern ; and all 
 those plumy emerald 
 tufts with which Na- 
 ture delights to finish 
 up her waste places 
 into a high perfection 
 which no gardener's 
 art can rival. The 
 flora of the region 
 is extensive, and em- 
 braces flowers of al- 
 most every latitude. 
 In spring and early 
 summer one may 
 find a pretty study 
 of the seasons in tra- 
 cing the blossoms 
 as they follow each 
 other up the heights. 
 Snow often lies deep 
 in the extensive 
 woods between 
 North and South 
 Mountains in May, 
 when the roses are 
 budding in the val- 
 ley, and the first spring flowers and 
 the first tender red maple-leaves come 
 trembling out when the full panoply of 
 summer foliage is spread to the breezes 
 of the lower earth. The mountain-ash, 
 with its clusters of red berries, is here 
 found in perfection. White oak, red oak, 
 holm oak, birches, iron -wood, balsam 
 
 firs, spruce, white cedar, pine and juni 
 per, maples and mountain-willows, are 
 among the varieties of trees which min- 
 gle their luxuriant greenery in the sea 
 of billowy verdure that clothes the 
 
 FAWN'S LEAP, KAATERSKILL CLOVE. 
 
 mountain-sides. Here is to be found a 
 kind of pine which is rarely seen else- 
 where. It grows to no great height, and 
 instead of shooting its stem straight up 
 to the skies, is gnarled, knotted, tortured 
 into shapes which suggest the punish- 
 ment of those sinners whom Dante found 
 in one of the circles of hell. The pines
 
 CATS KILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 FALLS IN BUTTERMILK RAVINE, KAATERSKILL CLOVE. 
 
 of all varieties are among the chiefest 
 beauties of Catskill wooded scenery. The 
 numbers of evergreen trees indeed pre- 
 serve the features of the landscape views, 
 and even in the depth of winter rob the 
 mountains of dreariness and lend color 
 and light to the snow- and ice -covered 
 world. In fact, the Catskills in winter 
 present characteristic beauties which the 
 luxuriant greenery of summer hides. The 
 grand forms of the mountains can be 
 more distinctly seen with their scars and 
 seams ; their abrupt and massive cliffs 
 clearly limned against the luminous 
 azure ; the well - defined ridges which 
 mark the regular geological formations ; 
 the shadows of the deep gorges, and the 
 lofty summits with their thick covering of 
 ice sparkling in the white sunshine. The 
 mountains clasp Winter to their rugged 
 bosoms, and love her better than the fair- 
 est and sweetest summer bride. They 
 hang upon her glittering gems, clothe 
 her in shining and gleaming white, and 
 deck the world for her in myriad crys- 
 tal forms. 
 
 The distinctive features of the Catskill 
 chain are its cloves, where the mountains 
 have been cleft and riven asunder, while 
 on either hand the steep, abrupt summits 
 are left towering above in bare, rugged, 
 imposing grandeur. In the winter these 
 cloves, with their pre- 
 cipices, deep ravines, 
 waterfalls and rushing 
 torrents, take on a 
 magnificence which is 
 all their own. The 
 thousand rills which 
 trickle from the verge 
 of the cliffs a thousand 
 feet above congeal, and 
 form glittering stalac- 
 tites, columns and pil- 
 lars of ice fluted and 
 crowned with capitals 
 of exquisite beauty. 
 The cascades freeze 
 into wondrous forms, 
 their spray taking flow- 
 er-like shapes of incon- 
 ceivable loveliness: 
 the streams become a 
 bed of ice, every ripple
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 57 
 
 and swirl and rapid transformed into 
 shapes which in their aerial delicacy 
 surpass the power of pen to describe. 
 Over this world of ice and snow bend 
 the eternal pines with an everlasting 
 refrain of sadness and 
 prophecy moaning in 
 their branches. Mr. 
 Stone, a Catskill artist, 
 has embodied these 
 scenes in a clever char- 
 coal sketch, illustrating 
 Heine's weird and 
 charming conceit: 
 
 A pine tree is standing lonely 
 In the North on a moun- 
 tain's brow, 
 
 Nodding with whitest cover, 
 Wrapped up by the ice and 
 snow. 
 
 It is dreaming of a palm tree 
 Which, far in the morning- 
 land, 
 
 Lonely and silent, sorrows 
 'Mid burning rocks and 
 sand. 
 
 But while we have 
 summoned up a pic- 
 ture of these deep 
 mountain - gorges in 
 winter's icy solitudes, 
 it is yet the summer- 
 land that we are tread- 
 ing, and suggestions of 
 January blasts are to 
 be met with only in 
 the great trees lying 
 prone in the forest 
 the rocks upheaved 
 and torn from their 
 beds in the path the 
 avalanche has left. 
 Nature quickly covers 
 up the ravages she has 
 wrought, and over the fallen tree she 
 weaves a mantle of ivy and creeper and 
 moss which decks it in more than its 
 primitive beauty. 
 
 One of the privileges of mountain-life 
 is the ease and diversity with which one 
 may achieve novel and exciting enter- 
 prises. In this vast area of rocky heights 
 and deep ravines lurk all sorts of beau- 
 tiful undiscovered places which beckon 
 the seeker into the charming distances. 
 
 The old fancies of dryads and naiads 
 seem neither fantastic nor strange here 
 as we peer into the dim colonnade and 
 see the white spray of a waterfall taking 
 wreathing shapes, summoning, alluring, 
 
 CLIFF IN THE ARTIST'S GLEN, KAATERSKILL CLOVE. 
 
 pointing and following each other. And 
 along the shadowy forest-aisles the sun- 
 light, flickering down upon the tree-trunks, 
 transforms the dim vistas into shifting 
 and alternate spaces of brightness and 
 gloom which suggest impalpable forms 
 circling around an oak tree. To be sure, 
 these fancies vainly beckon, waylay and 
 pursue, and always vanish : there is nei- 
 ther dryad nor naiad when one stretches 
 out one's hand to grasp the vision ; but
 
 C.//-.SA7/./. .-M7J Till: CM SKILL REGION. 
 
 one has seen them, for all tli.it. anil the 
 spirits of the waterfalls aiul of the tree- 
 trunks art- an artnal part of tlu-M- t'.ui\ 
 like and enchanting solitudes. 
 
 It was suggested to our artist that a cer- 
 tain shelving rock in one of the illusti.i 
 tions of this article might very well set off 
 the figure of a fisherman, but he replied 
 that there were no fishermen now-a-d.i\ -> 
 in the Clove, and that his sketches were in 
 .ill respects studies from Nature and the 
 actual. Stories are, however, preserved 
 of great fishing -exploits in this section 
 a few years ago, and since now -a- days 
 pisciculture is an enterprise enthusiasti- 
 cally undertaken by several men in this 
 region, it is confidently predicted that in 
 a year or two more it need no longer be 
 a tradition that the mountain - streams 
 were once full of fish. In Stony Clove 
 and Warner's Kill trout weighing from 
 twelve ounces to a pound apiece are 
 often caught in great quantities. But 
 the vigorous methods of American an- 
 glers show little appreciation of the real 
 pleasures and ameliorating influences of 
 the Waltonian art. A trout is a creature 
 of delicate intuitions and fine discrimi- 
 nation, and has no fancy for leading a 
 life like that of a frightened sheep. A 
 tme sportsman loves sport with a keener 
 delight in the experiences it offers than in 
 its results; but an American is in such 
 haste to be doing, to be accomplishing 
 something, that he often loses the charm 
 of these loiterings by the way. The de- 
 risive silence of our woods and moun- 
 tain-sides, our brooks and streams and 
 bays, answers him when he starts for a 
 day's fishing or shooting. We have for- 
 gotten that one thing is necessary in or- 
 der to allure the timid creatures of the 
 forest into the old multitudinous abound- 
 ing life /. #. the right to live. We call 
 the English brutal in their love of sport, 
 while the fact remains that an English- 
 man is in sympathy with every living 
 thing. An American, perhaps for the 
 reason that his ancestors were compel- 
 led to fight against the wild animal life 
 of the unbroken continent, has his hand 
 against every beast of the field. 
 
 But we must go back to Kaaterskill 
 Clove, and after passing Fawn's Leap, 
 
 Buttci milk Falls, etc., leave the road at 
 Lake Creek Hridge and take the foot- 
 path through the glen to the foot of 
 Kaatei skill Falls. It U a walk abound 
 in;.', in picturesqueness, offering on evciy 
 hand rh.u med vistas which inspire a wish 
 to sit still and dream all day. The sound 
 of waters is for ever in our ears with its 
 perpetual cheerful babble or its loud and 
 deep-toned maiin^ as we approach I '>.!-< 
 tion Falls. At this lovely place we cross 
 the stream, and, still ascending the banks, 
 soon reach the foot of the Kaaterskills. 
 
 The voice of this waterfall is one of 
 peculiar melody, and through the trees 
 as we make the approach we see 
 
 Waving apparitions gleam 
 
 of the lovely shining cataract. This is 
 the fall which inaugurates the wild ca- 
 reer of the Kaaterskill down the moun- 
 tain - gorges to the valley. " Ce n'est 
 que le premier pas qui coflte;" and this 
 is a step over a precipice of three hun- 
 dred feet. As we approach from below 
 the huge ramparts of rock, semicircular 
 in shape, frown above, and in the centre 
 the cascade plunges like a shining spirit 
 carrying a torch lit with the very white- 
 ness of heaven into the shady depths 
 below. The first descent is one hundred 
 and eighty feet, into a rocky bed through 
 which the hissing waters force their w.i\ 
 for a few rods, then fling themselves over 
 the second wall of rock, some eighty or 
 ninety feet, making the entire descent 
 from two hundred and sixty to two hun- 
 dred and seventy feet. Viewed from the 
 glen below, the cascade is scarcely bro- 
 ken to the eye, and the effect of one 
 continuous fall is gained. What it lacks 
 in volume it makes up in delicate and 
 aei i.d charm. Its shining spray is tossed 
 into feathery flakes and takes on the most 
 exquisite effects of light. Except for this 
 leap of the mountain-brook, this mighty 
 gorge would have no feature to redeem 
 it from an almost savage desolation ; but 
 with this wild, wayward creature of life 
 and light springing from on high into 
 the very heart of the rocky waste, the 
 scene is transformed into one of the 
 rarest beauty. Everywhere indeed in 
 this region, as we have already remark-
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 59 
 
 cd, the most delicate and charming 
 prettinesses are wedded to the rugged 
 grandeur of the massive mountain-forms. 
 Between the ribs of gray rock of the 
 hardest basalt a thin stratum of light, 
 friable stone of shell formation has grad- 
 ually worn away, leaving a natural gal- 
 lery running round the huge amphithea- 
 
 tre directly behind the upper Kaaterskill 
 falls. The overhanging rock projects 
 some seventy or eighty feet, and the 
 cataract viewed from this point is the 
 most charming sight imaginable as the 
 light stream, broken into fleecy flakes, 
 is swayed hither and thither by the wind 
 and begemmed with glittering iris tints. 
 
 The falls in spring and autumn, when 
 swollen by the rains, carry a consid- 
 erable volume of water, but in the sum- 
 mer-time the bulk is reduced, and it is 
 the habit of the owner of the place to 
 dam up the stream, and let on the wa- 
 ters for a half hour's rush and roar at 
 stated periods, by way of enhancing 
 the effects. 
 
 A wooden staircase takes one to the 
 top of the gorge, and from every point 
 
 Ol.L) TANNKRY, KAATERSKILL CLOVE. 
 
 of the ascent the falls present new 
 features of beauty, while from the very 
 brink of the shelving rock, where the 
 stream leaps fearlessly into the tre- 
 mendous chasm below, the whole ra- 
 vine opens with its surpassing lovely 
 wildness. 
 
 Watching a cataract from above on a 
 summer's day, one feels the dizzy fasci- 
 nation of its tireless flow. Everything 
 seems to tend toward it. A bee comes 
 flying on his homeward way laden with 
 wild honeysuckle sweets, and, feeling the 
 cool breath of the air-currents above the 
 cataract, is drawn toward them a mo-
 
 6o 
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 ment ; then, having yielded, he tries to 
 regain his poise, but staggering with the 
 weight is carried helplessly over: a but- 
 terfly on new-found wings, zigzagging 
 from point to point and resting his be- 
 jewelled pinions on every leaf and rock 
 which offers a support, is sucked into the 
 spray and goes fluttering down. It seems 
 an easy death to die. There is, however, 
 a story told of a young man's falling over 
 the lower falls, a distance of eighty feet 
 or more, and escaping comparatively un- 
 injured ; and a dog belonging to Mr. 
 Schutt, the proprietor of the Laurel 
 House close at hand, fell over the up- 
 per falls, one hundred and eighty feet, 
 and was so little hurt that he scrambled 
 up the sides of the steep banks, with 
 small air of astonishment at his mis- 
 step. These stories go some way in 
 giving an air of veracity to Oliver Gold- 
 smith's description of the Falls of Ni- 
 agara when he says that Indians often 
 pass over them in safety in their birch- 
 bark canoes. 
 
 Laurel House or " Schutt's" just on 
 the brink of the rocks, is a well-kept and 
 comfortable hotel, accommodating forty 
 or fifty boarders. It is a pleasant fea- 
 ture of these mountain -resorts that the 
 names of the proprietors are more often 
 used than the distinctive titles of their 
 hotels. They do their best to render 
 all sorts of pleasant services to their 
 guests, and their cordial welcome and 
 generous cheer year after year are as 
 much counted on by their returning 
 boarders as the scenery and bracing 
 mountain - air. 
 
 The Laurel House (so called because 
 all about the Kaaterskill Falls the laurel 
 grows and blossoms in wonderful luxu- 
 riance) is two miles from Catskill Moun- 
 tain House. The paths and roads be- 
 tween the two hotels are full of beauty, 
 but one may walk through the forest- 
 path to South Lake, and row across that 
 beautiful sheet of water, thus cutting off 
 half the way. 
 
 Most of the best things of the region 
 lie within the radius of a few miles from 
 Catskill Mountain House. One of the 
 wild wood - paths, diversified with ten 
 thousand picturesque vistas, leads along 
 
 the top of the mountains to Palensville 
 Overlook, High Peak, where there is a 
 little house called "Grand View " which 
 overhangs the Clove. But, in truth, there 
 is no end to the expeditions to be under- 
 taken in this region, and the wealth of 
 beauty offered requires more than one 
 summer, or even two, to be rightly ap- 
 preciated. Few of the summer boarders 
 at the Mountain House attempt more 
 than easy drives to accessible places 
 and one or two scrambles up South and 
 North Mountains. There is, in fact, such 
 rare entertainment in the panorama of 
 sky and cloud and landscape spread out 
 before the eye that one may well be sat- 
 isfied with that boundless circumference, 
 and feel content to watch the sunrises 
 and sunsets and view the colors which 
 burn from east to west, and west to east 
 again. Sunrise is a continually -recur- 
 ring phenomenon of wonderful beauty 
 which no one observes except on moun- 
 tain-tops. While darkness broods over 
 the world there is something mysterious, 
 even awful, in the thought of the sleeping 
 valleys, the peaceful rivers, the forest 
 wildernesses ; and it is a relief to have 
 dawn bring the whole wide earth into 
 rosy light, rousing into glad activities the 
 cattle upon a thousand hills and the whole 
 worldful of busy men. Often at daybreak 
 the valley below is like a turbulent ocean 
 full of snowy billows, and the mountains 
 on which we stand seem stranded in a 
 shoreless sea. Sometimes a sharp wind 
 tears the mists into ribbons as soon as 
 the sun touches them, but again the 
 morning is well advanced before the 
 vapors roll up the mountain -sides, the 
 valleys open to the eye, and the river, 
 smitten by the sun's luminous track, 
 begins to glitter and glimmer. 
 
 Nothing can easily exceed the calm 
 and majestic beauty of a clear sunrise on 
 the Catskills. The sun comes up from 
 behind the mountains of New Hamp- 
 shire hundreds of miles away, and the 
 march of the day over the intervening 
 hills and plains is glorious. Sunsets too 
 are very beautiful from these heights. 
 Sometimes the goldej light gives way 
 to a violet, then fades into a clear soft 
 gray, which enfolds the earth with the
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 61 
 
 BASTION FALLS, KAATERSKI1.L RAVINE. 
 
 tenderness of a benediction : again, when 
 masses of clouds bar the west or furrow 
 the zenith, where they catch the radiance, 
 
 the world is fill- 
 ed with surpass- 
 ing glory. Often 
 in July and August 
 while the sun goes 
 down the lightnings 
 are playing along the 
 dark purple banks of 
 cloud on the northern and 
 eastern horizons, making 
 the lower earth curious- 
 ly dark and strange and 
 spectral as the last hues 
 fade from the west and 
 leave only those sudden 
 flashes fantastically to light 
 up the valley ghostly pres- 
 ences which add sombreness 
 to the darkening landscape 
 and the glooming sky. Then 
 when the cold night-winds begin to mur- 
 mur through Pine Orchard there comes 
 a curious weird impression of distance
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL REGION. 
 
 from the actual living, breathing world. 
 Nature seems dominant and humanity 
 distant. 
 
 The other mountain - gorges Stony 
 Clove and Plattekill Clove we must 
 leave comparatively unnoticed, although 
 both abound in grand and beautiful 
 views. Stony Clove in some respects 
 possesses the grandest scenery of the 
 region, but its frowning peaks are more 
 barren and rugged, and it is not bright- 
 ened up by the incessant cascades and 
 rapids which fill the Kaaterskill Clove 
 with beauty. Warner's Kill, already 
 mentioned as an excellent trout-stream, 
 flows through a part of this gorge, and 
 is a favorite tramp with fishermen. 
 
 Plattekill Clove is several miles south 
 of Kaaterskill Clove, and may be reach- 
 ed either from the valley below or the 
 western mountain -roads. This clove, 
 which in some respects is more beau- 
 tiful than any other, has been as yet 
 little opened to any save adventurous 
 spirits, from the fact not only that the 
 roads are comparatively rough and dan- 
 gerous, but that a considerable amount 
 of hard pedestrian work is required in 
 order to reach the most picturesque bits 
 of scenery. The Plattekill is in itself 
 unique in its beauty, and its course pre- 
 sents the most interesting features. In 
 a stretch of two miles it falls twenty-five 
 hundred feet. Its sides are high moun- 
 tain-walls covered with almost unbroken 
 forests. South Peak, four thousand feet 
 high, belongs to this range. On the top 
 of these mountains is a tranquil lake. 
 The Plattekill Clove rejoices in tradi- 
 tions and legends, and within a few 
 years many interesting remains of the 
 old Indian forts have been discovered 
 there. The early settlers of the valley 
 below had much to suffer from the sav- 
 ages in the way of violence and atrocity. 
 
 In the earliest days of the Dutch set- 
 tlements in Catskill there were golden 
 speculations of the wealth of Ind to be 
 found in the Catskills. On one occa- 
 sion, when some treaty was to be signed 
 with the Indians, the chiefs presented 
 themselves decorated for the ceremony 
 with their richest paints and dyes. One 
 of these pigments had so shining an ap- 
 
 pearance that it attracted the attention 
 of the Dutch : they procured a quantity 
 of it, and sent it to New York and had it 
 tested by some of the experts of the day. 
 It was declared to be pure gold. An en- 
 terprise was immediately set on foot to 
 discover the sources of this rich ore, and 
 a party of men, guided by an Indian, 
 sought the place and returned with buck- 
 etsful of the precious dust. This, or a 
 quantity of it, was despatched to Hol- 
 land, where a gold -seeking expedition 
 was at once fitted out. The ship was 
 lost, however, and all on board per- 
 ished. A second crew of Argonauts had 
 the same fate, and. some of the original 
 gold -seekers being lost, the enterprise 
 was for the time abandoned. 
 
 A few years later, in 1679, a glittering 
 substance was found in the washings of 
 a rivulet after a spring freshet, which was 
 pronounced to be silver ore. The land- 
 owners in the neighborhood at once set 
 out to find the bed of silver, but no soon- 
 er had they begun their explorations than 
 the heavens poured forth a deluge: thun- 
 ders rolled, lightnings flashed, the streams 
 were swollen into torrents, and the houses 
 of the presumptuous silver-finders were 
 washed away. It may thus be seen that 
 the Catskills contain treasures of gold 
 and silver ore, under the spell of 
 
 Woven paces and waving arms 
 
 although they may be. The guardian 
 spirits of the Kaatsbergs, who haunt the 
 mountains and rule the weather, hang- 
 ing new moons up in the skies and thrift- 
 ily cutting up the old ones into stars, do 
 not so easily part with their possessions. 
 " If displeased," so the chronicle runs, 
 "the spirit will brew up clouds black as 
 ink, sitting in the midst of them like a 
 pot-bellied spider in the midst of its web, 
 and when these clouds break" woe be- 
 tide the gold-seekers ! 
 
 We ought to feel grateful for these 
 little touches of romance which have 
 taken shape as tradition and render 
 the Catskills unlike any others of our 
 mountains. In the plain daylight of 
 this century we make no myths, feel 
 no joyous mountings of poetic beliefs, 
 but search curiously and coldly into
 
 CATS KILL AND THE CATS KILL REGION. 
 
 the meanings of old-time stories. Thus 
 the Hudson must always be our one le- 
 gendary river, and its mountain -peaks 
 and ranges will be haunted by the spir- 
 its that once peopled the beautiful sol- 
 
 itudes. One cannot help hoping that 
 the Catskills isolated as they are from 
 the steady march of progress which must 
 go on developing the east bank of the 
 river will long remain a little aloof 
 
 KAATERSKILL FALLS. 
 
 from the changes and improvements of 
 the age ; that their passes will continue 
 to open infinite vistas of silence and re- 
 pose ; that their desolate gorges will be 
 unlightened of their mystery and gloom, 
 and the streams and cascades still sing 
 iheir everlasting song. Mountains should 
 
 not be belittled to answer practical de- 
 mands : the more they stir the wild im- 
 pulse, the aerial dream, of achieving 
 heights hitherto unattempted, the better 
 they answer our need. 
 
 Let not the Catskills be made more 
 accessible : they are accessible enough.
 
 CATSKILL AND THE CATSKILL KEG ION, 
 
 We want no railroads, no improved 
 means of transportation, to transform 
 pleasure - paths and byways into high- 
 roads. The old lumbering stage-coach 
 was the vehicle best suited to the moun- 
 
 beauty, and each turn in the winding 
 road a noticeable incident. 
 
 : 
 
 ROAD TO MOUNTAIN HOUSE. 
 
 tain - roads. The traveller by coach, 
 cramped, crushed, stifled, wearied, could 
 then be easily induced to stretch his fet- 
 tered limbs and gain relief by a few 
 hours' tramp along the roads. It is in 
 such journeys that one finds rock and 
 fern and moss and tree -trunk full of 
 
 Now-a-days, "platform -wagons," as 
 they are called, are rapidly taking the 
 places of the old stage-coaches. Owing 
 to the superior lightness of these vehicles, 
 distances have become less formidable 
 and mountain-ascents less fatiguing than 
 of old. Self-indulgent men and women 
 that we are, there is some comfort in an- 
 nihilating a few of the long hours which 
 used to measure the miles between the 
 Hudson and the various places of sum- 
 mer resort ; yet there is a loss in it all. 
 The old-fashioned stage-coach with its 
 cumbersome wheels and its brakes and its 
 chains, its inside passengers stifled by the 
 heat and closeness, and its outside pas- 
 sengers blinded by the glare and choked 
 with the dust, its fatigues, its ennui, its 
 apathy, its hatred of the conceited bore 
 of an old-fogy passenger who remembers 
 his youthful days of coaching, and gives his reminiscences 
 with a view to lightening the dulness has its compensa- 
 tions. A man escapes from it with a wild sense of eman- 
 cipation and a rapt consciousness of the actual beauties of 
 the way, which become the leisurely joy of the traveller 
 when he finds his own feet, and no longer cheapens the 
 
 worth of his journey 
 by the jogging mis- 
 eries of the ride. 
 
 At any time of the 
 year the Catskills 
 generously reward 
 the pedestrian, but af- 
 ter September comes 
 in with its cool, ex- 
 hilarating mornings, 
 October with its fresh, 
 dazzling days, there 
 is an inspiration in 
 the crisp air which 
 would render the 
 most sluggish man 
 buoyant with high 
 spirits as he strides 
 along the mountain- 
 roads, climbs the steeps, and gains the 
 view from the heights of the vast undula- 
 ting plains below, melting into blue mists 
 of distance, lit up by gold and silver 
 gleams from the river. It is then, per- 
 haps, that we find the Catskill region- 
 the fairest.
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB: AMONG FLORIDA LAKES. 
 
 THE FORD. 
 
 " A N D if you do get lost after that, it's 
 -tx no great matter," said the county 
 clerk, folding up his map, "for then all 
 you've got to do is to find William Town- 
 send and inquire." 
 
 He had been giving us the itinerary 
 for our "cross-country " journey, by way 
 of the Lakes, to Ekoniah Scrub. How 
 
 5 
 
 many of all the Florida tourists know 
 where that is ? I wonder. Or even what 
 it is the strange amphibious land which 
 goes on from year to year "developing" 
 the solid ground into marshy " parrairas," 
 the prairies into lakes, bright, sparkling 
 sapphires which Nature is threading, one 
 by one, year by year, upon her emerald 
 
 65
 
 66 
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB. 
 
 chaplet of forest borderland ? How many 
 of them all have guessed that close at 
 hand, hidden away amid the shadows of 
 the scrub-oaks, lies her laboratory, where 
 any day they may steal in upon her at 
 her work and catch a world a-making? 
 
 There are three individuals who know 
 a little more about it now than they did 
 a few weeks since three, or shall we not 
 rather say four ? For who shall say that 
 Barney gained less from the excursion 
 than the Artist, the Scribe and the Small 
 Boy who were his fellow-travellers ? That 
 Barney became a party to the expedition 
 in the character, so to speak, of a lay- 
 brother, expected to perform the servile 
 labor of the establishment while his su- 
 periors were worshipping at Nature's 
 shrines, in nowise detracted from his im- 
 provement of the bright spring holiday. 
 It was, indeed, upon the Small Boy who 
 beat the mule, rather than upon the mule 
 that drew the wagon, that the fatigues of 
 the expedition fell. "He just glimpses 
 around at me with his old eyeball," says 
 the Small Boy, exasperate, throwing away 
 his broken cudgel, "and that's all the 
 good it does." 
 
 We knew nothing more of Ekoniah 
 when we set out upon our journey than 
 that it was the old home of an Indian 
 tribe in the long-ago days before prime- 
 val forest had given place to the second 
 growth of "scrub," and that it was a re- 
 gion unknown to the Northern tourist. 
 It lies to the south-west of Magnolia, our 
 point of departure on the St. John's Riv- 
 er, but at first our route lay westerly, that 
 it might include the lake-country of the 
 Ridge. 
 
 " It's a pretty kentry," said a friendly 
 " Cracker," of whom, despite the county 
 clerk's itinerary, we were fain to ask the 
 way within two hours after starting 
 " a right pretty kentry, but it's all alike. 
 You'll be tired of it afore you're done 
 gone halfway." 
 
 Is he blind, our friend the Cracker? 
 Already, in the very outset of our jour- 
 ney, we have beheld such varied beauties 
 as have steeped our souls in joy. After 
 weeks of rainless weather the morning 
 had been showery, and on our setting 
 forth at noon we had found the world 
 
 new washed and decked for our coming. 
 Birds were singing, rainbows glancing, 
 in quivering, water -laden trees; flowers 
 were shimmering in the sunshine ; the 
 young growth was springing up glorious 
 from the blackness of desolating winter 
 fires. Such tender tones of pink and 
 gray ! such fiery-hearted reds and browns 
 and olive-greens ! such misty vagueness 
 in the shadows ! such brilliance in the 
 sunlight that melted through the open- 
 ings of the woods! "All alike," indeed! 
 No "accidents " of rock or hill are here, 
 but oh the grandeur of those far-sweeping 
 curves of undulating surface ! the mys- 
 tery of those endless aisles of solemn- 
 whispering pines ! the glory of color, in- 
 tense and fiery, which breathes into ev- 
 ery object a throbbing, living soul ! 
 
 For hours we journeyed through the 
 forest, always in the centre of a vast cir- 
 cle of scattered pines, upon the outer 
 edge of which the trees grew dense and 
 dark, stretching away into infinity. Our 
 road wandered in and out among the 
 prostrate victims of many a summer tem- 
 pest: now we were winding around dark 
 "bays" of sweet -gum and magnolia; 
 now skirting circular ponds of delicate 
 young cypress ; now crossing narrow 
 "branches" sunk deep in impenetrable 
 "hummocks" of close-crowded oak and 
 ash and maple, thick-matted with vines 
 and undergrowth ; now pausing to ga- 
 ther orchis and pitcher-plants and sun- 
 kisses and andromeda ; now fording the 
 broad bend of Peter's Creek where it 
 flows, sapphire in the sunshine, out from 
 the moss-draped live-oaks between high 
 banks of red and yellow clays and soft 
 gray sand, to lose itself in a tangle of 
 flowering shrubs ; now losing and find- 
 ing our way among the intricate cross- 
 roads that lead by Bradley's Creek and 
 Darbin Savage's tramway and the "new- 
 blazed road" of the county clerk's itine- 
 rary. Suddenly the sky grew dark : thun- 
 der began to roll, and were we in the 
 right road ? It seemed suspiciously well 
 travelled, for now we called to mind that 
 Middleburg was nigh at hand, and thith- 
 er we had been warned not to go. 
 
 There was a house in the distance, the 
 second we had seen since leaving the
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB. 
 
 67 
 
 " settle;#<?;z/.y " near the river. And there 
 we learned that we were right and wrong : 
 it was the Middleburg road. After re- 
 ceiving sundry lucid directions respect- 
 ing a " blind road " and an "old field," we 
 turned away. How dark it was growing ! 
 how weirdly soughed the wind among the 
 pine tops ! how bodingly the thunder 
 growled afar ! There came a great slow 
 drop : another, and suddenly, with swift- 
 ly-rushing sound, the rain was upon us, 
 drenching us all at once before water- 
 proofs and umbrellas could be made 
 available. 
 
 It was then that Barney showed the 
 greatness of his soul. In the confusion 
 
 of the moment we had run afoul of a 
 stout young oak, which obstinately men- 
 aced the integrity of our axle. It .was 
 only possible to back out of the predica- 
 ment, but Barney scorned the thought of 
 retreat. Not all the blandishments of the 
 Small Boy, whether brought to bear in 
 the form of entreaties, remonstrances, 
 jerks or threats, availed : Barney stood 
 unmoved, and the hatchet was our only 
 resource. How that mule's eye twinkled 
 as from time to time he cast a backward 
 glance upon the Small Boy wrestling with 
 a dull hatchet and a sturdy young scrub- 
 oak under the pelting rain, amid lightning- 
 flash and thunder-peal, needs a more 
 
 NOT ALL THE BLANDISHMENTS OF THE SMALL BOY AVAILED." 
 
 graphic pen than mine to describe. A 
 better-drenched biped than climbed into 
 the wagon at the close of this episode, or 
 a more thoroughly -satisfied quadruped 
 than jogged along before him, it would be 
 difficult to find. 
 
 As suddenly as they had come up the 
 clouds rolled away, and sunlight flamed 
 out from the west so suddenly that it 
 caught the rain halfway and filled the 
 air with tremulous rainbow hues. Then 
 burst out afresh the songs of birds, sweet 
 scents thrilled up from flower and shrub, 
 
 the very earth was fragrant, and fresh, 
 resinous odors exhaled from every tree. 
 The sun sank down in gold and purple 
 glory and night swept over the dark woods. 
 Myriad fireflies flitted round, insects chirp- 
 ed in every hollow, the whippoorwill call- 
 ed from the distant thicket, the night- 
 hawk circled in the open glade. A cheer- 
 ful sound of cow-bells broke the noisy 
 stillness, the forest opened upon a row of 
 dark buildings and darker orange trees, 
 and barking of dogs and kindly voices 
 told us that rest was at hand.
 
 68 
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB. 
 
 No words can do justice to the hospital- 
 ity of Floridians, whether native or for- 
 eign. We were now to begin an expe- 
 rience which was to last us through our 
 entire journey. Here we were, a wander- 
 ing company of who-knows-what, arriv- 
 ing hungry, drenched and unexpected 
 long after the supper-hour, and our mere 
 appearance was the "open sesame" to 
 all the treasures of house and barn. Not 
 knowing what our hap might be, we had 
 gone provided with blankets and food, 
 but both proved to be superfluous wher- 
 ever we could find a house. Bad might 
 be the best it afforded, but the best was 
 
 at our service. At K 's Ferry it was 
 
 decidedly not bad. Abundance reigned 
 there, though in a quaint old fashion, and 
 very soon after our arrival we were warm- 
 ing and drying ourselves before a cheer- 
 ful fire, while from the kitchen came 
 most heartening sounds and smells, as 
 of fizzling ham and bubbling coffee. 
 
 Never was seen a prettier place than 
 this as we beheld it by the morrow's light. 
 The house stands on a high bluff, worthy 
 the name of hill, which slopes steeply but 
 greenly down to the South Prong of Black 
 Creek, better deserving the name of riv- 
 er than many a stream which boasts the 
 designation. We crossed it upon a boom, 
 pausing midway in sudden astonishment 
 at the lovely view. A long reach of ex- 
 quisitely pure water, bordered by the 
 dense overhanging foliage of its high 
 banks, stretched away to where, a mile 
 below us, a sudden bend hid its lower 
 course from view, and on the high green 
 bluff which closed the vista were seen 
 the white house and venerable overarch- 
 ing trees of some old estate. The morn- 
 ing air was crisp and pure ; every leaf 
 and twig stood out with clean-cut distinct- 
 ness, to be mirrored with startling clear- 
 ness in the stream ; the sky was cloud- 
 less : no greater contrast could be imag- 
 ined from the tender sweetness of yester- 
 day. The birds, exhilarated by the sparkle 
 in the air, sang with a rollicking abandon- 
 ment quite contagious : the very kids and 
 goats on the crags above the road caught 
 the infection and frisked about, tinkling 
 their bells and joining most unmelodious- 
 ly in the song; while Barney, crossing 
 
 the creek upon a flatboat, lifted up a tune- 
 ful voice in the chorus. 
 
 We turned aside from our route to visit 
 Whitesville, the beautiful old home of 
 Judge B . It is a noble great man- 
 sion, with broad double doors opening 
 from every side of a wide hall, and stand- 
 ing in the midst of a wild garden luxuri- 
 ant with flowers and shrubs and vines, 
 and with a magnificent ivy climbing to 
 the top of a tall blasted tree at the gate. 
 " I came to this place from New Haven 
 in "29," its owner told us "sailed from 
 New York to Darien, Georgia, in a sloop, 
 and from there in a sail-boat to this very 
 spot. I prospected all about : bought a 
 little pony, and rode him well, five thou- 
 sand miles after I began to keep count. 
 Finally, I came back and settled here." 
 
 "Were you never troubled by Indians ?" 
 we asked. 
 
 "Well, they put a fort here in the Indian 
 war, the government did right here, 
 where you see the china trees." It was 
 a beautiful green slope beside the house, 
 with five great pride-of-Indias in a row 
 and a glimpse of the creek through the 
 thickets at the foot. " There never was 
 any engagement here, though. The In- 
 dians had a camp over there at K 's, 
 
 where you came from, but they all went 
 away to the Nation after a while." 
 
 " Did you stay here through the civil 
 war?" 
 
 " Oh yes. I never took any part in the 
 troubles, but the folks all suspected and 
 watched me. They knew I was a Union 
 man. One day a Federal regiment came 
 along and wanted to buy corn and fod- 
 der. The men drew up on the green, 
 and the colonel rode up to the door. 
 ' Colonel,' says I, ' I can't sell you any- 
 thing, but I believe the keys are in the 
 corn-barn and stable doors : I can't hin- 
 der your taking anything by force.' He 
 understood, and took pretty well what he 
 wanted. Afterward he came and urged 
 me to take a voucher, but I wouldn't do 
 that. By and by the Confederates came 
 around and accused me of selling to the 
 Federals, but they couldn't prove any- 
 thing against me." 
 
 "There used to be Confederate head- 
 quarters up there at K 's ?" we asked.
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB. 
 
 69 
 
 " Oh yes, and the Federals had it too. 
 General Birney was there for a while. 
 One day, just after he came, a lot of 'em 
 came over here. One of my boys was 
 lying very sick in that front chamber just 
 then the one you know, the county clerk. 
 Well, an orderly rode up to the door and 
 called out, ' Here, you damned old rebel, 
 the general wants you.' ' I don't answer 
 to that name,' said I. ' You don't ?' ' No, 
 I don't.' ' What ! ain't you a rebel ?' ' I 
 don't answer to that name,' said I. 
 4 Well, consider yourself my prisoner,.' 
 
 says he ; so I walked up there with him. 
 Judge Price was at head- quarters just 
 then, and he knew me well. It seems 
 that the general had heard that I kept a 
 regular rebel commissariat, sending stores 
 to them secretly. Well, when the judge 
 had told him who I was, the general wrote 
 me a pass at once, and then asked, ' Is 
 there anything I can do for you ?' ' Gen- 
 eral,' said I, ' my son lies very sick. I 
 should like to see the last of him', and 
 beg to be permitted to retire.'' Is that 
 so ?' said the general. ' Would you like 
 
 LAKE BEDFORD. 
 
 me to send you a doctor?' I accepted, 
 and he sent me two. He came up after- 
 ward, and found that his men had torn 
 down the fences, broken open the store 
 and dragged out goods, set the oil and 
 molasses running, and done great dam- 
 age about four thousand dollars' worth, 
 we estimated. You see, they thought it 
 was a rebel commissariat. When he 
 came into the house he asked my wife 
 if she could give him supper. ' General,' 
 said she, ' you have taken away my 
 cooks : if you will send for your own, I 
 shall be very happy to get supper for 
 you.' He did so, and spent the night 
 here, sleeping in one of the chambers 
 while his officers lay all over the piazzas. 
 Next day they all rode away, quite satis- 
 fied, I guess. There were several skir- 
 mishes about here afterward, and we 
 have some pieces of bombs in the house 
 now that fell in the yard." 
 
 The judge pressed us to stay ana chne, 
 but we had arranged for a gypsy dinner 
 in the woods and were anxious to push 
 on. Push on ! How Barney would smile 
 could he hear the word ! He never did 
 anything half so energetic as to push : he 
 did not even pull. 
 
 So we bade farewell to our genial host 
 and started westwardly again. We were 
 now upon the high land of the Ridge, 
 the backbone of the State, and though, 
 perhaps, hardly ninety feet above the sea, 
 the air had all the exhilarating freshness 
 of great altitudes. All through the week 
 which followed we felt its tonic inspira- 
 tion and seemed to drink in intoxicating 
 draughts of health and spirits, and nevei 
 more than during the fifteen-mile drive 
 between Black Creek and Kingsley's 
 Pond. 
 
 Kingsley's Pond, the highest body of 
 water in the State, is the first of a long
 
 7 o 
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB. 
 
 succession of lakes which, lying between 
 the St. John's and the railway, have only 
 lately been, as it were, discovered by the 
 Northerner. It is perfectly circular in 
 form, being precisely two miles across 
 in every direction. Like all the lakes of 
 Florida, it is of immense depth, and its 
 waters are so transparent that the white 
 sand at the bottom may be seen glisten- 
 ing like stars. In common with the oth- 
 er waters of this region, it is surrounded 
 by a hard beach of white sand, rising 
 gradually up to a beautifully - wooded 
 slope, being quite free from the marshes 
 which too often render the lakes of Flor- 
 ida unapproachable. 
 
 One of the Northern colonies which 
 within the last two years have discovered 
 this delightful region has settled on the 
 shores of Kingsley's Pond. Although an 
 infant of only twenty months, the village 
 has made excellent growth and gives 
 promise of a bright future. Farming is 
 not largely followed, the principal indus- 
 try of these and the other Northern col- 
 onists being orange-culture a business 
 to which the climate is wonderfully pro- 
 pitious, the dry, pure air of this district 
 being alike free from excessive summer 
 heats and from the frosts which are occa- 
 sionally disastrous to groves situated on 
 lower ground in the same latitude. 
 
 Though there are few native Floridians 
 in this part of the country, the neighbor- 
 hood of the lake rejoices in the possession 
 of a Cracker doctress of wondrous pow- 
 ers. Who but her knows that chapter in 
 the book of Daniel the reading of which 
 stays the flowing of blood, or that other 
 chapter potent to extinguish forest-fires ? 
 One does not need a long residence in 
 the State to learn to appreciate the good- 
 fortune of the Lakers in this particular. 
 
 Not far from the village, on the western 
 shore of the pond, lives the one "old set- 
 tler." He met us with the hearty welcome 
 which we had learned almost to look for 
 as a right, and sitting on his front piazza 
 in the shade of his orange trees, gladden- 
 ing our eyes with the view of his vine- 
 embowered pigpen, we listened to the 
 legend of the pond : 
 
 "Yes, I've lived yere four-and-twenty 
 year, but I done kim to Floridy nigh on 
 
 forty year ago : walked yere from Georgy 
 to jine the Injun war. I done found this 
 place a-scoutin' about, and when I got 
 married I kim yere to settle. The Yankee 
 folks wants to change the name o' the 
 pond to Summit Lake and one thing or 
 'nother, but I allays votes square agin it 
 every time, and allays will. You see, hit 
 don't ought to be changed. I don't mind 
 the pond part : they m ought call it lake 
 ef they think it sounds better, but Kings- 
 ley's it ^<M to be. K-i-n-g-1-e-s-l-e-y : that, 
 I take it, is the prompt way to spell the 
 name of the man as named it, and that's 
 the name it has to have. You see hit was 
 this a-way : Kingsley were a mail-rider 
 leastways, express in the old Injun war- 
 time, I dunno how long ago. They was 
 a fort on the pond them days, over on 
 the south side. Wai, Kingsley were a- 
 comin' down toward the fort from the 
 no'th when he thort he see an Injun. He 
 looked behind, and, sure enough, there 
 they was, a-closin' in on him. He look- 
 ed ahead agin. Shore's you're bo'hn 
 there was a double row on 'em better'n 
 a hunderd on all two sides of the trail. 
 He hadn't a minit to study, and jist one 
 thing to do, and he done hit. He jist 
 clapped spurs to his critter and made for 
 the pond. He knowed what they wanted 
 of him " confidentially and solemnly : 
 "it were their intention to ketch him and 
 scalp him alive, you know. Wai, they 
 follered him to the pond, a-whoopin' and 
 a-yellin' all the way, makin' shore on him. 
 When he got to the pond he rid right in, 
 the Injuns a'ter him, but his critter soon 
 began to gin out. When he see that he 
 jist gethered up his kit and jumped into 
 the water, and swum for dear life. Two 
 mile good that feller swum, and saved 
 his kit and musket. The Injuns got his 
 critter, but you never see nothin' so mad 
 as they was to see him git off that a-way. 
 The soldiers at the fort was a-watchin' all 
 the time. They run down to meet him : 
 they see he looked kinder foolish as he 
 swum in, and as soon as he struck the 
 shore he jist flung himself on the sand, 
 and laid for half an hour athout openin' 
 his eyes or speakin'. Then he done riz 
 right up and toted his kit to the command- 
 er, and axed to hev the pond named a'ter
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB. 
 
 him. The commander said it mought 
 be so, and so hit was ; and so it has to 
 be, I says, and allays will." 
 
 It would be impossible to detail the 
 exquisite and varied beauty of the way 
 between Kingsley's Pond and Ekoniah 
 Scrub. Through the fair primeval forest 
 we wandered, following the old Alachua 
 Trail, the very name of which enhanced 
 the charm of the present scene by calling 
 up thrilling fancies of the past ; for this 
 is the famous Indian war-path from the 
 hunting-grounds of the interior to the set- 
 tlements on the frontier, and may well be 
 the oldest and the most adventure-fraught 
 thoroughfare in the United States. We 
 
 could hardly persuade ourselves that 
 we were not passing through some 
 magnificent old estate of late, per- 
 haps, somewhat fallen into neglect so 
 perfect was the lawn-like smoothness 
 of the grassy uplands, so rhythmical 
 were the undulations of the slopes, so 
 majestic the natural avenues of enor- 
 mous oaks, so admirable the diversity 
 of hill and dell, knoll and glade, shrub- 
 bery and lawn, forest and park, inter- 
 spersed with frequent sheets of water 
 Blue Pond, rivalling the sky in color ; 
 Sandhill Pond, deep set among high 
 wooded slopes, with picturesque log mill 
 and house ; Magnolia Lake, with its flaw- 
 less mirror; Crystal, of more than crys- 
 tal clearness, with gorgeous sunset mem- 
 ories and sweet recollections of kindly 
 hospitalities in the two homes which 
 crown its twin heights ; Bedford and 
 Brooklyn Lakes, with log cottages be- 
 neath clustering trees ; Minnie Lake, and 
 its great alligator sleeping on a log ; star- 
 ry Lily-Pad ; and Osceola's Punch-bowl, 
 deep enough, and none too large, to hold 
 the potations of a Worthy ; Twin Lakes, 
 scarce divided by the island in their midst ; 
 Double Pond, low sunk in the green for- 
 est slope, a perfect circle bisected by a
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB. 
 
 wooded ridge ; Geneva Lake, dotted with 
 islands and beautiful with shining orange- 
 groves ; always among the lawns and 
 glades, the forest -slopes and aisles of 
 pines, with sough of wind and song of 
 bird, and fragrant wild perfumes. Always 
 with bright "bits" of life between the 
 long, grand silences a group of men 
 faring on foot across the pine level ; a 
 rosy, bareheaded girl the only girl in 
 the place searching for calves in the 
 dingle, who gave us flowers and told us 
 the road with the sweet, lingering cadence 
 of the South in her velvet voice; two 
 men riding by turns* the mule that bore 
 their sacks of corn to mill ; two boys car- 
 rying a great cross-cut saw along a slo- 
 ping lakeside, a noble Newfoundland dog 
 frisking beside them ; the fleet bay horse 
 and erect military figure of our host at 
 Crystal Lake guiding us among the in- 
 tricacies of the Lake Colony. Always 
 with sunny memories of happy hours 
 gypsy dinners beside golden - watered 
 "branch" or sapphire lake; the cheery 
 half hour in the log house on the hill 
 above the little grist-mill, with the bright 
 young Philadelphians who have here cast 
 in their lot ; the abundant feast in the 
 farm-house under the orange trees, and 
 the "old-time" stories of the after-dinner 
 hour ; the pleasant days at Crystal Lake, 
 where our first day's drenching resulted 
 so happily in a slight illness that detain- 
 ed us in that lovely spot, and showed us, 
 in the new colony lately settled on this 
 and the adjacent lakes, how refinement 
 and cultivation, lending elegance to rude 
 toil and harsh privation, may realize even 
 Utopian dreams. 
 
 The great farm on Geneva Lake was 
 the first old plantation which we had 
 seen since leaving Kingsley's, and this 
 lies on the outskirts of Ekoniah Scrub, 
 which has long been settled by native 
 Floridians or Georgians. "Hit ain't a 
 farmin' kentry, above there on the sand- 
 hills," said our host of the thrifty old farm 
 on Lake Geneva. " It's fine for oranges 
 an' bananas, but the Scrub's better for 
 plantin'. Talk about oranges ! Look a' 
 that tree afore you ! A sour tree hit were 
 right smart big, too but four year ago 
 I sawed it off near the ground and stuck 
 
 in five buds. That tree is done borne 
 three craps a' ready fifteen oranges the 
 second year from the bud, a hundred and 
 fifty the third, and last year we picked 
 eight hundred off her. Seedlin's ? Any- 
 body mought hev fruit seven year from 
 the seed, but they must take care o' the 
 trees to do it. Look a' them trees by the 
 fence : eight year old, them is. Some of 
 'em bore the sixth year : every one on 'em 
 is sot full now full enough for young 
 trees. 
 
 "Yes, that's right smart good orange- 
 land up there in the sandhills. Forty 
 year ago, when I kim yere, they was 
 nothin' but wild critters in that lake ken- 
 try, as the Yankee folks calls it : all kind 
 o' varmints they was bears, tigers, pan- 
 thers, cats and all kinds. Right smart 
 huntin' they was, and 'tain't so bad now. 
 They's rabbits and 'coons and 'possums, 
 sure enough, and deer too; and Cats ? 
 Why, cats is plenty, but they ain't no 
 'count. 
 
 "I niver hunted much myself, but I've 
 heerd an old man tell Higgins by name. 
 Ef you could find him and could get him 
 right, he'd tell you right smart o' stories 
 about varmints, and Injuns too. I've 
 heerd him tell how he went out with some 
 puppies one time to larn 'em to hunt bear. 
 He heerd one o' the puppies a-screechin,' 
 and kase he didn't want to lose him he 
 run up. The screechin' come from a 
 sort o' scrub, and he got clost up afore he 
 see it was a she-bear and two cubs. The 
 bear had the puppy, but when she see 
 Higgins she dropped hit and made for 
 him. Now, you know, a bear ain't like 
 no varmint nor cow-beast: hit don't go 
 'round under the trees, but jest makes a 
 road for itself over the scrub. Higgins 
 hadn't no time to take aim, and ef he'd 
 'a missed he was gone, sure 'nough ; so 
 he jest drawred his knife, and when she 
 riz up to clutch him he stuck her plum in 
 the heart. Killed her, dead. 
 
 " No, I never had no trouble with In- 
 juns. They was all gone to the Nation 
 when I settled yere, but I see Billy Bow- 
 legs onct, and Jumper, too. I was ago- 
 in' through the woods, and I met a keert 
 with three men in it. Two on 'em was kind- 
 er dark-lookin', but I never thort much
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB. 
 
 73 
 
 of that till the man that was 
 drivin' stopped and axed me 
 ef I knowed who he had in be- 
 hind. It was them two chiefs, 
 sure 'nough : right good-look- 
 in' fellers they was, too." 
 
 We had left the sandhills of 
 the Ridge, and had reached the 
 borders of the Scrub, but there 
 was yet another of the new 
 Northern settlements to visit. 
 It lay a few miles beyond Ge- 
 neva Lake, in the flat woods to 
 the south of Santa Fe Lake, the 
 largest and best known of the 
 group. 
 
 Who does not know the 
 dreary flat-woods villages of 
 the South, with their decaying 
 log cabins and hopelessly un- 
 finished frame houses with 
 their white roads, ankle-deep 
 in sand, wandering disconso- 
 lately among fallen trees and 
 palmetto scrub and blacken- 
 ed stumps ? Melrose is like 
 them all, but with a difference. 
 The decaying cabins, new two 
 years ago, are deserted in fa- 
 vor of the great frame houses, 
 which, unfinished indeed, have 
 yet a determined air, as if they 
 meant to be finished some day. 
 The sandy roads are alive with 
 long trains of heavy log-trucks 
 or lighter freight-wagons ; there 
 are men actually buying things 
 in the three stores ; there is a 
 school, with live children play- 
 ing before the door ; there are 
 saw- and grist-mills buzzing 
 noisily; there is a post-office, 
 which connects us with the out- 
 er world as we receive our wait- 
 ing letters ; there is a stir of en- 
 terprise in the air which speaks 
 quite plainly of Chicago and 
 the Northern States, whence 
 have come the colonists ; there 
 is talk of a railroad to the St. 
 John's on the east, and of a 
 canal which shall connect the 
 lakes with one another and with 
 the railway on the, west; there
 
 74 
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB. 
 
 is a really good hotel, where we spend 
 the night in unanticipated luxury upon a 
 breezy eminence overlooking the silver 
 sheet of Santa Fe Lake, which stretches 
 away for miles to the north and eastward. 
 
 The morrow was almost spent while 
 we lingered in the neighborhood of the 
 lake. The road makes a wide circuit to 
 avoid its far-reaching arms and bays: 
 only here and there are glimpses of the 
 water seen through the trees and cart- 
 tracks -leading off to exquisite points of 
 view upon its banks. We are in the flat 
 woods again palmetto-clumps under the 
 pine trees, pitcher -plants and orchis in 
 the low spots, violets and pinguicula 
 beside the ditches, vetches and lupines 
 and pawpaw and the trailing mimosa in 
 the sand. The park-like character of the 
 woods is gone. Still, there are here and 
 there gentle undulations upon which the 
 long lines of western sunlight slope away; 
 the lake gleams silvery through the trees ; 
 the air is pure and sparkling as in high 
 altitudes. 
 
 It was evening before we could leave 
 the lakeside and plunge into the dense 
 new growth which adds to the ancient 
 name of Ekoniah the modern appella- 
 tion of "Scrub." Amid its close-crowd- 
 ing thickets night came upon us speedily. 
 How hospitably we were received in the 
 
 bare new " homestead ' ' of Parson H ; 
 
 how generously our hosts relinquished 
 their one "barred" bed and passed a 
 night of horror exposed to the fury of 
 myriad mosquitos, whose songs of tri- 
 umph we heard from our own protected 
 pillows ; how basely Barney requited all 
 this kindness by breaking into the corn- 
 crib and "stuffing himself as full as a 
 sausage," as the Small Boy reported, 
 may not here be dwelt upon. 
 
 The early morning was exquisite. Soft 
 mists veiled all the glorious colors ; great 
 spider-webs, strung thick with diamonds, 
 stretched from tree to tree ; a little "pot- 
 hole " pond of lilies exhaled sweet odors ; 
 the lark's ecstatic song thrilled down from 
 upper air. There was a gentle hill before 
 us, and halfway up a view to the right of 
 a broad lake, with the log huts of a " set- 
 tle^/" on the high bank. The sun 
 has drunk up all the mists, and shines 
 
 bright upon the soft gray satin of the gir- 
 dled pine trees in the clearing ; flowers 
 are crowding everywhere orange milk- 
 weed, purple phlox, creamy pawpaw, 
 azure bluebells, spotted foxgloves, rose- 
 tinted daisies, brown-eyed coreopsias and 
 unknown flowers of palest blue. But- 
 terflies flit noiselessly among them, and 
 mocking-birds sing loud in the leafy 
 screens above. A red-headed woodpecker 
 taps upon a resounding tree and screams 
 in exultation as he seizes his prey. 
 
 We skirted Viola Lake, cresting the 
 high hill, and descending to a shaded 
 valley where the lapping waters plashed 
 upon the roadside : then mounted anoth- 
 er hill, among thick clustering oaks and 
 giant pines, to where three lakes are seen 
 spreading broadly out upon a grassy plain 
 between high wooded slopes. And these 
 are Ekoniah ! Twenty years ago a tiny 
 rivulet, wandering through broad prai- 
 ries ; eight years later a wider stream, 
 already beginning to encroach upon the 
 grassy borderland ; now a chain of ever- 
 broadening lakes, already drawing near 
 to the hills which frame in the widespread 
 plain. Famous grazing-lands these were 
 once, the favored haunts of cattle-drovers, 
 more famous hunting-grounds in older 
 days, before firm prairie had given place 
 to watery savanna. There were Indian vil- 
 lages upon the heights above and bloody 
 battles in the plains below. But who shall 
 tell the story of those days ? The Indians 
 are gone ; the cattle-drovers have follow- 
 etl them to the far South ; the new settler 
 of twenty years ago cared nothing for an- 
 tiquities or for the legends of an older 
 time. The dead past is buried : even the 
 sonorous old Indian name has been soft- 
 ened down to Etonia : be it the happy 
 lot of this chronicler to rescue it from 
 oblivion ! 
 
 The lakes of the lately-traversed " Lake 
 Region," frequent as they had been, were 
 as nothing to those of Ekoniah Scrub. 
 The road rose and fell over a succession 
 of low hills, each ascent gained discover- 
 ing a new sheet of water to right, to left 
 or before us, deep sunk among thick- 
 clustering trees. At rare intervals the 
 forest would fall away on either hand, 
 opening up a wide view of cultivated
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB. 
 
 75 
 
 fields, sweeping grandly down in long 
 stripes of tender green to the billowy 
 verdure of the broad savanna, where 
 silvery-sparkling lakes lay imbedded and 
 great round "hummocks" of dark trees 
 uprose like islands in the grassy sea. In 
 the distance would be barren slopes of 
 rich dark red and silvery gray, swelling 
 upward to the far dim mystery of pine 
 woods and the blue arch above. 
 
 We ate our dinner beside Lake Rosa, 
 a circular basin of clearest water rippling 
 and dimpling under the soft breeze. To- 
 ward evening we found the ford, which a 
 paralytic old woman sitting in a sunny 
 corner of a farm-house piazza had in- 
 dicated to us as " right pretty." Pretty 
 it was, indeed, as we came down to it 
 through the most luxuriant of hummocks 
 of transparent-foliaged sweet-gums and 
 shining-leaved magnolias with one great 
 creamy flower. " Right pretty " it was, 
 too, in the old woman's meaning of the 
 word, for Barney drew us through in 
 safety, scarce up to his knees in the trans- 
 parent water which reflected so perfectly 
 every flower and leaf of the dense water- 
 growth. The road beyond was cut through 
 an arch of close-meeting trees, and farther 
 on it skirted a broad lake, which already, 
 in its slow, sure, upward progress, had 
 covered the roadway and was reaching 
 even to the fence which bounds the field 
 above. In this field is a large mound, 
 never investigated, although the farmer 
 who owns the property says he has.no 
 doubt that it is the site of an Indian vil- 
 lage, for the plough turns up in the fields 
 around not only arrow-heads, but frag- 
 ments of pottery and household utensils. 
 It was not our good-fortune to obtain any 
 of those relics, as they have not been pre- 
 served, and this was the only mound of 
 any extent which we saw. Such mounds 
 are said, however, to be not infrequent in 
 this district, and Indian relics are found 
 everywhere. 
 
 As we drove along the hillside we be- 
 gan to notice frequent basin-like depres- 
 sions of greater or less size, always perfect- 
 ly circular, always with the same saucer- 
 shaped dip, always without crack or fis- 
 sure, yet appearing to have been formed 
 by a gradual receding of the substructure, 
 
 reminding one of the depression in the 
 sand of an hour-glass or of the grain in 
 a hopper. Many of these concaves were 
 dry ; others had a little water in the bot- 
 tom ; all of them had trees growing here 
 and there, quite undisturbed, whether in 
 the water or not ; and there was no one 
 who had cared to note how long a time 
 had elapsed since they had begun their 
 "decline and fall." There is little doubt, 
 
 THE ONLY GIRL IN THE PLACE.' 
 
 however, that the future traveller will find 
 them developed into lakes, as, indeed, 
 we found one here and there upon the 
 hilltops. 
 
 How many times we got lost among 
 the lakes and "pot-holes," the fallen trees 
 and thickets of Ekoniah Scrub, it would 
 be tedious to relate. How many times 
 we came down to the prairie-level, and, 
 fearful to trust ourselves upon the treach-
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB. 
 
 erous, billowy green, were forced to " try 
 back " for a new road along the hillside, 
 it would be difficult to say. The county 
 clerk's itinerary had ended here, and 
 William Townsend proved to be less 
 ubiquitous than we had been led to ex- 
 pect. Thus it was that night came down 
 upon us one evening before we had reach- 
 ed a place of shelter suddenly, in the 
 thick scrub, not lingeringly, as in the long 
 forest glades of the lake country. For 
 an hour we pushed on, trusting now to 
 Barney's sagacity, now to the pioneering 
 abilities of Artist and Scribe, who march- 
 ed in the van. Fireflies flitted about, their 
 unusual brilliancy often cheating us into 
 the fond hope that shelter was at hand. 
 The ignes-fatui in the valley below often 
 added to the deception, and after many 
 disappointments we were about to spread 
 our blankets upon the earth and prepare 
 for a night's rest al fresco when we heard 
 a distant cow-call. Clear and melodious 
 as the far-off " Ranz des Vaches " it broke 
 upon the stillness, gladdening all our 
 hearts. How" we answered it, how we 
 hastened over logs and through thickets 
 in the direction of answering voices and 
 glancing lights no ignes-fatui now how 
 we were met halfway by an entire family 
 whom we had aroused, and with what 
 astonishment we heard ourselves address- 
 ed by name, can better be imagined than 
 described. By the happiest of chances 
 we had come upon the home of some 
 people whom we had casually met upon 
 the St. John's River only a few weeks 
 before, and our dearest and oldest friends 
 could not have welcomed us more cor- 
 dially or have been more gladly met by 
 us. 
 
 In the early morning we heard again, 
 between sleeping and waking, the musi- 
 cal cow-call. It echoed among the hills 
 and over the lakes : there were the tink- 
 ling of bells, the pattering of hoofs, the 
 eager, impatient sounds of a herd of cat- 
 tle glad of morning freedom. It was like 
 a dream of Switzerland. And, hasten- 
 ing out, we found the dream but vivified 
 by the intense purity of the air surcharged 
 with ozone, the exquisite clearness of the 
 outlines of the hills, the sparkling bright- 
 ness of the lakes in the valley, the fresh- 
 
 ness of glory and beauty which overspread 
 all like a world new made. 
 
 One of the great events of that day 
 was a desperate fight between two chame- 
 leons in a low oak-scrub on the hilltop. 
 The little creatures attacked each other 
 with such fury, with such rapid changes 
 of color from gray to green and from 
 green to brown, with such unexpected 
 mutations of shape from long and slen- 
 der to short and squat, with such sudden 
 darlings out arid angry flamings of the 
 transparent membrane beneath the throat, 
 with such swift springs and flights and 
 glancings to and fro, as were wonderful 
 to see. It seemed as though both must 
 succumb to the fierce scratchings and 
 clawings ; and when at last one got the 
 entire head of his adversary in his mouth 
 and proceeded deliberately to chew it up, 
 we thought that the last act in the tragedy 
 was at hand. The Small Boy made a 
 stealthy step forward with a view to a cap- 
 ture, when, presto ! change ! two chame- 
 leons with heads intact were calmly gaz- 
 ing down upon us with that placid look 
 of their kind which seemed to assure us 
 that fighting was the last act of which they 
 were capable. 
 
 That day, too, is memorable for the 
 charming scenes it brought us, impos- 
 sible for the pencil to reproduce with all 
 their sweet accessories. We have found 
 the ford at last, where the blue ribbon of 
 the stream lies across the white sand of 
 ou/ road. The prairie stretches out broad 
 and green with many circular islets of 
 tree-mounds in the ocean-like expanse. 
 The winding road beyond the ford leads, 
 between cultivated fields on one side and 
 the tree-bordered prairie on the other, up 
 to the low horizon, where soft white thun- 
 derheads are heaped in the hazy blue. 
 The tinkling of cow-bells comes sweetly 
 over the sea of grass ; slow wavelets sob 
 softly in the sedges of the stream ; fish 
 glance through the water ; a duck flies 
 up on swiftly -whirring wing. A great 
 moss - draped live - oak leans over the 
 stream, and 'the perfume of the tender 
 grapes which crown it floats toward us 
 on the air. 
 
 Again, after we have climbed the hill 
 to Swan Lake, and have dined beside
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB. 
 
 77 
 
 Half -moon Pond, and have "laid our 
 course," as the sailors say, by our map 
 and the sun, straight through the Scrub 
 to visit Lake Ella, we come out upon the 
 heights above Lake Hutchinson. The 
 dark greens of the foreground soften into 
 deep-blue shadows in the middle distance. 
 Lake Hutchinson sparkles, a vivid sap- 
 phire, against the distant silvery-gray of 
 Lake Geneva, while far away the low blue 
 hills melt, range behind range, into the 
 pale-blue sky. 
 
 Our faces were turned homeward, but 
 
 there were yet many miles of the Ekoniah 
 country running to northward on the east 
 of the Ridge, and lakes and lakes and 
 lakes among the scrub - clothed hills. A 
 new feature had become apparent in many 
 of them : a low reef of marsh entirely en- 
 circling the inner waters and separating 
 them from a still outer lagoon, remind- 
 ing us, with a difference, of coral-reefs en- 
 circling lakes in mid-ocean. The shores 
 of these lakes were not marshy, but firm 
 and hard, like the lakes of the hilltops, 
 with the same smooth forest-slope sur- 
 
 SANTA FE LAKE. 
 
 rounding. Is a reverse process going on 
 here, we wondered, from that we have 
 seen in the prairies, and are these sheets 
 of water to change slowly into marsh, 
 and so to firm land again ? There are 
 a number of such lakes as these, and on 
 the heights above one of the largest, which 
 they have called Bethel, a family of Ca- 
 nadian emigrants have recently "taken 
 up a homestead." 
 
 There was still another chain of prai- 
 rie-lakes, the "Old Field Ponds," stretch- 
 ing north and south on our right, and as 
 we wound around them, plashing now 
 and again through the slowly-encroach- 
 
 ing water, we had 'Gator-bone Pond upon 
 our right. The loneliness of the scene 
 was indescribable : for hours we had been 
 winding in and out among the still la- 
 goons or climbing and descending the 
 ever - steeper, darker hills. Night was 
 drawing on ; stealthy mists came creep- 
 ing grayly up from the endless Old Field 
 Ponds; fireflies and glow-worms and 
 will-o'-the-wisps danced and glowered 
 amid the intense blackness ; frogs croak- 
 ed, mosquitos shrilled, owls hooted ; Bar- 
 ney's usual deliberate progress became 
 a snail's pace, which hinted plainly at 
 blankets and the oat-sack, when, all at
 
 7 8 
 
 EKONIAH SCRUB. 
 
 once, a bonfire flamed up from a distant 
 height, and the sagacious quadruped 
 quickened his pace along the steep hill- 
 road. 
 
 A very pandemonium of sounds sa- 
 luted our ears as we emerged from the 
 forest lowings and roarings and shriek- 
 ings of fighting cattle, wild hoots from 
 hoarse masculine throats, the shrill tones 
 of a woman's angry voice, the discordant 
 notes of an accordion, the shuffle of heavy 
 dancing feet. We had but happened upon 
 a band of cow -hunters returning home- 
 ward with their spoils, and the fightings 
 of their imprisoned cattle were only less 
 frightful than their own wild orgies. If 
 we had often before been reminded of 
 Italian skies and of the freshness and 
 brightness of Swiss mountain -air, now 
 thoughts of the Black Forest, with all of 
 weird or horrible that we had ever read 
 of that storied country, rushed to our 
 minds robber -haunted mills, murder- 
 ous inns, treacherous hosts, " terribly - 
 strange beds." Not that we apprehend- 
 ed real danger, but to our unfranchised 
 and infant minds the chills and fevers 
 which mayhap lurked in the mist-clothed 
 forest, or even a wandering "cat," seemed 
 less to be dreaded than the wild baccha- 
 nals who surrounded us. We would fain 
 have returned, but it was too late. Bar- 
 ney was already in the power of unseen 
 hands, which had seized upon him in 
 the darkness ; an old virago had ordered 
 us into the house ; and when we had 
 declined to partake of the relics of a 
 feast which strewed the table, we were 
 ignominiously consigned to a den of a 
 lean-to opening upon the piazza. A "ter- 
 ribly-strange bed" indeed was the old 
 four-poster, which swayed and shrieked 
 at the slightest touch, and myriad the 
 enemies which there lay in wait for our 
 blood. We were not murdered, however, 
 
 nor did our unseen foes as had once 
 been predicted by a Cracker friend 
 quite " eat us plum up, bodaciously 
 alive." In the early morning we fled, 
 though not until we had seen how beau- 
 tiful a home the old plantation once had 
 been. These were not Crackers among 
 whom we had passed the night, but the 
 "native and best." Not a fair specimen 
 of this class, surely, but such as here and 
 there, in the remoter corners of the South, 
 are breeding such troubles as may well 
 become a grave problem to the states- 
 man the legitimate outgrowth of the 
 old regime. War- orphaned, untutored, 
 unrestrained, contemning legitimate au- 
 thority, spending the intervals of jail-life 
 in wild revels and wilder crimes, such 
 were the men in whose ruined home we 
 had passed the night. 
 
 There was yet one more morning 
 among the gorgeous - foliaged "scrub- 
 hills," one more gypsy meal by a lake- 
 side, one more genial welcome to a hos- 
 pitable Cracker board, and we were at 
 home again in the wide sea of pines 
 which stretches to the St. John's. In the 
 ten days of our journey we had seen, 
 within a tract of land some thirty miles 
 long by forty in breadth, more than fifty 
 isolated lakes and three prairie - chains ; 
 had visited four enterprising Northern 
 colonies and numerous thrifty Southern 
 farms ; had found an air clear and in- 
 vigorating as that of Switzerland, soft 
 and balmy as in the tropics, while the 
 gorgeous colorings of tree and flower, 
 of water and sky, were like a dream of 
 the Orient. 
 
 " But there !" said the Small Boy, stop- 
 ping suddenly with a half- unbuckled 
 strap of Barney's harness in his hand : 
 " we forgot one thing, after all : never 
 found William Townsend !"
 
 STRATFORD-ON-THE-SOUND. 
 
 MAIN STREET. 
 
 "\ T 7"E say "Stratford -on -the -Sound," 
 V V because Stratford Point j uts sharp- 
 ly out into Long Island Sound, and its 
 rocky promontory and soft silver beach 
 feel the beat of the sea. " Stratford 
 Light," ever rising and setting like some 
 swiftly -circling star at night, is watched 
 for by all the pilots of the Sound steam- 
 ers when shaping their eastward course 
 after passing through the Narrows. The 
 town is also called " Stratford - on - the - 
 Housatonic," and in colonial days was 
 known as " Stratford - in - Connecticut." 
 Which one of the many English Strat- 
 fords it was originally named for is a 
 matter involving conjecture perhaps, 
 but little doubt. The prophetic souls of 
 its first settlers, " dreaming on things to 
 come," must have foreseen the tranquil 
 beauty of the place, with its long avenues 
 
 of trees, its velvety turf, its picturesque 
 rural scenery, and named it after Shake- 
 speare's town. 
 
 Our Stratford, if not a place of pilgrim- 
 age or fame, has advantages and charms 
 which are not to be summed up in a sin- 
 gle sentence. Nor has it committed itself 
 to any fixed ideas or exhausted its strength 
 in any one direction. The place is unique, 
 with a character and ways of its own : it 
 has the flavor of wealth without the tur- 
 moil of commerce or manufactures ; the 
 flavor of exclusiveness without the pre- 
 tences of fashion ; the flavor of culture 
 without any tinge of pedantry. It is rural, 
 yet neither primitive nor crude ; easily ac- 
 cessible, yet isolated by its contrast to its 
 surroundings ; picturesque, though it offers 
 little to the seeker of wild and romantic 
 scenery ; a place of " summer resort," 
 79
 
 8o 
 
 STRA TFORD- ON- THE-SO UND. 
 
 yet affording no facilities to the vulgar 
 tourist. It is in New England, yet curi- 
 ously unlike New England in most of its 
 characteristics, while its quiet, mellow 
 tone, tending to soothe the mind and 
 inspire contentment, generally suggests 
 the remark that it is "so English." 
 
 "Stratford," wrote Dr. Samuel Peters 
 in his General History of Connecticut, 
 published in London in 1781, "lies on 
 
 FIRST EPISCOPAL CHURCH IN CONNECTICUT. 
 
 the west bank of the Osootonic River, 
 having the sea or Sound on the south. 
 There are three streets running north 
 and south, and two east and west. The 
 best is one mile long. On the centre 
 square stands a meeting-house with stee- 
 ple and bell, and a church with steeple, 
 bell, clock and organ. It is a beautiful 
 place, and from the water has an appear- 
 ance not inferior to Canterbury. The peo- 
 ple are said to be the most polite of any 
 in the colony." 
 
 Ahundred years have rolled away since 
 this was written, yet the description has 
 been little contradicted by any changes. 
 The Congregational church on Meeting- 
 house Hill was burned down early in the 
 century and replaced by the academy. 
 A new Episcopal church has taken the 
 place of the colonial edifice, and there 
 
 have been other trifling concessions to a 
 progressive age. But none of the charac- 
 teristics of the sketch have been obscured. 
 The village has never been stirred by 
 those uneasy activities which overturn 
 other New England towns, or if an im- 
 pulse so little akin to its habits and tra- 
 ditions has been felt, it was sure to result 
 in disintegration, and Stratford has cast 
 off its unruly suburbs, with their enter- 
 prises and industries 
 and ambitions. Our 
 Stratford has known no 
 bustles, no excitements, 
 no competitions: no 
 coarse stimulus has in- 
 truded into its life. The 
 motto of the place and 
 the expression of its re- 
 pose has been from the 
 beginning, "Surtout 
 point de zele." 
 
 Hence one feels more 
 than one sees in the old 
 town. Its wide grass- 
 bordered streets al- 
 most lawns in them- 
 selves its immemorial 
 elms, which arch above 
 the silent walks, its 
 glimpses of the wide 
 majestic river, the har- 
 bor and Sound, with 
 the blue shores of Long 
 Island on the far horizon, all have as 
 many suggestions to the mind and the 
 imagination as to the senses, and the 
 happiness one gains in the place has its 
 roots in the finest perceptions. Main 
 street, canopied by a leafy dome of elms, 
 runs the entire length of the town : after 
 passing the "Upper Green" it becomes 
 no longer a village street, but a pictu- 
 resque country road, wending through 
 wooded nooks and along the banks of the 
 Housatonic into the shadows and silence 
 of the forests. Thus on the north Strat- 
 ford merges its genuine characteristics in 
 New England hill- and river-scenery, but 
 on the south stretches a lazy length to 
 listen to the murmur of the sea. Below 
 the Neck are the broad salt -meadows, 
 scarcely above the sea-line, levelling 
 away to the horizons, through which
 
 STRA TFORD- ON- THE-SO UND. 
 
 81 
 
 wind creeks, the water level with the 
 banks at high tide, while at the ebb the 
 sides are left perpendicular, black and 
 bare. Here grows the salt -grass, dry, 
 stiff, glistening, drowned twice a day by 
 the sea and scorched by the suns, until 
 the farmers cut it and carry it home in 
 great thrifty-looking loads, which creep, 
 a monotonous procession, through the 
 quiet streets under the long shadows to- 
 ward sunset on September days. Then 
 the meadows, green before, take on mel- 
 low autumn tints warm browns, russet, 
 orange, crimson and, traversed by wan- 
 dering shadows on autumn days, these 
 wide monotonous spaces have a beauty 
 and a poetry of their own. 
 
 The chief streets of the village were 
 originally laid out sixteen rods wide : 
 each generation has encroached a little 
 on the broad stretches of greensward, 
 but they still remain of wonderful width, 
 and, played over by the shadows and 
 the sunshine which flickers through the 
 branches of the lofty trees, give an im- 
 pression of illimitable distances and mas- 
 sive repose. Stratford set out to be a city, 
 and was carefully surveyed and laid out 
 in squares ; and it is a melancholy thought 
 that instead of fulfilling its destiny, a city 
 it might have become except for the lucky 
 accident that its harbor was neither so 
 broad nor so deep as that of Bridgeport, 
 which lies a few miles westward. As a 
 city it might have been surpassed by 
 others, and the distinction of the strange 
 soft charm which now wins the eye and 
 fixes the place in the heart would have 
 been lost. 
 
 The Housatonic River widens at its 
 outlet, and makes the beautiful bay which 
 is called "the Harbor." The river de- 
 serves more than a passing word. Un- 
 til its waters near the sea they flow through 
 a picturesque mountainous region which 
 contains some of the most charming sce- 
 nery of New England. But by the time 
 it begins to feel the languid pulse of the 
 tide it spreads its waters, washing banks 
 rich in all pastoral beauties, and seeming 
 no longer a river, but an arm of the sea. 
 The apparent breadth of the bay is di- 
 minished by the low-lying sedgy banks 
 of Nell's Island, and to the east Milford 
 6 
 
 Beach runs down its long white taper fin- 
 ger, fringed with glistening shoals. Then 
 open the far horizons of the Sound, spread- 
 ing into distances of deep pure color ex- 
 cept in the farthest verges, where Long 
 Island shows, or the illimitable waste 
 merges into pale, misty opal tints. 
 
 Whatever commerce once came into 
 Stratford harbor has almost passed away, 
 and except for a few sloops and schoon- 
 ers discharging cargoes of coal, and an 
 occasional obstreperous steam-tug, it is 
 now less devoted to the larger maritime 
 enterprises than to pleasure-parties and 
 amateur fishermen. Yachts and sail- 
 boats, clean-cut sharpeys, and catama- 
 rans suggesting phantoms of a wreck, 
 chase each other up and down the bay 
 
 MEETING-HOUSE HILL, WITH ACADEMY. 
 
 on a summer's day, cross and recross, 
 tacking, jibing, careening from morning 
 till night. Then in the oyster - season a 
 brisk traffic is carried on, and the wa- 
 ters are covered with a flotilla of odd- 
 looking craft buying up loads of baby 
 oysters for bedding. 
 
 Stratford may be said to resemble a 
 happy woman, inasmuch as it has no 
 history. The original township was ten 
 miles square, and was purchased in 1639 
 by a gentleman of the name of Thomas 
 Fairchild, who came out from England 
 and was the first civil officer of the town. 
 The Indians after selling their lands re- 
 tired to their two reservations one at
 
 STRA TFORD- ON- THE-SO UND. 
 
 Golden Hill, Bridgeport, and the other 
 at Coram, on the borders of Huntington. 
 The names of some of the early settlers 
 were Judson, Wilcoxson, Hawley, Nell, 
 Welles, Birdsey, etc., all of whom had 
 large families, and whose descendants 
 
 LIGHTHOUSE POINT. 
 
 still belong to Stratford. Mr. Birdsey 
 removed here from Milford in 1649, and 
 tradition lends a sort of romance to his 
 hegira. Milford was renowned for its 
 orthodoxy, and the "Blue Laws," both 
 written and unwritten, were rigidly en- 
 forced. One of these insisted that no 
 man should kiss his wife on Sunday. 
 Mr. Birdsey, having been caught offend- 
 ing in this particular, was on Monday 
 sentenced to a certain number of lashes : 
 he escaped from the town-officers, howev- 
 er, ran to the river, swam it, and once on 
 the Stratford shore shook his fists in his 
 pursuers' faces. His wife followed him, 
 as in duty bound, and his children in- 
 creased and his grandchildren multiplied 
 until now the Birdsey pedigree is the cen- 
 tral stem of all Stratford genealogies. 
 
 Another curious story is told about one 
 of these descendants, who from his pa- 
 triarchal tendencies is generally called 
 "Grandfather Birdsey." One summer 
 more than a hundred years ago a terri- 
 ble drouth occurred, and not only all the 
 cisterns, but the very wells, ran dry, and 
 the live-stock on all the farms in the lo- 
 cality suffered for want of water. In this 
 extremity of need Grandfather Birdsey 
 went out upon his place, and, kneeling 
 down in a retired spot, prayed earnestly 
 
 for water. Rising from his knees, he 
 saw before him a tuft of green herbage, 
 which caught his eye, contrasted as it 
 was with the universal brown of the 
 parched earth. He put down his hand, 
 and, feeling the ground cool and moist 
 beneath it, took a spade and removed 
 the soil, when a spring trickled up and 
 overflowed the place. In all the centu- 
 ry since this fountain has never run dry, 
 and it is still pointed out as " Grandfather 
 Birdsey's Spring." 
 
 But to return to the infant colony. 
 Naturally, its first troubles arose from 
 schisms in the churches. Those good 
 old questions of church membership and 
 discipline, infant baptism and the sort 
 and degree of everlasting damnation for 
 the unregenerate and the backsliding, 
 arose, were discussed, and resulted in 
 separation. The chief schismatics in 
 Stratford church left the settlement and 
 colonized Woodbury. But it may as 
 well be confessed that Puritan rigors 
 never gained full sway over Stratford. 
 There was from the start a strong con- 
 servative element in the town, and no- 
 where in New England was felt more 
 early the reaction from the strifes of Con- 
 gregationalism. The first Episcopal so- 
 ciety in Connecticut colony was founded 
 in Stratford in the year 1707, and main- 
 tained a struggling existence until 1722, 
 when a mission was established. From 
 1723, Christ Church of Stratford has a 
 clear record and an important history. 
 At that time Mr. Samuel Johnson,* hav- 
 ing returned from England, where he 
 had spent a year and taken holy orders, 
 was settled as pastor, and until 1754, 
 when he became president of King's 
 (now Columbia) College in New York, 
 he gave all his powerful abilities to the 
 advancement of the parish. During his 
 long pastorate there were some lively 
 
 Born in Guilford, Connecticut, 1696; Congrega- 
 tional minister and tutor at Yale College, where he 
 became converted to Episcopacy at the same time 
 that other ministers and professors changed their 
 religious views. This event caused a great commo- 
 tion. " I suppose," said President Woolsey in an 
 historical address, " that greater alarm would scarce- 
 ly be awakened in Yale College now if the theological 
 faculty were to declare for the Church of Rome, 
 avow their belief in transubstantiation, anil pray to 
 the Virgin Mary."
 
 STRA TFORD- ON- THE-SO UND. 
 
 breezes of doctrinal and social differ- 
 ences between the rival religious bodies. 
 The Rev. Hezekiah Gold, the Congrega- 
 tional minister, was in 
 the habit of saying that 
 Dr. Johnson had never 
 been truly converted, 
 and of intimating with 
 somewhat obtrusive 
 frankness that his 
 Episcopal brother was 
 a thief and a robber of 
 churches, and that the 
 doors of his sanctuary 
 stood open to all mis- 
 chief and wickedness. 
 But these little trou- 
 bles finally righted 
 themselves, and the 
 two religious bodies 
 began to look upon 
 each other as Chris- 
 tian brethren as their 
 bells rang out togeth- 
 er. The first Congre- 
 gational bell was shrill 
 and thin in tone, while 
 the bell of the Episco- 
 pal church was deep 
 and heavy. In a later generation a 
 village wit used to say, " The Congre- 
 gational bell goes 
 
 - rig-in-al sin ! O - rig-in-al sin I O rig-in-al sinl 
 
 and the Episcopal bell goes 
 
 must all have been made of glass. The 
 organ was the first instrument of its kind 
 used in a place of public worship in Con- 
 
 Good old English roast-beef 1 Good old English roast-beef 1" 
 
 In 1743 the second Christ Church was 
 erected on the village green at the foot 
 of Meeting-house Hill, where it stood 
 until 1858. It was to this church that 
 Dr. Peters admiringly alluded, and on 
 the top of its steeple was a proud and 
 dominant cock, which has to this day 
 faced the tempest. The bell was given 
 by Dr. Johnson, and the glass for its 
 many windows by another well-wisher, 
 who, however, when he came to pay 
 the bill, is said to have expressed some 
 regrets for his over -lavish generosity, 
 declaring with irritation that the church 
 
 UP THE RIVER. 
 
 necticut, and was purchased in 1756 by 
 thirty-three persons, who " bound them- 
 selves to Mr. Gilbert Doblois of Boston, 
 merchant, in the aggregate sum of sixty 
 pounds sterling, to be paid within six years 
 in six equal payments of ten pounds ster- 
 ling per annum, without demand of in- 
 terest." 
 
 The Revolution brought fresh causes 
 of difference between the churches. The 
 Episcopal ministers, whose strength lay 
 in traditional authority, naturally took 
 the side of England. Having prayed so 
 long for "our excellent King George," 
 they found it almost impossible to leave 
 off such supplications. One of them ut- 
 tered this prayer by inadvertence after 
 the war began : then, seeing a threaten- 
 ing movement in his congregation, he 
 corrected himself, shouting frantically, 
 "O Lord, I mean George Washington!" 
 In Stratford church the old prayers were 
 cut short by an arbitrary patriot, who had 
 no notion of uttering "amen" to such 
 heresies. "My grandfather," so Captain
 
 STRA TFORD- ON- THE-SOUND. 
 
 Pulaski Benjamin has told me, "went to 
 church the Sunday after the battle of 
 Lexington, and when Mr. Kneeland (the 
 clergyman) read out the prayer for the 
 royal family, he stood up in his pew and 
 declared that no such prayers must be 
 uttered in Stratford that the name of 
 George III. was the name of the worst 
 enemy of every one in the colony. Mr. 
 Kneeland rose from his knees, shut his 
 prayer-book, raised his hand and pro- 
 nounced the benediction, and the church 
 was closed until the end of the war. . . . 
 
 " PARADISE." 
 
 We were good patriots, we were," Cap- 
 tain Benjamin went on, "but we had one 
 staunch Tory and churchman in our fam- 
 ily. After the church was closed my grand- 
 father's family used to attend Presbyte- 
 rian meeting on the hill, close by the 
 place where the academy now stands, 
 but their old dog Duke would never go 
 past the church when he followed his 
 master out on Sunday mornings. He 
 would not go to Presbyterian meeting 
 with rebels not he ! He stretched him- 
 self on the great millstone before the 
 closed church-door and waited until ser- 
 vice was over." The patriots all over 
 New England carried some rampant Pu- 
 ritanism into their treatment of the unpa- 
 triotic Episcopal ministers : they allowed 
 
 them no freedom, and would not even 
 permit them to visit parishioners with- 
 out leave from the civil authorities. Mr. 
 Kneeland, pastor of Christ Church, "thus 
 died a prisoner to the patriots in his own 
 house in Stratford, April. 17, 1777." 
 
 Stratford gave its proportion of men 
 and money to the patriot cause. Gene- 
 ral Wooster shines conspicuously among 
 the officers who belonged to the town. 
 It was more fortunate than other towns 
 and villages along the coast, which were 
 attacked and burned, but the inhabitants 
 passed through 
 plenty of terrors 
 and vicissitudes. 
 One hour of heart- 
 quake and hopeless 
 suspense still tells 
 its story : on a pane 
 of glass preserved 
 in a fine old house 
 in Elm street are 
 these words scratch- 
 ed with a diamond : 
 " Peace, hush this 
 dismal din of arms ! 
 Jan. 17, 1777." We 
 can hear the wo- 
 man's sigh all 
 through the long 
 century. 
 
 The only military 
 engagement which 
 ever took place 
 within town -limits 
 
 occurred in the war of 1812. There had 
 been for some time rumors that the Brit- 
 ish were preparing to devastate the coasts 
 of Connecticut, and when one of the en- 
 emy's men-of-war anchored off Stratford 
 lighthouse a thrill of terror ran through 
 the entire town. The authorities met, and 
 it was decided to take instant measures 
 for safety, to post a militia guard near 
 the Point, which should keep watch for 
 the invaders, detect their manoeuvres, 
 and oppose them if they attempted to 
 land. A sergeant and sixteen men were 
 selected for this dangerous task. " Not a 
 drum was heard" as the armed company 
 with great caution and secrecy proceed- 
 ed to their post, every man sworn to do 
 his duty. The shades of night never de-
 
 STRA TFORD- ON- THE-SO UND. 
 
 scended more heavily than upon this 
 band of devoted patriots, who felt that 
 not only the destinies of Stratford de- 
 pended upon their bravery, but the fate 
 of their wives and children as well. The 
 
 night was black, a driving wind tore the 
 clouds overhead, and the breakers roar- 
 ed against the lighthouse rocks. Strange 
 sounds were heard, which awoke the 
 direst consternation among the watch- 
 
 ELM STREET. 
 
 ers : unaccountable gleams were seen 
 overhead. Inspired by a belief that the 
 enemy might be at hand, the sergeant 
 valiantly crept along the sands, climbed 
 a low slope, stretched himself flat on the 
 ground, and waited. For a time all was 
 still : then all at once he saw clearly that 
 something moved. It moved again, and 
 yet again ! There could be no doubt but 
 what the British were upon them. "Scat- 
 ter, men! SCATTER !" he cried frantically 
 at the top of his voice, and his men, faith- 
 ful to the least word of their commander, 
 scattered. As daylight gradually made 
 the situation visible, the valiant warriors 
 crawled out of their various hiding-places 
 and looked each other in the face. The 
 British man-of-war was nowhere to be 
 seen : all that remained to show what 
 the dangers of their midnight encounter 
 had been were the three mullein-stalks 
 which the sergeant had seen waving in 
 the wind. The comrades swore a sacred 
 
 oath, and declared they would keep it 
 with an equal mind, that the story of the 
 night's adventure should never be told ; 
 and with that veil drawn over the secret 
 the conquering heroes returned home to 
 their breakfasts. Two hours afterward, 
 as the sergeant was chopping wood in 
 his dooryard, one of his neighbors, who 
 had not served on military duty, looked 
 over the fence, and said with a grim 
 smile, "Scatter, men! scatter!" .The 
 story was too good to keep. 
 
 These historical vicissitudes past, Strat- 
 ford settled down into a long sleep. Co- 
 lonial and religious excitements had died 
 out: the periodical excitements of politics 
 were taken mildly, as if between the ex- 
 tremes of parties might be found a mid- 
 dle ground of toleration where men might 
 dwell together. If I could but summon 
 up the old postmaster, David Brooks, as a 
 witness of the good feeling that kept him 
 in office half a century, secure in the af-
 
 86 
 
 5 TRA TFORD- ON- THE- SO UND. 
 
 fection of friend and adversary, we should 
 see that Presidential elections might be 
 robbed of half their terrors. Is there any- 
 
 BUSINESS CENTRE. 
 
 where now in the land such a post-office 
 as he kept in a little store, where the sun- 
 niest and pleasantest corner was provid- 
 ed with cushioned seats for the comfort 
 of the venerable men who " most did 
 congregate" to meet the arriving post- 
 bag ? This generation knows nothing of 
 the pleasurable excitement of having a 
 mail come in. There are nimble fingers 
 and miraculous methods now-a-days, 
 and papers and letters are whisked into 
 boxes which show one at a glance what 
 is in store. No such convenient and un- 
 dignified proceedings were possible when 
 Mr. Brooks was in power. From the mo- 
 ment his trembling old hands grasped the 
 bag and slowly inserted the key until a 
 litter of letters and papers from East and 
 West and North and South was spread 
 on the counter before him, he gradually 
 swelled with importance and solemnity. 
 His was no careless guardianship : mar- 
 vellous precautions would he take lest 
 the letters should get into wrong hands 
 when they left his own ; in fact, from the 
 
 fierceness of his look and attitude, one 
 might have supposed that he regarded 
 the claimant of a letter as an intruder 
 on his own rights. 
 Gathering the pack- 
 ets into his hand and 
 expanding his lungs 
 to their fullest, he 
 would begin ( often 
 interrupting himself 
 by truculent observa- 
 tions on bad ink and 
 bad writing) to read 
 off the names, peer- 
 ing at each super- 
 scription through his 
 heavy-bowed specta- 
 cles, holding the mis- 
 sive first at arm's 
 length, then directly 
 under his nose. The 
 happy recipient on 
 hearing his name 
 called would shout 
 "Here!" when the 
 old postmaster, after 
 indignantly survey- 
 ing the aspirant from 
 head to foot, evident- 
 ly longing to pronounce him an impostor, 
 would make a reluctant surrender. 
 
 Wealth naturally flowed into Stratford 
 through many channels, although the 
 larger industries were not pursued : 
 "stores" there were in plenty, which 
 drove a thriving, if a languid, trade. 
 One of these stores, whose extraordi- 
 nary collection of goods defied analyza- 
 tion and classification, was declared to 
 contain every salable article on the face 
 of the earth. This was made the subject 
 of a wager, and the challenger proceed- 
 ed to the store and asked its proprietor 
 if he had a pulpit! He lost his money, 
 for the shopkeeper blandly replied that 
 he happened to have a pulpit, a very 
 good pulpit indeed the old Methodist 
 pulpit ! 
 
 Stratford, like most places on the coast, 
 has had plenty of sailors and plenty of 
 captains captains of fishing-boats, cap- 
 tains of coast-schooners, captains of East 
 India ships. The captain par eminence 
 of Stratford has long been Captain Pu-
 
 STRA TFORD- ON- THE-SOUND. 
 
 laski Benjamin. Other captains of his 
 day and generation are old men, their 
 strength and prime, their ability and en- 
 ergy, wasted in long cruises, and for the 
 remainder of their lives they are obliged 
 to be contented with a chair tilted against 
 the wall at a convenient angle, and orac- 
 ular silences unless in the mood for some 
 briny old sea-story which has few listen- 
 ers and fewer believers. Captain Ben- 
 jamin, on the other hand, after crowd- 
 ing his sea-career with interest, entered 
 upon a new lease of pleasant existence 
 
 as a landsman. The Prince de Ligne 
 thought the most desirable fate was to 
 be a woman till thirty, a soldier till fif- 
 ty, and a monk the rest of one's life; 
 but our captain, improving on that, was 
 a sailor till fifty, and during the other 
 half of his life has been the most delight- 
 ful of young men. He now remains the 
 last survivor of the Dartmoor prisoners. 
 He can be eloquent concerning his long- 
 past imprisonment, and has an interest- 
 ing story to tell of the brutal massacre 
 at Dartmoor at the very time the treaty 
 
 THE LAST DARTMOOR PRISONER. 
 
 of Ghent was being signed. Afterward 
 he was in the China and Liverpool trade : 
 he carried, first or last, all sorts of pre- 
 cious cargoes, but no matter what rich 
 merchandise freighted his ships in the 
 old days, it is a matter of certainty that 
 his present sailboat, which cuts the blue 
 waters of Stratford harbor on a summer's 
 day, contains treasures yet more price- 
 less. The Adele is noted for its pretty 
 crews, and, surrounded by bright eyes, 
 rosy cheeks and girlish figures, the last 
 Dartmoor prisoner enjoys a different sort 
 of captivity. 
 
 Few lives have been so quiet and 
 blissful as to have known no break, no 
 harsh interruption of their repose. One 
 such episode gave Stratford for a time an 
 
 unenviable fame. Some of my readers 
 will call up without any effort of memory 
 the strange and mysterious history of the 
 " Stratford Knockings," which began in 
 March, 1850. One is tempted to believe 
 that the spirit of Goody Bassett, hanged 
 in 1651 for divers witchlike arts, was 
 never fairly laid, and now, after an un- 
 quiet term of one hundred and ninety- 
 nine years, returned to walk the earth. 
 Or it may be that the dust of those early 
 settlers, over whose graves the lofty trees 
 of Elm street were planted and now ex- 
 tend their leafy aisles, rose for a sort of 
 earthly j udgment-day and took possession 
 of the nearest habitation. Evil-minded or 
 angry spirits they must have been who 
 ransacked, pounded, knocked and al-
 
 88 
 
 STRA TFORD- ON- THE-SOUND. 
 
 most overturned the quiet, decorous 
 house known in later years as the Strat- 
 ford Institute. During the early period 
 of this unearthly possession the entire 
 village was convulsed with excitement 
 and lost its character for sobriety ; crowds 
 poured hither by every train ; editors, re- 
 porters, Spiritualists, sceptics explored, 
 
 HOUSE WHERE THE "STRATFORD KNOCKINGS " OCCURRED. 
 
 watched, investigated and interrogated, 
 and gave an unwelcome publicity to the 
 scandalous details. The single village 
 hackman throve amidst the universal 
 decline and fall of Stratford : so many 
 were the visitors that he was obliged to 
 set up a huge yellow omnibus, which 
 traversed the streets night and day with 
 a sign in huge capitals which made the 
 village disgrace only too legible : " Mys- 
 terious Stratford Knockings." 
 
 The "knockings" began in the house 
 of Dr. A. Phelps, who had resided in the 
 place, with his wife and children, for two 
 or three years. The day was Sunday. 
 When Dr. Phelps's family returned from 
 church they found their door hung with 
 crape, and on entering the house saw 
 signs of strange disturbance during their 
 absence, while in one of the rooms was 
 discovered a figure laid out and shroud- 
 ed for the grave. From this moment 
 the house was taken possession of by 
 the "spirits" or some other unseen agen- 
 
 cies, that continued to run riot for the 
 ensuing eight months or more. Every 
 trick, device, horror, absurdity, imperti- 
 nence ever pressed into the service of 
 ghost, hobgoblin, witch or modern "spir- 
 it " was now turned against the peace and 
 respectability of this unfortunate family. 
 There were rappings not merely rap- 
 pings, but thumpings, 
 and thumpings, too, 
 as if a giant's strength 
 were behind them ; 
 there were marvel- 
 lous noises, with re- 
 verberations like 
 thunder up and down 
 the staircases and 
 along the halls ; there 
 were apparitions, 
 strange figures in 
 strange places; there 
 were messages from 
 the unseen land of 
 the spirits, not only 
 spelled out in hard 
 knocks and vibrations 
 on headboards of 
 beds, on ceilings, 
 doors and floors, but 
 written out fairly on 
 slips of paper, which floated down from 
 the invisible like the leaves of the Cu- 
 maean Sibyl : the very vegetables from 
 the cellar on being pared and sliced 
 were found to be written over with indel- 
 ible characters. There were apparently 
 whole legions of spirits hard at work, as 
 if all the tormented souls from one of 
 Dante's lowest circles had been delivered 
 from their pain to communicate certain 
 tidinga to all who entered Dr. Phelps's 
 house, then, finding no interpreter, grew 
 angry and waged war upon the unbeliev- 
 ers who rejected them. Their ammu- 
 nition showed a dearth of all suitable 
 spiritual artillery: flat-irons, large junk 
 ink - bottles, scuttles of coals, pokers, 
 bricks, and even toilet-brushes, were the 
 weapons made use of; scissors too, since 
 one of the daily performances was cut- 
 ting into ribbons the clothes of the son 
 and heir of the house. 
 
 These things may seem incredible, 
 but they were not done in a corner, and
 
 STRA TFORD- ON- THE-SOUND. 
 
 89 
 
 the eyes of all men were turned to see 
 what would be the end of it. The un- 
 happy master of the house courted inves- 
 tigation, and for four months everything 
 was investigated and the most widely- 
 differing conclusions were reached. Elm 
 street haughty, exclusive, aristocratic 
 Elm street echoed to the tread of hun- 
 dreds who came to find some clew to 
 the strange " Stratford knockings." First 
 of all was Parson Weed, startled out of 
 his study -chair by the tidings of these 
 
 doings of the Evil One in the very midst 
 of the faithful, still wearing his gown and 
 slippers, his luminous eyes bent on space 
 as he strode indignantly forward, eager to 
 encounter and vanquish the adversary. 
 Other divines followed him, but all the 
 light of their orthodoxy could not illu- 
 minate the darkness of these manifesta- 
 tions. Some of those who came to sug- 
 gest an easy remedy for cheap and ob- 
 vious impostures remained mute, deci- 
 ding that there might be things in heav- 
 
 DINING-ROOM OF WILLIAM SAMUEL JOHNSON, ESQ. 
 
 en and earth not reached by their little 
 foot -measure of philosophy. Strange 
 things were enacted before clear-sighted 
 and reasonable men, two of whom, sit- 
 ting alone in a room with two doors 
 one opening into the hall, and the other 
 into a clothes-press heard knockings 
 on the inside of the closet-door, which 
 on opening they found to proceed from 
 vacancy : as soon as the door was again 
 closed the knockings proceeded, not only 
 with a loud noise, but so vigorously that 
 the very panels shook under their eyes. 
 Sitting before the fire, they beheld the or- 
 naments on the mantelpiece spring from 
 their places to alight unbroken on the 
 floor ; bricks started out of thin' air and 
 were hurled across the room ; pokers 
 jumped up of their own accord and went 
 crashing through the windows ; on lift- 
 
 ing a lighted candle they saw the flame 
 expand to four times its usual circumfer- 
 ence, circle round the wick, then shrink 
 and hang blue and tremulous above, and 
 finally resume its feeble flicker. These 
 sights, and a thousand others as unusual, 
 are related by the most credible witnesses 
 among outsiders. The family themselves 
 were compelled to endure personal dem- 
 onstrations of ghosts or hobgoblins, who 
 when clasped in the arms of flesh and 
 blood vanished, leaving nothing behind 
 save sheets from the domestic linen- 
 chest. 
 
 Life in Stratford was not an amuse- 
 ment to the worthy Dr. Phelps. Sur- 
 rounded apparently by a band of hos- 
 tile forces which threatened flesh and 
 blood, haunted, waylaid and pursued by 
 spectres, girt about by a sea of mystery
 
 9 o 
 
 STRA TFORD- ON- THE-SOUND. 
 
 which separated him from his fellow- 
 creatures, and, worse than all, forced to 
 have his misfortunes become a show, 
 a. coarse stimulus for sensationalists, he 
 saw no resource but to flee from his trou- 
 bles, and he accordingly left the place. 
 The spirits went with him, or back to their 
 forgotten God's Acre, or into the witch's 
 unmarked burial-place. There are those 
 who still shake their heads over the Strat- 
 
 ford knockings, maintaining that they 
 were never in any degree explained, 
 while others find them as easy of solu- 
 tion as the jokes in a last year's almanac. 
 Stratford has never been provincial in 
 its manners, fashions or modes. Certain 
 traits of elegance, of agreeable manners, 
 of the best fashions of doing things, it 
 may as well be conceded without ques- 
 tion, belonged to the place from the be- 
 ginning. Dr. Peters a hundred years ago 
 made special mention of this, and as- 
 cribed it to the constant attrition with 
 people from the mother-country and so- 
 journers from the islands and Southern 
 sections. Every place has its characteris- 
 tic people, and Stratford of course has had 
 its generations of men and women whose 
 
 characteristics stand out, or seem to stand 
 out, more strongly marked in individual- 
 ity than those of to-day. Some of the 
 names which still testify to the long-con- 
 tinued prosperity of the place Ben- 
 jamin, Nicoll, Poore, Walker, Tomlin- 
 son, Gorham, Thompson, Wetmore, 
 Plant, Judson, Shelton, Wheeler, Booth 
 seem to be more largely represented 
 in the quiet graveyards which lie one on 
 the right and the oth- 
 er on the left than in 
 the homes of the liv- 
 ing. Among the fam- 
 ilies whose genealo- 
 gies enrich the history 
 of Stratford, the John- 
 sons are pre-eminent. 
 Some suggestion of Dr. 
 Samuel Johnson's use- 
 ful career has already 
 been given. After re- 
 tiring from the pres- 
 idency of King's Col- 
 lege he ended his days 
 quietly in this place in 
 1772. His son, Wil- 
 liam Samuel Johnson, 
 was a man of perhaps 
 more brilliant abilities, 
 and his life embraced 
 the widest range of 
 opportunities for dis- 
 tinction and culture : 
 his profession was 
 the law, and he held 
 everywhere high places of honor and 
 trust. In 1766 he was appointed agent 
 to England, and resided there for five 
 years: later in life he was one of the 
 ratifiers of the Constitution of the United 
 States, was sent Senator to Washington, 
 and succeeded his father as president of 
 Columbia College. The Johnson connec- 
 tion is interesting from the fact of its in- 
 cluding many eminent presidents of col- 
 leges : besides Dr. Johnson and his son 
 may be mentioned Presidents Jonathan 
 Edwards, first and second, Rev. Aaron 
 Burr, Timothy Dwight, Sereno Dwight, 
 Theodorus Dwight Woolsey and Daniel 
 C. Gilman. The house of the present Wil- 
 liam Samuel Johnson, the great-grand- 
 son of Dr. Samuel Johnson, is full of
 
 STRA 7'FORD- ON- THE-SO UND. 
 
 9 1 
 
 memorials of the vanished generations. 
 The dining-room is hung with family 
 portraits, and above the fireplace may 
 be seen the refined, beautiful face of 
 Jonathan Edwards, which little suggests 
 his character as a fiery zealot and rigid 
 doctrinaire. The autograph letters pre- 
 served in the family archives are of ster- 
 
 ling value and interest, and show fre- 
 quent intercourse with many of the lead- 
 ing minds of the eighteenth century. Dr. 
 Johnson and Bishop Berkeley were life- 
 long correspondents, and many of the 
 bishop's theories were discussed between 
 them : Dr. Franklin is also well repre- 
 sented by letters, and there is at least 
 
 JU 
 
 "F"'Uuxr''v; 
 
 ' "'V* Vj**<i A*C/' 
 
 '< ^'^ 
 
 **. . * 
 
 " WHAT IS ONE AMONG SO MANY ? 
 
 one from the pen of Dr. Samuel John- 
 son the lexicographer. He met his name- 
 sake in London, and the acquaintance 
 was sufficiently intimate and cordial to 
 occasion the presentation of a splendid 
 folio copy of the famous Dictionary and 
 also a portrait of himself ; both of which 
 are still preserved. The following letter 
 hangs framed against the wall of the 
 Johnsons' library : 
 
 " To DR. JOHNSON : SIR, Of all those 
 whom the various accidents of life have 
 brought within my notice, there is scarce 
 any one whose acquaintance I have more 
 desired to cultivate than yours. I can- 
 not indeed charge you with neglecting 
 me, yet our mutual inclination could 
 
 scarce gratify itself with opportunities; 
 the current of the day always bore us 
 away from one another, and now the 
 Atlantic is between us. 
 
 " Whether you carried away an im- 
 pression of me as pleasing as that 
 which you left me of yourself, I know 
 not: if you did, you have not forgot- 
 ten me, and will be glad that I do not 
 forget you. Merely to be remembered 
 is indeed a barren pleasure, but it is 
 one of the pleasures which is more 
 sensibly felt as human nature is more 
 exalted. 
 
 " To make you wish that I should have 
 you in my mind, I would be glad to tell 
 you something which you do not know, 
 but all public affairs are printed ; and as
 
 9 2 
 
 STRA TFORD- ON- THE-SO UND. 
 
 you and I had no common friends, I can 
 tell you no private history. 
 
 " The Government I think grows strong- 
 er, but I am afraid the next general elec- 
 
 tion will be a time of uncommon turbu- 
 lence, violence and outrage. 
 
 " Of Literature no great product has 
 appeared, or is expected ; the attention 
 
 TOO LITTLE ROMEO. 
 
 of the people has for some years been 
 otherwise employed. 
 
 " I was told two days ago of a design 
 which must excite some curiosity. Two 
 ships are in preparation, which are un- 
 der the command of Captain Constan- 
 tine Phipps, to explore the Northern 
 ocean, not to seek the North-east or the 
 North-west passage, but to sail directly 
 north as near the pole as they can go. 
 They hope to find an open ocean, but I 
 suspect it is one mass of perpetual con- 
 gelation. I do not much wish well to dis- 
 coveries, for I am always afraid they will 
 end in conquest and robbery. 
 
 " I have been out of order this winter, 
 but am grown better. Can I ever hope 
 
 to see you again, or must I always be 
 content to tell you that in another hemi- 
 sphere, 
 
 " I am, Sir, your most humble servant, 
 " SAMUEL JOHNSON ? 
 
 " JOHNSON'S COURT, Fleet street, London, \ 
 March 4, 1773." / 
 
 The old Johnson house was removed 
 a few years ago, much to the regret of 
 all lovers of old colonial mansions curi- 
 ous in tiles and carved work. The house 
 at present occupied by the family dates 
 from 1799. The Nicoll place, which dates 
 from the first half of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury, has fallen into the hands of lineal 
 descendants of Jonathan Edwards, and 
 the rooms are hung with family por-
 
 STRA 7^FOJ?D- ON- THE- SO UND. 
 
 93 
 
 traits, among which are those of Aaron 
 Burr and his beautiful but most ill-fated 
 daughter, Theodosia. Opposite Colonel 
 Burr, confronting his enemy unto death, 
 is a rare and valuable statuette of Alex- 
 ander Hamilton. It is a strange con- 
 junction for the quiet parlor in the old 
 house : one might suspect that Colonel 
 Burr, with his penetrating eyes, straight, 
 clear features and subtle indrawn smile, 
 must blush a little under that pale gaze, 
 and that sometimes in ghostly dawns the 
 two must unclose their 
 lips and mutter to each 
 other about the old 
 insults and the old 
 wrongs. 
 
 This house stands on 
 Elm street, which is a 
 little more beautiful, 
 a little more choice, 
 than any other of Strat- 
 ford streets, with its 
 three rows of trees 
 which canopy a para- 
 dise of emerald-enam- 
 elled lawns pleasant 
 places all played over 
 by the changing sun- 
 light of summer days. 
 Elm street might well 
 be made a theme by 
 itself; and if we could 
 make the pageantry 
 of its bygone festivals 
 reappear and people 
 the long colonnades 
 with all the figures 
 
 min, Esq., whose stately house and pleas- 
 ant grounds are associated with the most 
 delightful of all Stratford hospitalities. 
 Mention might be made of other houses 
 that of John C. Bach, rich in works of art 
 and bric-a-brac, and that of Mrs. Judson, 
 containing beautiful and historical pieces 
 of furniture dating back to Elizabethan 
 times. We might go on enumerating 
 special features of interest, including 
 Mr. Hubbell's "model farm," which has 
 raised the standard of all the farmers 
 
 ON THE PIAZZA" (HOUSE OF FREDERICK A. BENJAMIN, ESQ.). 
 
 which have paced up and down the 
 pretty girls, the lovers arm in arm, riders 
 on white horses, groups of party-goers 
 and croquet - players and thus mirror 
 the shadows of the old life, plenty of ra- 
 diance would be thrown over Stratford, 
 and all its brilliant points be brought 
 out in bold relief. 
 
 On Elm street stands the house of Miss 
 E. L. Linsley, which contains the collec- 
 tion of her father, James H. Linsley, the 
 most noted of Connecticut naturalists; 
 and the residence of Alfred Beach, of the 
 Scientific American, is opposite. One of 
 the most attractive and striking places in 
 the town belongs to Frederick A. Benja- 
 
 in two counties, and changed the old- 
 fashioned breed of red cows into the 
 beautiful-eyed Alderneys. 
 
 But the people not the houses, be 
 they costly and palatial as some of them 
 are are what give the place its tone and 
 render it peculiarly habitable. The gates 
 swing wide in Stratford ; the hostesses are 
 charming ; no cares intrude ; the chance 
 of an interchange of intellectual sym- 
 pathies is constant; smiles and warm 
 grasps of the hand invite a countless rep- 
 etition of friendly visitings. It is a sin- 
 cere, unartificial, and at the same time 
 a highly-civilized, life one may lead in 
 Stratford. It has its amusements, of
 
 94 
 
 5 TRA TFORD- ON- THE-SO UND. 
 
 course, on sea and shore and under the 
 widespread foliage. Croquet seemed to 
 have been by a fine fitness created for the 
 special needs of Stratford life, and who- 
 ever has played it there under the wil- 
 lows and elms has found his ideal of 
 what an out-of-doors diversion may be- 
 come fully answered : the game is prop- 
 erly played nowhere else. Besides cro- 
 quet there is archery, while another form 
 of entertainment unique in pleasantness 
 and peculiar to the place is "tea on the 
 beach," when a crowd of happy people 
 drive through the pleasant lanes to the 
 shore of Long Beach, and eat supper with 
 the accompaniment of the music of the 
 sad sea-waves. 
 
 Charming women are of course the 
 natural product of a mellow civilization 
 like that of Stratford : the town has the 
 reputation of having "turned out more 
 brilliant women than any place between 
 New York and Boston." It has some- 
 times been suggested that here, as else- 
 where, these lovely creatures have not 
 their full deserts, and that there is plen- 
 ty of balcony, but very little Romeo. 
 But that is a crying evil in all places 
 outside the great marts of the world, and 
 Eve lives alone in many a Paradise, 
 while Adam makes money in purgatory. 
 But young men are not needed to add 
 picturesqueness to the charming glimpses 
 which pique and flatter the eye on every 
 hand of girls loitering along the broad 
 walks beneath the elms, driving in low 
 phaetons, grouping on piazzas or under 
 the willows. The sole use of the mascu- 
 line sex is naturally to offer incense, and 
 to furnish enough piquancy to the situa- 
 tion to give food for gossip ; and so much 
 may be safely counted upon anywhere 
 outside of a nunnery. Whole genera- 
 tions of belles, married with the eclat of 
 a "Stratford wedding," attest the fact that 
 men come and go and lay their hearts at 
 
 the feet of the pretty girls who begin by 
 complaining of a lack of Romeos. 
 
 True Stratforders are of two classes : 
 the first are those intimately connected 
 with the place by associations and tra- 
 ditions, whose ancestors settled here and 
 gave their earthly substance to the soil, 
 so that the very dust became sacred to 
 the generations which followed in the 
 footsteps of these forefathers. The sec- 
 ond are those who are Stratforders by 
 instinct by destiny, as it were : not hav- 
 ing known Stratford, they might have 
 been happy living and dying in some 
 less favored spot of the wide earth ; hav- 
 ing seen it, it becomes to them a posses- 
 sion, it may be if not, then a hope, a 
 dream of the future. These true Strat- 
 forders and we want no others love 
 the place, not for its advantages, not for 
 its desirability as a place of residence, 
 not wholly for its beauty, but for the 
 tone, the feeling, which is at the begin- 
 ning definitely struck and gives it for 
 ever after a distinct place in their con- 
 sciousness. They may confess a certain 
 stagnation, a lack of turbulent life ; they 
 may be more diverted in localities where 
 events move on with a livelier tread and 
 the play of the passions is more exciting 
 and adventure more dramatic ; they may 
 go away and live for a time, fancying 
 from idle whim or from necessity that 
 transplantation from the mother soil 
 suits them ; but the tyranny of filial sen- 
 timent holds them in thrall ; they feel 
 an infinite home-sickness : they return 
 they must return drawn back by invis- 
 ible leading - strings. This instinct is 
 planted deep in all true Stratforders, 
 and among the village worthies gossip- 
 ing at the corner stores no more severe 
 animadversion can be passed upon those 
 transient families who remain for a sea- 
 son or two, then return no more, than 
 "They never took to Stratford."
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 T 
 
 I. 
 
 H E Kleiner Fritz and Hattie of Louisville and the Betsy D. of 
 Cincinnati made the canoe-fleet which the Northern Pacific Rail- 
 way shunted out upon its station-platform at Detroit City, Minnesota, 
 in the early gray of last July's first Thursday. We had bargained by 
 post with Beaulieu, a shrewd, wiry, reckless French half-breed, for 
 transportation of ourselves, canoes, equipment and provisions to 
 Itasca Lake, or to a point upon the Mississippi five miles be- 
 low the lake, as we might elect. His assurance 
 was that four days and forty-one dollars would 
 carry us to our first objective point. His helpers 
 were a lively young half-breed, son-in-law of the 
 murdered chief Hole -in -the -Day, another big 
 mongrel, fat, plodding and reticent, and a young 
 Indian who could speak a few English words, but 
 was destitute of ideas in either English or Chip- 
 pewa. Their motive -power was grazing on the 
 open prairie back of the ragged village. The 
 Reservation Indian, denied liq- 
 uor at home, reckons upon a trip 
 out of bounds as fair opportunity 
 for a spree, so that catching and 
 harnessing the ponies and cattle 
 was a tedious task that covered 
 the hours- from breakfast well 
 on toward noon ; but at last the 
 Hattie was firmly imbedded in 
 prairie - grass and soft luggage 
 upon one wagon, the Fritz and 
 the Betsy were bound together 
 upon a second, and the men of 
 the fleet, with the stores, filled 
 the third. 
 
 From Detroit City to Itasca 
 Lake is about forty miles in a 
 
 straight line, but no practicable way thither approximates to a direct line, and he 
 who would see the beautiful lake and the head of the great river must travel for 
 seven or eight days and endure many hardships. Sixty miles were to be done on 
 wheels. The first day's travel was to White Earth Agency, twenty-two miles across 
 a rolling prairie which steadily rises toward its climax in the Hauteur des Terres. 
 The soil is of rare fertility, and the unbounded fields were clothed in the greenest 
 of green, flecked with wild flowers of every hue in luxuriant profusion. Clumps of 
 trees gave variety to the broad and beautiful view, while scores of clear little lakes 
 gemmed the prairie as with great drops of molten silver. The eye swept an horizon 
 of twenty miles, and once twenty leagues were within our visual grasp. The plod- 
 ding fat man went his way in a dignified walk, but the passenger vehicle and that 
 which bore the other boats, travelling by order of Beaulieu, who had in him more 
 Detroit whiskey than ordinary discretion, came more than half the way at a terrible 
 gait, spite of our rembnstrances and greatly to our trepidation. Examination showed 
 
 95
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 that the Betsy was racked and pounded 
 beyond all excuse, while the poor Fritz 
 revealed a hole in its graceful side like 
 that made by a six-pound cannon-shot 
 a sad beginning for so long a cruise. 
 Thence we went on slowly to the agency, 
 where our first task was to find a clever 
 Vermont Yankee reputed as the man to 
 repair the unwelcome and inexcusable 
 damage. The ingenious and genial fel- 
 low worked through the hot Fourth of 
 July, while we mingled with the Indians 
 and took part in their celebration, the first 
 ever conducted entirely by themselves. 
 
 White Earth Agency is the seat of gov- 
 ernment of three reservations which em- 
 brace the homes of all the Chippewas. 
 White Earth Reservation is thirty -six 
 miles square, and is peopled by near- 
 ly seventeen hundred Indians and half- 
 breeds. These were formerly gathered 
 upon Crow Wing River, near Brainerd, 
 where they existed in drunkenness, bar- 
 barism and destitution. In 1868 they 
 were removed here, and the institutions 
 of Christian civilization were introduced. 
 They live in comfortable cabins and bark 
 lodges. Tlie agent, Major C. A. Ruffee, 
 is a gentleman of capacity and integrity. 
 Using his authority well and wisely, he 
 is a king throughout his dominion of 
 thirteen hundred square miles. His hap- 
 py blending of civil and military govern- 
 ment gives satisfaction to all who are well 
 disposed. The Chippewas deal kindly 
 among themselves, and have no quar- 
 rels with the whites. They have a well- 
 arranged police system, with a chief, lieu- 
 tenants and sergeants, embracing sixteen 
 men in all, and directly responsible to the 
 agent. No liquor is allowed on the res- 
 ervation. They have no pilfering, and 
 the few locks and bolts are rarely need- 
 ed. In case of trespass or disagreement 
 the parties come or are summoned before 
 the agent, who examines the case on its 
 merits, weighs the facts and the equities, 
 decides ; and there the quarrel ends. 
 
 The seat of the agency is an orderless 
 village gathered about a green -shored 
 little lake, and includes the office of the 
 agent, the post-office, a warehouse for sup- 
 plies, a meat-shop, two trading-stores and 
 an untidy and comfortless hotel. Near by 
 
 is the neat cottage of the agent, a large 
 and comely boarding-school, an indus- 
 trial school, and the residences of the 
 chief clerk and of the head-farmer, who 
 teaches and aids the Indians in practical 
 farming. Not far away to the south is 
 the Roman Catholic church ; a mile to 
 the north is the hospital, a large and 
 cheerful building; and near the hospi- 
 tal are the tasteful Protestant Episcopal 
 chapel and the rectory of the Rev. Mr. 
 Gilfillan, who for fourteen years has wor- 
 thily occupied a parish coextensive with 
 the Chippewa Nation. The true solution 
 of the Indian question is being worked 
 out at White Earth in results that augur 
 well for the future. Each child may se- 
 cure education, and the minds and morals 
 of all ages are cared for. Their churches 
 are well attended and their schools have 
 outgrown present accommodations. Their 
 religious services and schools are con- 
 ducted in their own language. They 
 have an educated Indian clergyman 
 who can scarcely speak English, while 
 Mr. Gilfillan speaks the Chippewa as flu- 
 ently as his mother-tongue. They have 
 few quarrels, no thieving, no drunken- 
 ness, no abject poverty. They are not 
 more perfect than others of human kind, 
 but according to their light and sphere 
 they are as good as a similar average 
 of whites anywhere. The wise purpose 
 is to make them kind, moral, educated 
 and industrious Indians, not make-be- 
 lieve white men, and the work is doing 
 and promising well in sincere and ca- 
 pable hands. 
 
 The Indian Fourth-of-July celebration 
 took place in an open, treeless prairie. 
 The festivities centred in a series of races 
 run in pairs by the small and wiry Indian 
 ponies over a curved, mowed and rolled 
 half-mile course. Nearly all the young 
 men were betters, in stakes of from twen- 
 ty-five cents to ten dollars. There were 
 no pools, but hard running, straight bet- 
 ting and square paying. The chief of 
 police was the president of the course. 
 All were in good-humor. There was no 
 liquor, neither was there a harsh word 
 or a blow among the five hundred. Af- 
 ter the races eatables, tea, coffee and ice- 
 water were enjoyed with laughter and
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 97 
 
 chat. In the evening we cruisers gave a 
 show of rockets and Roman candles, to 
 the great delight of the Indians, and the 
 day closed with a dance in the large 
 dining-hall of the boarding-school. 
 
 Our damaged boats repaired and prep- 
 arations completed for three weeks' ab- 
 sence from civilization, we set out near 
 mid -day of Saturday for the march to 
 Wild Rice River, eighteen miles. Our 
 way lay among the cabins, lodges and 
 farms of the Chippewas, over a billowy, 
 
 green immensity bordered on the east 
 by the lines of the Hauteur des Terres, 
 which shut us from the Mississippi Val- 
 ley, and horizoned on the west by the 
 slopes beyond the famed Red River of 
 the North. Our day's journey termi- 
 nated, in a driving rainstorm, on the 
 banks of Wild Rice River, where are a 
 trading-store, the cabin of the trader and 
 a neat chapel of the Protestant Episco- 
 pal mission. Our habitation for the night 
 was a dark, muddy, odorous storehouse, in 
 
 ACROSS THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 whose nether apartment we munched a 
 frugal supper, then climbed a ladder to 
 beds upon the bare floor between stacks 
 of snake -root, which had accumulated 
 from barterings with the Indians. Dur- 
 ing the night the rainstorm grew to a 
 gale which rocked our night's home like 
 a ship at sea to the music of heaven's 
 grand diapasons. Sunday morning, im- 
 pelled by the expense of our large ret- 
 inue and the cheerlessness of our refuge, 
 we pushed on for the foot of Wild Rice 
 Lake, twenty miles distant over prairies 
 and through forests. Two miles out we 
 were overtaken by another fierce storm, 
 which drove us to the shelter of the last 
 human habitation, save two others near 
 by, that we should see for three weeks. 
 The broad, sweeping bow of the black 
 cloud, the peculiar detonations of thun- 
 der in that clear atmosphere, the rush 
 7 
 
 of wind, rain and hail, unhindered by 
 the treeless and trackless moor, were 
 lessons of God's majesty and power more 
 impressive than cathedral mass or prayer 
 and song and psalm of men. Out of the 
 storm's first onset we rushed unasked into 
 the hut of an Indian family, and surprised 
 a pair of squaws and a six-months' pap- 
 poose squatting on a dirty and rain-pool- 
 ed floor in almost total darkness. In an 
 hour the storm had gone its eastward 
 way, the sun shone out, and we resumed 
 our trail among spruces, pines, oaks and 
 elms to the foot of the lake, where we 
 were to dismiss our prairie-schooners. 
 Monday, with the early sun, we left teams 
 and drivers, to push on by lakes, up riv- 
 ers and through the pathless wilderness 
 beyond all roads and habitations. Our 
 party was reduced to the barest needs for 
 the severe work before us. Besides our
 
 9 8 
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 three selves we had a corps of five In- 
 dians as guides and packers,* each of 
 whom was a character, and all bore 
 themselves through four days of severe 
 work honestly, cheerfully and helpfully. 
 They were Henry St. Clair, a half-breed, 
 our interpreter, to whom we could only 
 address measured monosyllables with 
 any hope of imparting ideas, but always 
 faithful, frank and wise ; Kewashaw- 
 konce, the guide, a man of push and 
 a genuine wag ; Kawaybawgo, a huge 
 hunter, whose old long shot-gun has 
 banged over almost every acre of these 
 wilds ; Metagooe, a sleepy, thick-headed 
 fellow; and Waisonbekton, young and 
 active, always ready for work or burden 
 and constantly alert for new and inter- 
 esting things in Nature. 
 
 At the foot of Wild Rice Lake we pre- 
 pared our canoes for voyaging, and be- 
 gan our long paddle toward the source 
 of the Mississippi, whence we were to de- 
 scend to civilization. A brief description 
 of our little ships and equipment will help 
 to a better understanding of our cruise. 
 Each voyager had a Rob Roy canoe, 
 slightly improved as to model and built 
 upon the incomparable plan of Mr. Rush- 
 ton of Canton, New York. The canoes 
 are fourteen feet long, ten and a half 
 inches deep and twenty -seven inches 
 wide, decked over except a man - hole 
 sixteen by about thirty -six inches, and 
 weighing, with the mast and lug sail, 
 from fifty to fifty-six pounds. The pad- 
 dle is eight feet long, bladed at each end, 
 grasped in the middle, and drives the 
 canoe by strokes alternating on each 
 side. The traveller sits flat upon the 
 boat's floor, facing the bow. The ca- 
 nfte is* not only a vehicle, but furnishes a 
 dry and secure bed for sleeping at night, 
 and, with its rubber apron, is a refuge from 
 rain and storm. Each boat was equip- 
 ped with an air -pillow, rubber blanket, 
 rubber poncho, woollen blankets, rubber 
 navy-bag and haversack. The general 
 outfit represented a fine double shot-gun, 
 a small and effective rifle, a revolver, fish- 
 ing-tackle for each man, compass, ane- 
 roid barometer, thermometer, folding 
 stove, stew-pans in nests, frying-pan, 
 broiler, table-ware, and provisions for 
 
 three weeks based upon the army ration, 
 with dried fruits, condensed milk, brandy, 
 medicines, etc., purchased at St. Paul. 
 
 Our stores and equipment suitably di- 
 vided between the canoes, we paddled 
 up through the outlet and into the lake, 
 followed by Metagooe and Waisonbek- 
 ton in a large birch-bark canoe bearing 
 the provisions and camp-supplies of the 
 Indians, while their companions walked 
 across the country. 
 
 Wild Rice Lake is about one mile by 
 five miles in extent. It is named from 
 the wild rice which grows up from its 
 shallow depths over almost its whole ex- 
 tent. Each autumn hundreds of Indians 
 gather upon its shores in tents and lodges 
 to secure the crop. Two squaws pass 
 slowly through the thick rice in a birch 
 canoe, one paddling at the stern and the 
 other at the bow, drawing the ripe rice 
 over the gunwale and with a club flail- 
 ing the grain out of the straw into the 
 boat. There and thus every family upon 
 the reservation may secure an important 
 part of the winter's provisions. 
 
 Through and over this green and pro- 
 ductive sea we paddled about four miles 
 to the mouth of Wild Rice River, which 
 flows out of Upper Wild Rice Lake, then 
 up the narrow, deep and crooked river. 
 At our noon rendezvous Kawaybawgo 
 and his foot-companions came in with a 
 fine deer, the victim of his old but effect- 
 ive gun. In the early afternoon our prog- 
 ress became slow and excessively weary- 
 ing from the shallowing of the river and 
 its wonderful crookedness. The current 
 ran like a mill-race around hundreds of 
 short turns, and had its own exaspera- 
 ting way upon our keels. Finally, we 
 were obliged to wade and drag the ca- 
 noes after us in water varying between 
 ankle- and waist-deep. A few hours of 
 this wore us all out, and we called a halt 
 and camp, utterly exhausted, with not 
 more than twelve miles to the credit of 
 the hard day's work. The Betsy D.'s 
 skipper rolled over dead - beaten and 
 sick ; the Hattie's captain floundered up 
 into the deep grass, incapable of further 
 effort; while he of the Kleiner Fritz, 
 scarcely better off, prescribed camphor 
 and black coffee for the one and cherry
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 99 
 
 brandy for the other, discreetly mixing 
 the prescription for himself. Medication, 
 an hour's rest and juicy rashers of broiled 
 venison from the Indians' generous store 
 soon brought the expedition to its wonted 
 cheer and vigor. 
 
 Supper over, we filled the pipes of the 
 Indians with fine tobacco and asked for 
 
 a council. We all sat around a bright 
 fire, and soon effected a bargain with the 
 Indians to drag our canoes on up the lit- 
 tle river, leaving us to walk across the 
 country with the guide. Early the fol- 
 lowing morning we started, four of our 
 party with the canoes, and we on foot 
 with Kewashawkonce. The guide was 
 
 TAKING WATER, WILD RICE LAKE. 
 
 pantomimed by our fat man for a con- 
 servative pace becoming the hot morn- 
 ing and the difficult route. Ke, as we 
 abbreviated him, strode into an unbro- 
 ken forest, grown with dense underbrush, 
 strewn with fallen trees at almost every 
 step, diversified by swamps and thickets 
 through which he beat his way by main 
 strength, and now and then traversed by 
 rivers all streams are rivers there into 
 which he plunged with never an interro- 
 gation-mark, and so on briskly, up hill 
 and down, till, with three miles of walk- 
 ing, wading, climbing and struggling, we 
 were brought to bay, tired out. Half an 
 hour's rest and some refreshing wild straw- 
 
 berries prepared us for such another stage. 
 Then an hour more of this terrible strain 
 made us drop again for rest. Another 
 hour, and before noon, hot and jaded, 
 we came out upon a low bluff overhang- 
 ing the river, and stopped for lunch. The 
 guide, apparently fresh and unwearied, 
 cut a sheet of birch bark for tinder, lit 
 a fire as defence against mosquitos, and 
 in sixty seconds was snoring. We were 
 not slow in following his example, and 
 the sun was dropping over into the west 
 when we awoke. The guide examined 
 the river, and informed us that our wa- 
 ding section was yet below. Standing 
 in mid-stream drinking from his hands,
 
 IOO 
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 he saw a fine pickerel's graceful move- 
 ments a rod away, reached out for a half- 
 sunken bit of a tree's branch, plunged it 
 dexterously at the fish, struck it fairly in 
 the back, and brought it up to us with a 
 satisfied grunt. We lounged the after- 
 noon away, and at six o'clock Metagooe 
 came wearily to our camp with the Fritz 
 at his heels. Half an hour later his com- 
 rades came with the other Rob Roys, 
 their camp-traps loaded upon the decks 
 
 and upon the interpreter's back. Our 
 inquiry as to what had become of their 
 birch canoe brought from Henry, as he 
 dropped his pack, the sententious answer, 
 " Busted." Over the evening's pipes and 
 camp-fire, less than eight miles of actual 
 distance accomplished, we resolved to 
 abandon the shallow river and to port- 
 age directly to Upper Wild Rice Lake. 
 The skipper of the Betsy proposed for 
 the three of us a joint bed : Cincinnati 
 
 
 MINNESOTA MOSQUITOS. 
 
 feet have a troublesome time under a Rob 
 Roy's low deck. We assented, stretched 
 our rubber blankets, spread our woollens, 
 adjusted the Betsy's long mosquito-bar 
 and crawled carefully under it in expec- 
 tation of a glorious sleep under the stars 
 and the pines ; but the dreams of the 
 Hattie's captain, the trombonings of the 
 Betsy's nose, the tossings of the Fritz 
 and the savage industry of the mosquitos 
 drove anything but troubled sleep from 
 
 our eyelids, and we welcomed the early 
 "Ho! ho! ho!" and improvised gong 
 of the irrepressible Kawaybawgo. 
 
 Before we had done with our coffee, 
 venison and slap-jacks the Indians had 
 made yokes for carrying the canoes on 
 their heads and shoulders, and had re- 
 duced the camp to packs. Soon we were 
 off upon the first pose of a regular In- 
 dian portage. Each of three Indians had 
 upon his shoulders one of the canoes.
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 his head within its hot and darkening 
 sides, its bow pointing forward high in the 
 air and its stern hanging low behind his 
 heels. The other two squatted upon heel 
 and toe, drew the broad strap of their 
 carrying-thongs over their foreheads, and 
 with a plunge and a grunt sprang to their 
 feet, each with a great hump of six score 
 pounds. Then we plunged, in Indian 
 file, into a trackless forest, and jogtrotted 
 our way for three miles, when in a clump 
 of pines, without a word or a signal, down 
 came the boats and the 
 packs. Three of the 
 splendid fellows loosed 
 their pack - thongs and 
 took their rest in tramp- 
 ing back unloaded to 
 camp for what had been 
 left. The others, with 
 us, rested a few mo- 
 ments : then we pushed 
 on till two miles brought 
 us out upon the low, 
 j tingled shore of a beau- 
 tiful lake about one mile 
 by two in extent. The 
 guide, without a word, 
 laid down his load, but 
 not his clothes, and with 
 a swift rush sprang far 
 out into the lake, swam 
 up and down, splashing, 
 shouting and laughing, 
 came dripping to shore, 
 lit his smudge -fire, lay 
 down in a sunny place, 
 snored an hour, awoke 
 dry and vigorous, and 
 with awhoop he and Wai- 
 sonbekton dashed into 
 the woods to go back for 
 their share of the luggage left behind. 
 While they were gone we enjoyed our 
 lunch and gave a name to the lovely lake 
 which had rippled so long, far away from 
 the haunts of men, without identity. We 
 christened it Rob Roy Lake, in honor of 
 our fleet. It lies half a mile to the south- 
 west of Upper Wild Rice Lake, into which 
 its waters flow, and is set down on Col- 
 ton's sectional map in the township range 
 numbered thirty-seven. Our entire party 
 reunited, we canoeists paddled across to 
 
 the lake's outlet, a narrow, miry stream 
 which loses itself in a swamp, and that 
 in turn merges into the Upper Wild Rice 
 Lake. We paddled and poled down to 
 the end of the little river, and came to 
 a dead stand in the matted roots of the 
 swamp-grass : then waded waist-deep in 
 the mire and slime, each dragging his 
 canoe with the aid of an Indian, until we 
 came out upon the open water. Thence 
 a paddle of two miles along the coast 
 brought us to another little stream flow- 
 
 THE MISSISSIPPI AT LAST ! 
 
 ing into the lake. As we came to its 
 mouth Kawaybawgo was feasting upon 
 a duck he had killed and broiled, of which 
 he offered me a portion with a smile and 
 interrogative grunt which seemed to com- 
 passionate my wet, weary and forlorn ap- 
 pearance. A splendid pike, two feet long, 
 came gracefully out of the stream and 
 hung motionless in the clear water. I 
 pointed him out to the Indian and the 
 Hattie's captain, both of whom were 
 standing near him. At the instant their
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 eyes fell upon him he moved: then, as 
 they started for him, he darted like a 
 flash for deep water, pursued by the two 
 men at the top of their speed through a 
 sheet of water six inches deep for nearly 
 a hundred feet out. It was a fair race, 
 and the six-feet - three Indian made a 
 splendid spurt, but the pike won. 
 
 The stream bore us upward to the float- 
 ing bog out of which it flowed. We drew 
 the canoes out upon a meadow which un- 
 dulated in graceful billows at our every 
 movement. A step would shake all the 
 surface for a rod about us, while our com- 
 bined tread sent waves of grassy earth in 
 every direction. A sudden leap so shook 
 the cup of cold coffee sitting by one of the 
 Indians, six or seven yards away, that 
 the liquid spilled over the cup's edge. 
 The whole meadow, solid to the eye, is 
 but one of those monster sponges that 
 hold in abeyance waters which other- 
 wise would sweep like a flood down the 
 great rivers/ Beyond this billowy field 
 we came to the open water of another 
 unnamed lake, about one mile long, 
 fringed about with green pines, to which 
 we gave the name of Longworth, in hon- 
 or of Cincinnati's distinguished judge, and 
 to a lovely little green island thickly 
 grown with trees we gave the name of 
 another canoeist left behind, Mr. Emp- 
 son of Louisville. At the head of Long- 
 worth Lake, and in plain view of Emp- 
 son Island, within a space cleared out of 
 a dense jungle, we made our last camp 
 before reaching the coveted Mississippi. 
 Our stay here was marked in red by the 
 most vindictive attack from mosquitos 
 in all the cruise. No one unacquaint- 
 ed with the Northern Minnesota wilder- 
 ness in midsummer, or with a region hav- 
 ing a similar insect population, can at all 
 imagine the number and fierceness of the 
 ravenous aerial hosts that had beset us 
 all the way from White Earth. In mid- 
 day they keep one constantly alert, while 
 at night they are beyond credible report. 
 They are small, shrewd and persistent. 
 As I lay awake their myriad voices about 
 and above me made a great chorus, real- 
 ly grand and impressive, out of which for 
 a few seconds at a time there came bursts 
 of harmony which I could hardly separate 
 
 from the idea of a vast, distant chorus of 
 human voices. Against their voracity no 
 ordinary bar is a bar at all. We had 
 gone to their haunts provided with net- 
 ting which at home gave immunity, but 
 through its meshes these mosquitos in- 
 serted their bills, then their heads, then 
 struggled through bodily, and came down 
 upon us like demons. We were dressed 
 in woollens, our hands were in dogskin 
 gloves and our heads and necks in thick 
 calico hoods and capes, but all such pro- 
 tections were naught when those scream- 
 ing villains had a mind for blood. At 
 one onslaught they would go into the 
 shrinking flesh through two thicknesses 
 of wool and two of cotton, or through a 
 heavy dogskin glove, or through the thick 
 and hardened skin of the hand's palm or 
 the foot's ball, or through a buckskin 
 moccasin and cotton hose through any 
 protection at our command except a cot- 
 ton canopy hung wide of our heads and 
 bodies. 
 
 Sung and stung out of all endurance 
 by the very centre of that army of the 
 wilderness, we were astir in the grayest 
 of our second Thursday's dawn, and 
 were soon in readiness for our final port- 
 age over the crests of the Heights of 
 Land to the river, which out of our long 
 and severe march had become to us a 
 veritable Mecca. Our way was up a gen- 
 tle range of hills, whose tops, but a few 
 yards wide, divide the waters which flow 
 southward to the great Gulf from those 
 which seek their far northward trend 
 through the Red River of the North. 
 The first division of our party reached 
 the Mississippi before noon with a joy 
 born out of a week's toil and hardship, 
 and in a trice I was drinking of and lav- 
 ing in its swift, bright water. We could 
 hardly realize that in this deep, rushing 
 brook, not more than four or five paces 
 wide, we saw the beginnings of that ma- 
 jestic current which drains half a con- 
 tinent. Soon our second division came 
 up, we ate our last lunch in company, 
 and the Indians, each shaking us by the 
 hand with a grunt and a smile, then go- 
 ing off into the forest with a cheer, left 
 us alone in that vast and uninhabited 
 wilderness. Late in the afternoon we
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 103 
 
 launched our canoes into the little riv- 
 er, and loaded them for our journey to 
 its head, camping about three miles 
 above our point of embarkation. 
 
 The next morning we started with light 
 hearts upon what we supposed would be 
 but a short journey to the river's source, 
 to meet an exasperating disappointment. 
 We had made a bargain for transporta- 
 tion from the railway to Itasca Lake or 
 
 to a point five miles below, all fully dia- 
 grammed and understood by correspond- 
 ence, but found ourselves set down by 
 the employes of the rascally half-breed 
 who had been careful to leave us at 
 Wild Rice Lake in an unknown land, 
 six days from civilization, at a point near- 
 ly or quite thirty miles below the lake, be- 
 low a region of rapids and obstructions 
 against which we had especially stipu- 
 
 HEAD OK THE MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 lated, and up which no craft had ever 
 travelled. A mile's work brought us to 
 the beginning of this second series of 
 troubles. Lying across the river at all 
 heights, depths and angles were the 
 tough pine logs we had dreaded, and at 
 every mile or two were tumbling rapids. 
 All that long Friday we took our turns 
 with the axe, lopping off branches that 
 we might squeeze under or shunt over 
 logs ; climbing with our stores and boats 
 over great log-drifts held by the grip of 
 the rocky defiles ; wading through shoals 
 and dragging our canoes through mud 
 and sand ; plunging suddenly into holes 
 that engulfed us to our armpits ; pad- 
 dling astride our decks over pools too 
 deep for wading ; chopping and wrench- 
 
 ing logs that forbade other means of pas- 
 sage ; fighting inch by inch up plunging 
 gorges, down which and over whose rug- 
 ged boulders the narrowed waters foam- 
 ed in almost resistless fury and milky 
 foam on and up, rod by rod, half a 
 mile in the hour, till we came to a weary 
 and desolate camp not two leagues from 
 our breakfasts. There we cooked our 
 suppers and ate in hoods and gloves, 
 fighting mosquitos and black flies for 
 every morsel, speculating as to the mor- 
 row's probabilities and discussing the 
 question of victory or defeat. We rose 
 from the night's sleep resolved upon see- 
 ing Itasca, and until mid-afternoon fought 
 over again the battles of yesterday, and 
 at last came out upon a smooth, placid
 
 104 
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 stream, up which we paddled with easy 
 swing some nine miles. Then the river 
 narrowed and shallowed, and we again 
 took to our feet upon a beautiful gravelly 
 bottom. At times the way was closed 
 to sight by rushes and wild rice, and 
 we could only beat our way through. At 
 last the water, thickly grown with reeds, 
 broadened and deepened, and a score 
 of paddle-strokes carried us through the 
 green curtain out upon Itasca's beautiful 
 surface, over which we glided, under the 
 shadows of the setting sun, up to School- 
 craft's Island for a Sunday's quiet. 
 
 Our heavy and restful sleep was not 
 broken till long after the sun was glinting 
 upon us through the trees. Our first work 
 was given to building a lodge of under- 
 brush and making preparations for two 
 days' stay on the lonely island, completed 
 by unfurling the signal of the New York 
 Canoe Club from a high stump hard by 
 the camp-fire. Barring the mosquitos, 
 Sunday's rest was a pleasant and refresh- 
 ing sequence to ten days of toil and strug- 
 gle, and Monday found us in hearty read- 
 iness for a thorough exploration of Itasca 
 Lake and its feeders. We took a lunch, 
 our guns and scientific instruments, and 
 paddled up the south-west arm of the lake 
 to find and explore the leading tributary. 
 We found the outlets of five small streams, 
 two having well-defined mouths and three 
 filtering into the lake through bogs. Se- 
 lecting the larger of the two open streams, 
 we paddled into its sluggish waters, ten 
 feet wide and one foot deep where they 
 enter the lake. Slow and sinuous prog- 
 ress of two hundred yards brought us to 
 a blockade of logs and to shallow water. 
 We landed, fastened the canoes, took our 
 bearings by compass and started for a 
 
 tramp through thicket and forest to Elk 
 Lake, which we reached after a rapid 
 walk of thirty-five minutes. This lake is 
 an oval of about one mile in its longest 
 diameter. It lies about half a mile in a 
 straight line south from Itasca. Its shores 
 are marshy, bordered by hills densely 
 timbered. Its sources are boggy streams 
 having little or no clearly-defined course. 
 To all appearance, these bogs and this 
 small lake are the uttermost tributaries 
 to Itasca Lake, and the latter, concen- 
 trating these minor streams and sending 
 them out as one, is the true head of the 
 Father of Waters. 
 
 Elk Lake was a place of misadventure 
 to us. Our struggle through the thicket 
 and dense forest was hot and exhausting. 
 Our scientist left there a fine aneroid ba- 
 rometer, which a second hot walk failed 
 to recover. Our photographer, arrived 
 at the lake with a grievous burden of 
 camera, plates, tripod, etc., found that 
 he had forgotten his lens tubes, and was 
 compelled to double his tracks back to the 
 canoes, then wade out into the swampy 
 borders of the lake, waist-deep in slime, 
 to secure a view of this highest Missis- 
 sippi water, only to have his plate light- 
 struck and ruined by an accident on the 
 homeward journey. 
 
 While the artist was gone for his for- 
 gotten lenses our Nimrod missed a fine 
 eagle which swept over our heads at long 
 range. So we returned to our island 
 camp in no very good mood, but a suc- 
 cessful troll for lake-trout, and a good 
 supper off two fine fellows baked under 
 the coals in birch jackets, sent us to bed 
 in good spirits and with no regrets save 
 for the lost barometer.
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 II. 
 
 A LYNX STIRS UP THE CAMP. 
 
 T TASCA LAKE was first seen of white 
 -L men by William Morrison, an old 
 trader, in 1804. Several expeditions at- 
 tempted to find the source of the Great 
 River, but the region was not explored 
 till 1832 by Schoolcraft, who regard- 
 ed himself as the discoverer of Itasca. 
 Much interesting matter concerning the 
 lake and its vicinity has been written by 
 Schoolcraft, Beltrami and Nicollet, but 
 the exceeding difficulty of reaching it, 
 and the absence of any other induce- 
 ments thither than a spirit of adventure 
 and curiosity, make visitors to its soli- 
 tudes few and far between. Itasca is fed 
 in all by six small streams, each too in- 
 significant to be called the river's source. 
 It has three arms one to the south-east, 
 about three and a half miles long, fed by 
 a small brook of clear and lively water ; 
 one to the south-west, about two miles and 
 a half long, fed by the five small streams 
 already described ; and one reaching 
 
 northward to the outlet, about two and 
 a half miles. These unite in a central 
 portion about one mile square. The 
 arms are from one-fourth of a mile to 
 one mile wide, and the lake's extreme 
 length is about seven miles. Its water 
 is clear and warm. July thirteenth, when 
 the temperature of the air was 76, the 
 water in the largest arm of the lake va- 
 ried between 74 and 80. We saw no 
 springs nor evidences of them, and the 
 water's temperature indicates that it re- 
 ceives nothing from below. Still, it is 
 sweet and pure to the taste and bright 
 and sparkling to the eye. Careful sound- 
 ings gave a depth varying between four- 
 teen and a half and twenty-six feet. The 
 only island is that named by Schoolcraft 
 after himself in 1832. It is in the central 
 body of the lake, and commands a partial 
 view of each arm. It is about one hun- 
 dred and fifty feet wide by three hundred 
 feet long, varying in height from its wa- 
 105
 
 io6 
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 ter-line to twenty-five feet, and is thickly 
 timbered with maple, elm, oak and a 
 thicket of bushes. 
 
 On Tuesday morning, July 14, at six 
 o'clock, we paddled away from the isl- 
 and to the foot of the lake. The outlet is 
 entirely obscured by reeds and wild rice, 
 through which the water converges in 
 almost imperceptible current toward the 
 river's first definite banks. This screen 
 penetrated, I stopped the Kleiner Fritz 
 in mid-stream and accurately measured 
 width, depth and current. I found the 
 width twenty feet, the depth on either 
 side of my canoe as she pointed down 
 the stream thirty -one inches, and the 
 speed of the current two and one-tenth 
 miles to the hour. The first four miles 
 of the infant's course is swift and crook- 
 ed, over a bed of red sand and gravel, 
 thickly interspersed with mussel and 
 other small shells, and bordered with 
 reeds. Through these, at two points, 
 we beat our way on foot, dragging the 
 canoes through unmade channels. In- 
 deed, nearly all of these first four miles 
 demanded frequent leaps from the boats 
 to direct their swift and crooked course, 
 until we came to a stretch of savanna 
 country, through which the river washes 
 its way in serpentine windings for nine 
 miles with a gentle current from thirty to 
 sixty feet wide, bordered by high grass, 
 bearing the appearance and having the 
 even depth of a canal. An easy, monot- 
 onous paddle through these broad mead- 
 ows brought us to the head of the first 
 rapids, the scene of our two days' up- 
 ward struggle. These rapids extend 
 about twelve miles as the river runs, al- 
 ternating between rattling, rocky plunges 
 and swift, smooth water, for the most part 
 through a densely -wooded ravine cleft 
 through low but abrupt hills, and as lone- 
 ly and cheerless as the heart of Africa. 
 The solitude is of that sort which takes 
 hold upon the very soul and weaves about 
 it hues of the sombrest cast. From our 
 parting with the Indians on first reaching 
 the river we had neither seen nor heard 
 a human being, nor were there save here 
 and there remote traces of man's hand. 
 No men dwell there : nothing invites 
 men there. A few birds and fewer ani- 
 
 mals hold absolute dominion. Wander- 
 ing there, one's senses become intensely 
 alert. But for the hoot of the owl, the 
 caw of the crow, the scream of the eagle, 
 the infrequent twitter of small birds, the 
 mighty but subdued roar of insects, the 
 rush of water over the rocks and the sigh 
 and sough of the wind among the pines, 
 the lonely wanderer has no sign of aught 
 but the rank and dank vegetation and a 
 gloomy, oppressive plodding on and on, 
 without an instant's relief in the sights 
 and sounds of human life. We entered 
 upon the descent of the rapids in no very 
 cheerful mood. 
 
 The downward way was easier, and we 
 had cleared away, in the upward struggle, 
 such obstructions as were within our con- 
 trol. Still, we travelled slowly and wea- 
 rily, and came out of our first day's home- 
 ward work wet and worn into a camp in 
 the high grass a good twenty miles from 
 the start of the morning. We drew the 
 canoes from the water, made our beds 
 of blankets inside, lashed our paddles to 
 the masts for ridge-poles, thatched our lit- 
 tle cabins with our rubber blankets, hung 
 our mosquito-bars beneath, then cooked 
 and ate under the flare of our camp-fire, 
 and sought our canoe-beds for that sweet 
 sleep which comes of weariness of body, 
 but not of mind, under the bright stars 
 and broad-faced moon shining with un- 
 wonted clearness in that clear air. 
 
 The night proved very cool. Our out- 
 er garments, wet from so much leaping 
 in and out of the canoes, and rolled up 
 for storage on the decks over night, were 
 found in the early morning frozen stiff, 
 and had to be thawed before we could 
 unroll them. The thermometer register- 
 ed 33 after six o'clock, and frost lay upon 
 all our surroundings. 
 
 For two and a half days our course was 
 down a stream winding gracefully through 
 a broad region of savanna country, oc- 
 casionally varied by the crossing of low 
 sandy ridges beautifully groved by lofty 
 yellow pines. In the savannas the shores 
 are made of black soil drifted in, and 
 forming, with the dense mass of grass- 
 roots, a tough compound in which the 
 earthy and vegetable parts are about 
 equal, while the tall grass, growing per-
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 107 
 
 pendicularly from the shore, makes a 
 stretch of walls on either side, the mo- 
 notony of which becomes at last so tire- 
 some that a twenty-feet hill, a boulder as 
 large as a bushel basket or a tree of un- 
 usual size or kind becomes specially in- 
 teresting. Standing on tiptoe in the ca- 
 noes, we could see nothing before or 
 around us but a boundless meadow, with 
 here and there a clump of pines, and 
 before and behind the serpent-like creep- 
 
 ings of the river. The only physical life 
 to be seen was in the countless ducks, 
 chiefly of the teal and mallard varieties, 
 a few small birds and the fish lake-trout, 
 grass-bass, pickerel and sturgeon con- 
 stantly darting under and around us or 
 poised motionless in water so clear that 
 every fin and scale was seen at depths 
 of six and eight feet. The ducks were 
 exceedingly wild something not easily 
 accounted for in that untroubled and un- 
 
 A BLOW ON BALL CLUB LAKE. 
 
 inhabited country; but we were readily 
 able to reinforce our staple supplies with 
 juicy birds and flaky fish broiled over a 
 lively fire or baked under the glowing 
 coals. 
 
 By noon of Friday, the i8th, we had 
 come to an average width in the river 
 of eighty feet and a sluggish flow of six 
 feet in depth. We halted for our lunch at 
 the mouth of the South (or Plantagenian) 
 Fork of the Mississippi, up which School- 
 craft's party pursued its way to Itasca 
 Lake. Thence a short run brought us 
 suddenly upon Lake Marquette, a love- 
 ly sheet of water with clearly - defined 
 and solid shores, about one mile by two 
 in extent, exactly across the centre of 
 which the river has entrance and exit. 
 Beyond this, a short mile brought us to 
 the sandy beaches of Bemidji Lake, the 
 first considerable body of water in our 
 downward travel, and about one hundred 
 and twenty-five miles, as the river winds, 
 
 VOL. XXVI. 18 
 
 from Itasca. The real name of the lake, as 
 used by the Indians and whites adjacent, 
 is Benidjigemah, meaning "across the 
 lake," and Bemidji is frequently known 
 as Traverse Lake. It is a lovely, un- 
 broken expanse, about seven miles long 
 and four miles wide. Its shores are of 
 beautiful white sand, gravel and boulders, 
 reaching back to open pine-groved bluffs. 
 Our shore-searchers found agate, topaz, 
 carnelian, etc. Our approach to Bemidji 
 had been invested with special interest as 
 the first unmistakable landmark in our 
 lonely wanderings, and as the home of 
 one man a half-breed the only human 
 being who has a home above Cass Lake. 
 We found his hut, but not himself, at the 
 river's outlet. The lodge is neatly built 
 of bark. It was surrounded by good 
 patches of corn, potatoes, wheat, beans 
 and wild raspberries. There is a stable 
 for a horse and a cow, and all about 
 were the conventional traps of a civil-
 
 io8 
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 ized biped who lives upon a blending of 
 wit, woodcraft and industry. We greatly 
 wished to see this hermit, whose nearest 
 neighbors are thirty miles away. His 
 dog welcomed us with all the passion of 
 canine hunger and days of isolation, but 
 the master was gone to Leech Lake, as 
 we afterward found from his Cass Lake 
 neighbors. The wind favored a sail 
 across the lake a welcome variation 
 from our hitherto entirely muscular pro- 
 pulsion so we rigged our spars and can- 
 vas, drifted smoothly out into the trough 
 of the lively but not angry waves, and 
 swept swiftly across the clear, bright lit- 
 tle sea. The white caps dashed over our 
 decks and a few sharp puffs half careen- 
 ed our little ships, but the crossing was 
 safely and quickly made. It was yet 
 only mid-afternoon, but we had paddled 
 steadily and made good progress nearly 
 four days ; so we went into early camp on 
 a bluff overlooking the entire lake, did 
 our first washing of travel-stained gar- 
 ments, brought up epistolary arrearages, 
 caught two fine lake-trout for our next 
 breakfast and went to sound sleep in the 
 nine-and-a-half-o'clock twilight. 
 
 We had been advised that we should 
 need guides in finding our exits from the 
 lakes, which were obscured by reeds and 
 wild rice. But no guide was to be had, 
 and we easily found our own way. The 
 river at the outlet of Bemidji Lake is about 
 one hundred and fifty feet wide, very shal- 
 low, and runs swiftly over a bed of large 
 gravel and boulders thickly grown with 
 aquatic grass and weeds. We had gone 
 but a little way when a rattling ahead told 
 of near proximity to swift and rough water, 
 down which we danced at a speed peril- 
 ous to the boats, but not to our personal 
 safety. The river was unusually low, so 
 that the many bouldery rapids which oth- 
 erwise would have been welcome were 
 now only the vexatious hints of what 
 might have been. The shallow foam 
 dashed down each rocky ledge without 
 channel or choice, and whichever way 
 we went we soon wished we had gone 
 another. The rocks were too many for 
 evasion, and the swift current caught 
 our keels upon their half- sunken heads, 
 which held us fast in imminent peril of a 
 
 swamp or a capsize, our only safety lying 
 in open eyes, quick and skilful use of the 
 paddle or a sudden leap overboard at a 
 critical instant. Added to these difficul- 
 ties, a gusty head wind and lively show- 
 ers obscured the boulders and the few 
 open channels. So we went on all the 
 forenoon, hampered by our ponchos, 
 poling, drifting, paddling and peering 
 our way, blinded by wind and rain, till 
 we came to the last of these labyrinths, 
 liveliest and most treacherous of all. We 
 were soaked, and only dreaded an upset 
 for our provisions and equipments. The 
 rapid was long, rough, swift, crooked. 
 The Kleiner Fritz led the way into the 
 swirl, and was caught, a hundred feet 
 down, hard and fast by her bow-keel, 
 swung around against another boulder 
 at her stern, and was pinned fast in no 
 sort of danger, the water boiling under 
 and around her, while her captain sat at 
 his leisure as under the inevitable, with 
 a don't-care-a-dash-ative procrastination 
 of the not-to-be-avoided jump overboard 
 and wade for deeper water. The Betsy 
 D., following closely, passed the Fritz 
 with a rush which narrowly escaped the 
 impalement of the one by the other's 
 sharp nose, struck, hung for a moment, 
 while the water dashed over her decks 
 and around her manhole, then washed 
 loose and went onward safely to still 
 water. The Fritz, solid as the Pyramids, 
 beckoned the Hattie to come on without 
 awaiting the questionable time of the lat- 
 ter's release ; so the namesake of the 
 hazel -eyed and brown -haired Indiana 
 girl came into the boil and bubble, sailed 
 gayly by the troubles of the others, was 
 gliding on toward quiet seas under her 
 skipper's gleeful whoops, when, bang ! 
 went her bow upon a rock, from which 
 a moment's work freed her : tz-z-z-z-z-zip 
 crunched her copper nails over another 
 just under water, whence she went bump- 
 ing and crunahing, her captain's prudent 
 and energetic guidance knocking his flag 
 one way and his wooden hatch the other, 
 till finally his troubles were behind him. 
 Then the Fritz began to stir. Her com- 
 mander went overboard and released her, 
 then leaped astride her deck and paddled 
 cautiously down the rift and slowly down
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 109 
 
 the quieter water below, howling through 
 the pelting, rain, 
 
 " Then let the world wag along as it will : 
 We'll be gay and happy still," 
 
 until he came upon his comrades one 
 stumbling about over the blackened roots 
 of grass and underbrush from a recent fire 
 in search of wood for our needed noon- 
 day blaze ; the other with wet matches 
 
 and birch bark, and imprecations for 
 which there was ample justification, 
 vainly seeking that without which hot cof- 
 fee and broiled bacon cannot be. The 
 Kleiner Fritz's haversack supplied dry 
 matches, fire began to snap, coffee boil- 
 ed, bacon sputtered on the ends of willow 
 rods, hard tack was set out for each man, 
 and we sat upon our heels for lunch un- 
 
 -' - 
 
 ' ' . v 
 PEKAGEMA FALLS. 
 
 der the weeping skies and willows, com- 
 paring notes and experiences. 
 
 Thence, three hours through monoto- 
 nous savanna and steady rain brought 
 us to the uppermost bay of Cass Lake, 
 and unexpectedly upon a straggling In- 
 dian village. We bore down upon it with 
 yells, and there came tumbling out from 
 birch lodges and bark cabins the first hu- 
 man beings we had seen for more than 
 
 ten days, in all the ages, sizes, tints, cos- 
 tumes and shades of filth known to the 
 Chippewas of the interior wilderness. At 
 first they were a little shy of us, but we 
 got into a stumbling conversation with 
 the only man of the whole lot who wore 
 breeches or could compass a little Eng- 
 lish, and soon the dirty, laughing, won- 
 dering, chattering gang came down to 
 inspect us and our, to them, marvellous
 
 no 
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 craft, and to fully enjoy what was per- 
 haps the most interesting event in many 
 a long month of their uneventful lives. 
 Then we paddled across the bay, or up- 
 per lake, out into the broader swells of 
 Cass Lake itself, pulled four miles across 
 to the northernmost point of Colcaspi, or 
 Grand Island, and made our second Sat- 
 urday night's camp upon its white sands 
 at or very near the spot where Schoolcraft 
 and his party had encamped in July, forty- 
 seven years before. The landward side 
 of the beautiful beach is skirted by an al- 
 most impenetrable jungle. We had fre- 
 quently seen traces, old and new, of deer, 
 moose, bears and smaller animals, but 
 had seen none of the animals themselves 
 save one fine deer, and our sleep had 
 been wholly undisturbed by prowlers ; 
 so we sank to rest on Grand Island with 
 no fears of invasion. At midnight the 
 occupant of the Kleiner Fritz was aroused 
 by a scratching upon the side of the ca- 
 noe and low, whining howls. He partially 
 arose, confused and half asleep, in doubt 
 as to the character of his disturber, which 
 went forward, climbed upon the deck and 
 confronted him through the narrow gable 
 of his rubber roof with a pair of fiery eyes, 
 which to his startled imagination seemed 
 like the blazing of a comet in duplicate. 
 The owner of the eyes was at arm's length, 
 with nothing but a mosquito-bar interven- 
 ing. Then the eyes suddenly disappeared, 
 and the scratching and howling were re- 
 newed in a determined and partially suc- 
 cessful effort to get between the oyj&rlap- 
 ping rubber blankets to the captaiiffe the 
 Fritz. This movement was defeated by a 
 quick grasp of the edges of the blankets, 
 and while the animal was snarling and 
 pawing at the shielded fist of his intend- 
 ed victim lusty shouts went out for the 
 camp to arouse and see what the enemy 
 might be, as the Fritz was unwilling to 
 uncover to his unknown assailant. The 
 Hattie's skipper, hard by, saw that some- 
 thing unusual was on hand, peered out, 
 and so increased the uproar as to draw 
 the adversary's attack. Then the Betsy 
 bore down upon us all just as the hungry 
 and persistent beast was crouching for a 
 leap at the Hattie's jugular, the loud bang 
 of a Parker rifle rang out upon the stillness, 
 
 and a fine, muscular lynx lay dead at the 
 Cincinnati Nimrod's feet. The animal's 
 trail showed that he had prowled around 
 our bacon and hard tack in contempt, had 
 inspected the Betsy's commander as he 
 lay on the sand in his blanket and under 
 a huge yellow mosquito-bar, but had evi- 
 dently concluded that any man who could 
 snore as that man usually did was not a 
 good subject for attack, and so came on 
 down the beach in search of blood less 
 formidably defended. We renewed our 
 fire, examined our dead disturber, and 
 turned in again to sound sleep under the 
 assuring suggestion of the Cincinnati man 
 that, whatever else the jungle might hide, 
 two cannon-balls rarely enter the same 
 hole. 
 
 Our heavy and late slumber was broken 
 by the laugh and chatter of two Indian 
 women and a child, who in a bark canoe 
 a little way from shore were regarding 
 our camp in noisy curiosity. My blanket 
 suddenly thrown aside and a good-morn- 
 ing in English took them by surprise, and 
 they paddled away vigorously toward a 
 group of lodges some four miles across 
 the lake. In the glorious sunset of a 
 restful Sunday we crossed the glassy lake 
 to its outlet, taking two fine lake-trout of 
 four pounds as we went, and glided out 
 of as beautiful a lake as sun and moon 
 shine upon into the swift, steady, deep 
 current of what for the first time in its 
 long way Gulfward bears the full dignity 
 of a river. Its green banks are some two 
 hundred feet apart. The water has a 
 regular depth of from five to six feet, and 
 all the way to Lake Winnibegoshish af- 
 fords an unbroken channel for a medium- 
 sized Western steamer. The shores, al- 
 ternating between low, firm, grass-grown 
 earth and benches of luxuriant green 
 twenty feet high, grown over with open 
 groves of fine yellow pines, were so beau- 
 tiful and regular that we could hardly 
 persuade ourselves that we should not 
 see, as we rounded the graceful curves, 
 some fine old mansion of which these 
 turfed knolls and charming groves seem- 
 ed the elegant lawns and parks. Our fleet 
 unanimously voted the river between Cass 
 and Winnibegoshish Lakes the most beau- 
 tiful of all its upper course.
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 We began our second week upon the 
 Mississippi with a breakfast of baked lake- 
 trout, slapjacks, maple syrup and coffee, 
 which embodied the culinary skill of the 
 entire fleet : then started for Winnibego- 
 shish in the height of good spirits and 
 physical vigor. In one of our easy, five- 
 miles-an-hour swings around the graceful 
 curves we were met by a duck flying close 
 over our heads with noisy quacks. A 
 little farther we came upon the cause of 
 the bird's lively flight in an Indian boy, 
 
 not above nine years old, paddling a large 
 birch canoe, over the gunwale of which 
 peeped the muzzle of a sanguinary-look- 
 ing old shot-gun. The diminutive sports- 
 man was for a moment dashed by our 
 sudden and novel appearance, but, from 
 the way he urged his canoe and from the 
 determined set of his dirty face, we had 
 small room to doubt the ultimate fate of 
 the flying mallard. Another curve brought 
 us in sight of the home of the little sav- 
 age, where a dozen Indians, in all stages 
 
 BARN BLUFF (C., M. A ST. P. R. R.). 
 
 of nudity, were encamped upon a high 
 bluff. A concerted whoop from our fleet 
 brought all of them from their smoky 
 lodges, and we swept by under their won- 
 dering eyes and exclamations. Then 
 the high land was left behind, and half 
 an hour between low meadows brought 
 us out upon the yellow sands and heav- 
 ing swells of Lake Winnibegoshish, the 
 largest in the Mississippi chain, the di- 
 mensions of which, including its lovely 
 north-eastern bay, are about eleven by 
 thirteen miles. The name signifies " mis- 
 erable dirty-water lake," but save a faint 
 tinge of brown its waters are as pure and 
 sparkling as those of any of the upper 
 lakes. Our entrance upon Winnibego- 
 shish was under a driving storm of wind 
 and mist, against which we paddled three 
 
 miles^to Duck Point, a slender finger of 
 wooded sand and boulder reaching half 
 a mue out, at whose junction with the 
 main land is a miserable village of most 
 villainous - looking Indians. One man 
 alone could speak a little English, and 
 through him we negotiated for replenish- 
 ing our provisions. Meantime, the storm 
 freshened and embargoed an eight-mile 
 journey across an open and boiling sea ; 
 so we paddled to the outermost joint upon 
 the jutting finger for a bivouac under the 
 trees, waiting the hoped-for lull of wind 
 and wave at sunset. The smoke of our 
 fire invited to our camp the hungry na- 
 tives, who dogged us at every turn all 
 the long afternoon, in squads of all num- 
 bers under twenty, and of all ages be- 
 tween two and seventy. One club-footed
 
 112 
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 and club -handed fellow of forbidding 
 visage protested with hand and head that 
 he neither spoke nor understood our ver- 
 nacular. Later, he sidled up to the Hat- 
 tie's skipper and said in an earnest sotto 
 voce, " Gib me dime." Denied the dime, 
 lie intimated to the Betsy that he doted 
 on bacon, of which we were each broiling 
 a slice. The Betsy's captain was bent 
 upon securing an Indian fish-spear, and 
 he pantomimed to the twinkling eyes of 
 the copper-skin that he would invest a 
 generous chunk of bacon in barbed iron. 
 The Indian strode back to his village, and 
 soon returned with the spear, which he 
 transferred to the Betsy's stores. 
 
 The conventional Indian maiden be- 
 sieged the bachelor two-thirds of our ex- 
 pedition with all the wiles that could be 
 embodied in a comely and clean-calicoed 
 charmer up in the twenties, who finally 
 bore away from the Betsy's private stores a 
 fan of stunning colors and other odds and 
 ends of a St. Paul notion-store ; while the 
 guileless commander of the Hattie, whose 
 cumulative years should have taught him 
 better, and whose thinly-clad brain-shel- 
 ter and disreputable attempt at sailor cos- 
 tume should have blunted all feminine 
 javelins, surrendered to the ugliest old 
 septuagenarian in the village, and sent 
 her heart away rejoicing in the ownership 
 of a policeman's whistle courted by her 
 leering eyes and already smirched by her 
 dirty lips, together with a stock of tea, 
 crackers and bacon for which her ex- 
 panded corporosity evinced no imminent 
 need. At last rid of our importunate ac- 
 quaintances, we turned in for a sleep, 
 which we resolved should be broken at 
 the first moment, dark or light, when we 
 might cross the lake. Before daylight 
 the Betsy's resonant call awoke us, and 
 in the earliest gray we paddled out upon 
 a heavy but not foaming sea, and after two 
 and a half hours of monotonous splash- 
 ing in the trough of the waves landed for 
 breakfast on the eastern shore, whence 
 we crossed a lovely bay and passed out 
 once more upon the river. 
 
 A mile on our way we came to the 
 prettiest of the many Indian burying- 
 grounds which we saw now and then. 
 Formerly, the Indians deposited their 
 
 dead upon rude scaffolds well up in 
 the air. Now they seek high ground 
 and place the bodies of the departed in 
 shallow graves, over which they build 
 little wooden houses a foot or two high 
 with gabled roofs, and mark each with a 
 white flag raised upon a pole a few feet 
 above the sleeper's head. In this neigh- 
 borhood we inquired of a stalwart brave 
 concerning our proximity to a portage by 
 means of which a short walk over to a 
 small lake near the head of Ball Club 
 Lake and a pull of six miles down the 
 latter would bring us out again into the 
 river, and save a tedious voyage of twen- 
 ty-five to thirty miles through a broad 
 savanna. The Indian in his old birch 
 canoe joined our fleet, and led us to the 
 beginning of the portage near the foot of 
 Little Winnipeg Lake. We had carried 
 two canoes and all the baggage over to 
 the water on the other side of a sandy 
 ridge, leaving only the Kleiner Fritz to 
 be brought, when our guide and packer, 
 with a preliminary grunt, said " Money ?" 
 inquiring how much we intended to pay 
 him. He had worked hard for four 
 hours, for which we tried to tell him that 
 we should pay him one dollar when he 
 should bring over the remaining canoe ; 
 but we could not make him understand 
 what a dollar was. We then laid down, 
 one after another, four silver quarter- 
 dollars and two bars of tobacco ; where- 
 upon he gave a satisfied grunt and an 
 affirmative nod, disappeared in the for- 
 est, and in less than an hour returned 
 with the Fritz upon his steaming shoul- 
 ders, having covered more than three 
 miles in the round trip. 
 
 As we pulled out upon Ball Club Lake 
 a gentle stern wind bade us hoist our 
 canvas for an easy and pleasant sail of 
 six or seven miles down to the open river. 
 We glided out gayly before a gentle breeze, 
 and sailed restfully over the little rippling 
 waves, our speed increasing, though we 
 hardly noted the signs of a gale driv- 
 ing after us over the hills behind. The 
 Hattie was leading well over to the port 
 shore, the Fritz bearing straight down the 
 middle, with the Betsy on the starboard 
 quarter, when the storm struck us with a 
 vigor that increased with each gust. The
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 black clouds swished over our heads, 
 seemingly almost within reach of our 
 paddles. The sails tugged at the sheets 
 with tiresome strength. The canoes 
 now plunged into a wave at the bows 
 and were now swept by others astern, as 
 they rushed forward like mettlesome colts 
 or hung poised upon or within a rolling 
 swell, until, with the increasing gale, the 
 roaring waves dashed entirely over decks 
 and men. The Hattie bore away to lee- 
 ward and rode the gale finely, but at last 
 prudence bade the furling of her sail. Ex- 
 pecting no such blow, the Fritz had not 
 
 taken the precaution to arrange her rub- 
 ber apron for keeping out the waves from 
 her manhole, and now, between holding 
 the sheet, steering and watching the gus- 
 ty wind, neither hand nor eye could be 
 spared for defensive preparations ; so her 
 skipper struck sail and paddled for the 
 westward shore, with the Betsy lunging 
 and plunging close behind. We on the 
 windward side sought the smoother water 
 within the reeds, and drove along rapid- 
 ly under bare poles, out of sight of the 
 Hattie, separated at nightfall by miles of 
 raging sea. We rode before the wind to 
 
 CHURCH AMONG THE PINES (BRAINERD). 
 
 the foot of the lake, where we were con- 
 fronted by the alternative of a toilsome and 
 unsafe paddle around the coast against the 
 storm's full force, or camping in mutual 
 anxiety as to the fate of the unseen party 
 a by no means pleasant sedative for a 
 night's rest upon wild and uninhabited 
 shores. We decided upon the pull, and 
 labored on, now upon the easy swells 
 within the reeds, and then tossing upon 
 the crests in open places, until at last a 
 whirling column of smoke a mile ahead 
 gave us assurance of the Hattie's safety. 
 The reunited fleet paddled down into the 
 Mississippi, enlivening the darkness until 
 we could find camping -ground beyond 
 the marshes by a comparison of storm- 
 experiences and congratulations that we 
 had escaped the bottom of the lake. 
 
 Late in the afternoon of the next day, 
 after a monotonous pull through the in- 
 terminable windings of Eagle Nest Sa- 
 vanna, we swept around a curve of high 
 tillable land upon the uppermost farm cul- 
 tivated by whites, eighteen miles above 
 Pekagema Falls, and one hundred and 
 seventy miles by river beyond the North- 
 ern Pacific Railroad. Thomas Smith and 
 his partner, farming, herding and lumber- 
 ing at the mouth of Vermilion River, were 
 the first white men we had seen since July 
 6, seventeen days, and with them we en- 
 joyed a chat in straight English. Nine 
 miles below we camped at River Camp, 
 the second farm downward, where we 
 were kindly supplied with vegetables and 
 with fresh milk, which seemed to us then 
 like the nectar of the gods. Thursday,
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 24th, we reached Pekagema Falls, a wild 
 pitch of some twenty feet, with rapids 
 above and below, down which the strong 
 volume of the river plunges with terrible 
 force in picturesque beauty. A carry 
 around the falls and three miles of pad- 
 dling brought us to Grand Rapids, and 
 we rushed like the wind into the whirl 
 and boil of its upper ledge, down the 
 steep and crooked incline for two hun- 
 dred yards, out of which we shot up to 
 the bank under a little group of houses 
 where Warren Potter and Knox & Wake- 
 field conduct the uppermost post-office 
 and stores upon the river. We speedily 
 closed our partly -completed letters and 
 posted them for a pack -mail upon an 
 Indian's back sixty-five miles to Aitkin, 
 while we should follow the tortuous river 
 thither for one hundred and fifty miles. 
 We had hoped for a rest and lift hence 
 to Aitkin upon the good steamboat City 
 of Aitkin, which makes a few lonely trips 
 each spring and fall, but the low water had 
 prevented her return from her last voyage, 
 made ten days before our arrival. Our 
 stores replenished, after two hours of rest 
 we started again in a driving rain, and 
 under the hearty ban -voyage of a dozen 
 frontiersmen and Indians shot the two 
 lively lower ledges of Grand Rapids, 
 and came out on smooth water, whose 
 sluggish flow, broken by a very few rifts, 
 bore us thence one hundred and fifty 
 miles to the next white settlement at Ait- 
 kin. The entire distance lies through low 
 bottom-lands heavily timbered, and our 
 course was drearily monotonous. We left 
 Grand Rapids at mid-afternoon of Thurs- 
 day, July 24, and camped on Friday night 
 four miles below Swan River. Late on 
 Saturday we passed Sandy Lake River 
 where formerly were a large Indian 
 population and an important trading - 
 post, founded and for many years con- 
 ducted by Mr. Aitkin, who was promi- 
 nently identified with the early history 
 of that region, and is now commemorated 
 in the town and county bearing his name, 
 but where now remain only one or two 
 deserted cabins and a few Indian graves, 
 over which white flags were flapping in 
 the sultry breeze and camped two miles 
 below. Monday's afternoon brought us 
 
 to Aitkin, so that we had covered one hun- 
 dred and fifty miles of sluggish channel, 
 at low summer tide, in three working days. 
 We had been four weeks beyond possi- 
 bility of home-tidings, and we swooped 
 down upon the disciple of Morse in that 
 far-away village with work that kept him 
 clicking for an hour. We were hand- 
 somely taken in by Warren Potter, a pio- 
 neer and an active and intelligent factor 
 in the business of that region, in whose 
 tasteful home we for the first time in a 
 month sat down and ate in Christian fash- 
 ion under a civilized roof. Having lost 
 a week in the farther wilderness, we de- 
 cided to take the rail to Minneapolis, that 
 we might enjoy the beautiful river thence 
 to Lake Pepin, yet reach our homes with- 
 in the appointed time. Half a day was 
 enjoyed at Brainerd, the junction of the 
 Northern Pacific main line with the St. 
 Paul branch, and the most important town 
 between Lake Superior and the Missouri. 
 It is beautifully built and picturesquely 
 scattered among the pines upon the Mis- 
 sissippi's eastern bank, not far above Crow 
 Wing River. Thence we were carried 
 over the splendid railway, passing the 
 now abandoned Fort Ripley, winding 
 along or near to the river and across 
 the wheat-fields, through the busy and 
 beautiful city of mills, below St. Antho- 
 ny's roar and down the dancing rapids 
 to a pleasant island -camp between the 
 green-and-gray bluffs that bind Minne- 
 apolis to Minnehaha the first really 
 fine scenery this side of Itasca's solitude. 
 A delightful paddle under a bright morn- 
 ing sun and over swift, clear water car- 
 ried us to the little brook whose laughter, 
 three-quarters of a mile up a deep ravine, 
 has been sent by Longfellow rippling out- 
 ward to all the world. We rounded the 
 great white -faced sand -rock that marks 
 the outlet, paddled as far as we might up 
 the quiet stream, beached the canoes un-' 
 der the shade of the willows, walked a lit- 
 tle way up the brook, past a deserted mill, 
 under cool shadows of rock and wood, and 
 enjoyed for half an hour the simple, se- 
 ductive charms of the " Laughing Wa- 
 ter." Then we tramped back to our boats, 
 floated down under the old walls of Fort 
 Snelling and between the chalk - white
 
 CANOEING ON THE HIGH MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 cliffs which line the broadening river, 
 until we came in sight of St. Paul's roofs 
 and spires, and soon were enjoying the 
 thoughtful care and generous hospitality 
 of the Minnesota Boat Club. Another 
 day's close brought us to Red Wing, 
 backgrounded by the green bluffs and 
 reddened cliffs of its bold hills. One 
 more pull down the now broad and isl- 
 
 anded stream carried us to Lake Pepin, 
 one of the loveliest mirrors that reflects 
 the sun, and to Frontenac's white beach. 
 The keels of the Fritz, the Betsy and the 
 Hattie crunched the sands at the end of 
 their long journey, the boats were shunted 
 back upon the railway, and their weary 
 owners were soon dozing in restful for- 
 getfulness upon the couches of the un- 
 
 END OF VOYAGE (FRONTENAC, LAKE PEPIN). 
 
 surpassed Chicago, Milwaukee and St. 
 Paul line. 
 
 Beyond reasonable doubt, our party is 
 the only one that ever pushed its way by 
 boat up the entire course of the farther- 
 most Mississippi. Beyond any question, 
 our canoes were the first wooden boats 
 that ever traversed those waters. School- 
 craft, in 1832, came all the way down the 
 upper river without portages, but he had 
 very high water and many helpers, in 
 spite of which one of his birch canoes was 
 wrecked. The correspondent of a New 
 York newspaper claimed the complete 
 
 trip in his canoe some five years ago, 
 but his own guide and others told us 
 that his Dolly Varden never was above 
 Brainerd, and that his portages above 
 were frequent. So we may well feel an 
 honest pride in our Rushton-built Rob 
 Roys and our hard knocks, and may 
 remember with pardonable gratification 
 that upon our own feet and keels we have 
 penetrated the solitudes lying around the 
 source of the world's most remarkable 
 river, where no men live and where, prob- 
 ably, not more than two-score white men 
 have ever been.
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 GLEN CARON. 
 
 r I "HOSE adventurous gentlemen who 
 
 -I- derive exhilaration from peril, and 
 
 extract febrifuge for the high pressure 
 
 of a too exuberant constitution from the 
 
 difficulties of the Alps, cannot find such 
 
 peaks as the Aiguille Verte and the Mat- 
 
 terhorn, with their friable and precipitous 
 
 116 
 
 cliffs, among the Rocky Mountains. The 
 geological processes have been gentler 
 in evolving the latter than the former, 
 and in the proper season summits not 
 less elevated nor less splendid or com- 
 prehensive than that of the Matterhorn, 
 upon which so many lives have been de-
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 117 
 
 fiantly wasted, may be attained without 
 any great degree of danger or fatigue. 
 All but the apex may often be reached 
 in the saddle. The bergschrund with its 
 fragile lip of ice, the crevasse with its 
 treacherous bridges, and the avalanche 
 which an ill-timed footstep starts with 
 overwhelming havoc, do not threaten the 
 explorer of the Western mountains ; and 
 ordinarily he passes from height to height 
 from the base with its wreaths of ever- 
 greens to the zone where vegetation is 
 limited to the gnarled dwarf-pine, from 
 the foot-hills to the basin of the crisp 
 alpine lake far above the life -limits 
 without once having to scale a cliff, sup- 
 posing, of course, that he has chosen the 
 best path. The trail may be narrow at 
 times, with nothing between it and a gulf, 
 and it may be pitched at an angle that 
 compels the use of "all-fours ;" but with 
 patience and discretion the ultimate peak 
 is conquered without rope-ladder or ice- 
 axe, and the vastness of the world be- 
 low, gray and cold at some hours, and 
 at others lighted with a splendor which 
 words cannot transcribe, is revealed to 
 the adventurer as satisfaction for his 
 toil. 
 
 But, though what may be called the 
 pure mountain-peaks do not entail the 
 same perils and difficulties as the mem- 
 bers of the Alpine Club discover in Italy, 
 France, Switzerland and Germany, the 
 volcanic cones and canon -walls of the 
 West have an unstable verticality which, 
 when it is not absolutely insurmountable, 
 is more difficult than the top of the Mat- 
 terhorn itself; and though the various 
 expeditions under Wheeler, Powell, King 
 and Hayden have not had Aiguilles Vertes 
 to oppose them, they have been confront- 
 ed by obstacles which could only be over- 
 come by as much courage as certain of 
 the clubmen have required in their most 
 celebrated exploits. Indeed, nothing in 
 the journals of the Alpine Club compares 
 in the interest of the narrative or the peril 
 of the undertaking with Major Powell's 
 exploration of the canons of the Colorado, 
 which, though its history has become fa- 
 miliar to many readers through the official 
 report, gathers significance in contrast 
 with all other Western expeditions, and 
 
 stands out as an achievement of extraor- 
 dinary daring. 
 
 The Colorado is formed by the junction 
 of the Grand and Green Rivers. The 
 Grand has its source in the Rocky Moun- 
 tains five or six miles west of Long's Peak, 
 and the Green heads in the Wind River 
 Mountains near Fremont's Peak. Uniting 
 in the Colorado, they end as turbid floods 
 in the Gulf of California, a goal which 
 they reach through gorges set deep in the 
 bosom of the earth and bordered by a 
 region where the mutations of Nature are 
 in visible process. In all the world there 
 is no other river like this. The phenom- 
 enal in form predominates : the water has 
 grooved a channel for itself over a mile 
 below the surrounding country, which is 
 a desert uninhabited and uninhabitable, 
 terraced with long series of cliffs or mesa- 
 fronts, verdureless, voiceless and unbeau- 
 tiful. It is a land of soft, crumbling soil 
 and parched rock, dyed with strange col- 
 ors and broken into fantastic shapes. Na- 
 ture is titanic and mad : the sane and 
 alleviating beauty of fertility is displaced 
 by an arid and inanimate desolateness, 
 which glows with alien splendor in evan- 
 escent conditions of the atmosphere, but 
 which in those moments when the sun 
 casts a fatuous light upon it is more op- 
 pressive in its influence upon the observer 
 than when the blaze of high noon exposes 
 all.of its unyielding harshness. To the 
 feeling of desolation which comes over 
 one in such a region as this a quickened 
 sense and apprehension of the super- 
 natural are added, and we seem to be 
 invaders of a border-land between the 
 solid earth and phantasy. Nature is dis- 
 traught ; and so much has man subordi- 
 nated and possessed her elsewhere that 
 here, where existence is defeated by the 
 absolute impossibility of sustenance, a 
 poignant feeling of her imperfection steals 
 over us and weighs upon the mind. 
 
 Perhaps no portion of the earth's sur- 
 face is more irremediably sterile, none 
 more hopelessly lost to human occupa- 
 tion, and yet, an eminent geologist has 
 said, it is the wreck of a region once rich 
 and beautiful, changed and impoverished 
 by the deepening of its draining streams 
 the most striking and suggestive ex-
 
 n8 
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 ample of over-drainage of which we have 
 any knowledge. Though valueless to the 
 agriculturist, dreaded and shunned by 
 the emigrant, the miner and the trapper, 
 
 the Colorado plateau is a paradise to the 
 geologist, for nowhere else are the secrets 
 of the earth's structure so fully revealed 
 as here. Winding through it is the pro 
 
 SWALLOW CAVE, GREEN RIV 
 
 found chasm within which the river flows 
 from three thousand to six thousand feet 
 below the general level for five hundred 
 miles in unimaginable solitude and gloom, 
 and the perpendicular crags and precipices 
 
 which imprison the stream exhibit with 
 unusual clearness the zoological and phys- 
 ical history of the land. 
 
 It was this chasm, with its cliffs of un- 
 paralleled magnitude and its turbulent
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 119 
 
 waters, that Major Powell explored, and 
 no chapter of Western adventure is more 
 interesting than his experiences. His 
 starting-point was Green River City, Wy- 
 oming Territory, which is now reached 
 from the East by the Union Pacific Rail- 
 way. On the second morning out from 
 
 Omaha the passengers find themselves 
 whirling through sandy yellowish gullies, 
 and, having completed their toilettes amid 
 the flying dust, they emerge at about eight 
 o'clock in a basin of gigantic and abnor- 
 mal forms, upon which lie bands of dull 
 gold, pink, orange and vermilion. In 
 
 INDIANS NEAR FLAMING GORGE (SAI-AR AND FAMILY). 
 
 some instances the massive sandstones 
 have curious architectural resemblances, 
 as if they had been designed and scaled 
 on a draughting-board, but they have been 
 so oddly worked upon by the elements, 
 by the attrition of their own disintegrated 
 particles and the intangible carving of 
 water, that while one block stands out 
 as a castle embattled on a lofty precipice, 
 
 another looms up in the quivering air 
 with a quaint likeness to something nei- 
 ther human nor divine. This is where 
 the Overland traveller makes his first ac- 
 quaintance with those erosions which are 
 a characterizing element of Western sce- 
 nery. A broad stream flows easily through 
 the valley, and acquires a vivid emerald 
 hue from the shales in its bed, whence its
 
 I2O 
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 name is derived. Under one of the high- 
 est buttes a small town of newish wood- 
 en buildings is scattered, and this is am- 
 bitiously designated Green River City, 
 which, if for nothing else, is memorable 
 
 to the tourist for the excellence of the 
 breakfast which the tavern-keeper serves. 
 But it was from here, on May 28, 1869, 
 that Major Powell started down the canon 
 on that expedition from which the few 
 
 miners, stock - raisers and tradespeople 
 who saw his departure never expected to 
 see him return alive. His party consist- 
 ed of nine men J. C. Sumner and Wil- 
 liam H. Dunn, both of whom had been 
 trappers and guides in the Rocky Moun- 
 
 tains ; Captain Powell, a veteran of the 
 civil war ; Lieutenant Bradley, also of the 
 army ; O. G. Rowland, formerly a print- 
 er and country editor, who had become a 
 hunter; Seneca Rowland ; Frank Good- 
 man ; Andrew Hall, a Scotch boy ; and
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 121 
 
 "Billy " Hawkins, the cook, who had been 
 a soldier, a teamster and a trapper. These 
 were carefully selected for their reputed 
 courage and powers of endurance. The 
 boats in which they travelled were four 
 in number, and were built upon a mod- 
 el which, as far as possible, combined 
 strength to resist the rocks with lightness 
 for portages and protection against the 
 over-wash of the waves. They were di- 
 vided into three compartments, oak being 
 the material used in three and pine in 
 the fourth. The three larger ones were 
 each twenty-one feet long : the other was 
 sixteen feet long, and was constructed 
 for speed in rowing. Sufficient food was 
 taken to last ten months, with plenty of 
 ammunition and tools for building cabins 
 and repairing the boats, besides various 
 scientific instruments. 
 
 Thus equipped and in single file, the 
 expedition left Green River City behind 
 and pulled into the shadows of the phe- 
 nomenal rocks in the early morning of 
 that May day of 1869. During the first 
 few days they had no serious mishap : 
 they lost an oar, broke a barometer-tube 
 and occasionally struck a bar. All around 
 them abounded examples of that natural 
 architecture which is seen from the pass- 
 ing train at the "City" weird statuary, 
 caverns, pinnacles and cliffs, dyed gray 
 and buff, red and brown, blue and black 
 all drawn in horizontal strata like the 
 lines of a painter's brush. Mooring the 
 boats and ascending the cliffs after mak- 
 ing camp, they saw the sun go down over 
 a vast landscape of glittering rock. The 
 shadows fell in the valleys and gulches, 
 and at this hour the lights became high- 
 er and the depths deeper. The Uintah 
 Mountains stretched out in the south, 
 thrusting their peaks into the sky and 
 shining as if ensheathed with silver. The 
 distant pine forests had the bluish im- 
 penetrability of a clear night-sky, and 
 pink clouds floated in motionless sus- 
 pense until, with a final burst of splen- 
 dor, the light expired. 
 
 At the end of sixty -two miles they 
 reached the mouth of Flaming Gorge, 
 near which some hunters and Indians 
 are settled. Flaming Gorge is a canon 
 bounded by perpendicular bluffs, banded 
 
 with red and yellow to a height of fif- 
 teen hundred feet, and the water flowing 
 through it is a positive malachite in color, 
 crossed and edged with bars of glisten- 
 ing white sand. It leads into Red Canon, 
 and in 1869 it was the gateway to a region 
 which was almost wholly unknown. An 
 old Indian endeavored to deter Major 
 Powell from his purpose. He held his 
 hands above his head, with his arms 
 vertical, and, looking between them to 
 the sky, said, "Rocks h-e-a-p, h-e-a-p 
 high ; the water go h-oo-woogh ; water- 
 pony (boat) heap buck. Water catch 'em, 
 no see 'em squaw any more, no see 'em 
 Injin anymore, no see 'em pappoose any 
 more." The prophecy was not encour- 
 aging, and with some anxiety the ex- 
 plorers left the last vestige of civilization 
 behind them. Below the gorge they ran 
 through Horseshoe Canon, which de- 
 scribes an elongated letter U in the 
 mountains, and several portages became 
 necessary. The cliffs increased a thou- 
 sand feet in height, and in many places 
 the water completely filled the channel 
 between them ; but occasionally the canon 
 opened into a little park, from the grassy 
 carpet of which sprang crimson flowers 
 on the stems of pear-shaped cactus-plants, 
 patches of blue and yellow blossoms, and 
 a fragrant Spircea. 
 
 As often as a rapid was approached 
 Major Powell stood on the deck of the 
 leading boat to examine it, and if he 
 could see a clear passage between the 
 rocks he gave orders to go ahead, but if 
 the channel was barricaded he signalled 
 the other boats to pull ashore, and land- 
 ing himself he walked along the edge of 
 the canon for further examination. If 
 still no channel could be found, the boats 
 were lowered to the head of the falls and 
 let down by ropes secured to the stem 
 and stern, or when this was impracticable 
 both the cargoes and the boats were car- 
 ried by the men beyond the point of dif- 
 ficulty. When it was decided to run the 
 rapids the greatest danger was encoun- 
 tered in the first wave at the foot of the 
 falls, which gathered higher and higher 
 until it broke. If the boat struck it the 
 instant after it broke she cut through it, 
 and the men had all they could do to
 
 122 
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 keep themselves from being washed over- 
 board. If in going over the falls she was 
 caught by some side-current and borne 
 against the wave " broadside on," she was 
 
 capsized an accident that happened 
 more than once, without fatal results, 
 however, as the compartments served as 
 buoys and the men clung to her and were 
 
 INDIANS GAMBLING. 
 
 dragged through the waves until quieter 
 water was reached. Where these rapids 
 occur the channel is usually narrowed by 
 rocks which have tumbled from the cliffs 
 or have been washed in by lateral streams ; 
 but immediately above them a bay of 
 smooth water may usually be discovered 
 where a landing can be made with ease. 
 In such a bay Major Powell landed one 
 day, and, seeing one of the rear boats 
 making for the shore after he had given 
 his signal, he supposed the others would 
 follow her example, and walked along the 
 
 side of the canon-wall to look for the fall of 
 which a loud roar gave some premonition. 
 But a treacherous eddy carried the boat 
 manned by the two Rowlands and Good- 
 man into the current, and a moment later 
 she disappeared over the unseen falls. 
 The first fall was not great not more 
 than ten or twelve feet but below the 
 river sweeps down forty or fifty feet 
 through a channel filled with spiked rocks 
 which break it into whirlpools and frothy 
 crests. Major Powell scrambled around 
 I a crag just in time to see the boat strike
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 123 
 
 one of these rocks, and, rebounding from 
 the shock, careen and fill the open com- 
 partment with water. The oars were 
 dashed out of the hands of two of the 
 crew as she swung around and was car- 
 ried down the stream with great velocity, 
 and immediately after she struck another 
 rock amidships, which broke her in two 
 and threw the men into the water. The 
 larger part of the wreck floated buoyant- 
 ly, and seizing it the men supported them- 
 selves by it until a few hundred feet far- 
 ther down they came to a second fall, 
 filled with huge boulders, upon which the 
 wreck was dashed to pieces, and the men 
 and the fragments were again carried out 
 of Major Powell's sight. He struggled 
 along the scant foothold afforded by the 
 canon -wall, and coming suddenly to a 
 bend saw one of the men in a whirlpool 
 below a large rock, to which he was cling- 
 ing with all possible tenacity. It was 
 Goodman, and a little farther on was 
 Rowland tossed upon a small island, 
 with his brother stranded upon a rock 
 some distance below. Rowland struck 
 out for Goodman with a pole, by means 
 of which he relieved him from his preca- 
 rious position, and very soon the wreck- 
 ed crew stood together, bruised, shaken 
 and scared, but not disabled. A swift, 
 dangerous river was on each side of them 
 and a fall below them. It was now a 
 problem how to release them from this 
 imprisonment. Sumner volunteered, and 
 in one of the other boats started out from 
 above the island, and with skilful pad- 
 dling landed upon it. Together with the 
 three shipwrecked men he then pushed 
 up stream until all stood up to their necks 
 in water, when one of them braced him- 
 self against a rock and held the boat 
 while the three others jumped into her : 
 the man on the rock followed, and all four 
 then pulled vigorously for the shore, which 
 they reached in safety. Many years be- 
 fore an adventurous trapper and his party 
 had been wrecked here and several lives 
 had been lost. Major Powell named the 
 spot Disaster Falls. 
 
 The cliffs are so high that the twilight 
 is perpetual, and the sky seems like a flat 
 roof pressed across them. As the worn men 
 stretched themselves out in their blankets 
 
 they saw a bright star that appeared to 
 rest on the very verge of the eastern cliff, 
 and then to float from its resting-place on 
 the rock over the canon. At first it was 
 like a jewel set on the brink of the cliff, 
 and as it moved out from the rock they 
 wondered that it did not fall. It did seem 
 to descend in a gentle curve, and the oth- 
 er stars were apparently in the canon, as 
 if the sky was spread over the gulf, rest- 
 ing on either wall and swayed down by 
 its own weight. 
 
 Sixteen days after leaving Green River 
 City the explorers reached the end of the 
 Canon of Lodore, which is nearly twenty- 
 four miles long. The walls were never 
 less than two thousand feet high except 
 near the foot. They are very irregular, 
 standing in perpendicular or overhang- 
 ing cliffs here, terraced there, or receding 
 in steep slopes broken by many side- 
 gulches. The highest point of the wall 
 is twenty -seven hundred feet, but the 
 peaks a little distance off are a thousand 
 feet higher. Yellow pines, nut pines, firs 
 and cedars stand in dense forests on the 
 Uintah Mountains, and clinging to mov- 
 ing rocks they have come down the walls 
 to the water's edge between Flaming 
 Gorge and Echo Park. The red sand- 
 stones are lichened over, delicate mosses 
 grow in the moist places and ferns festoon 
 the walls. 
 
 A few days later they were upset again, 
 losing oars, guns and barometers, and on 
 July 1 8th they had only enough provisions 
 left for two months, though they had sup- 
 plied themselves with quantities which, 
 barring accidents, should have lasted ten 
 months. On July igth the Grand Canon 
 of the Colorado became visible, and from 
 an eminence they could follow its course 
 for miles and catch glimpses of the river. 
 The Green, down which they had come so 
 far, bears in from the north-west through 
 a narrow, winding gorge. The Grand 
 comes in from the north-east through a 
 channel which from the explorer's point 
 of view seems bottomless. Away to the 
 west are lines of cliffs and ledges of rock, 
 with grotesque forms intervening. In the 
 east a chain of eruptive mountains is vis- 
 ible, the slopes covered with pines, the 
 summits coated with snow and the gulches
 
 124 
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 HORSESHOE CARON.
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 125 
 
 flanked by great crags. Wherever the men 
 looked there were rocks, deep gorges in 
 which the rivers were lost under cliffs, tow- 
 ers and pinnacles, thousands of strange- 
 ly-carved forms, and mountains blending 
 with the clouds. They passed the junc- 
 tion of the Grand and Green, and on July 
 2 ist they were on the Colorado itself. The 
 walls are nearly vertical, and the river is 
 broad and swift, but free from rocks and 
 falls. From the edge of the water to the 
 brink of the cliffs is nearly two thousand 
 feet, and the cliffs are reflected on the 
 quiet surface until it seems to the travel- 
 lers that there is a vast abyss below them. 
 But the tranquillity is not lasting : a little 
 way below this space of majestic calm it 
 was necessary to make three portages in 
 succession, the distance being less than 
 three - quarters of a mile, with a fall of 
 seventy-five feet. In the evening Major 
 Powell sat upon a rock by the edge of 
 the river to look at the water and listen 
 to its roar. Heavy shadows settled in 
 the canon as the sun passed behind the 
 cliffs, and no glint of light remained on 
 the crags above, but the waves were crest- 
 ed with a white that seemed luminous. A 
 great fall broke at the foot of a block of 
 limestone fifty feet high, and rolled back 
 in immense billows. Over the sunken 
 rocks the flood was heaped up into mounds 
 and even cones. The tumult was extra- 
 ordinary. At a point where the rocks 
 were very near the surface the water was 
 thrown up ten or fifteen feet, and fell back 
 in gentle curves as in a fountain. 
 
 On August 3d the party traversed a 
 canon of diversified features. The walls 
 were still vertical in places, especially 
 near the bends, and the river sweeping 
 round the capes had undermined the 
 cliffs. Sometimes the rocks overarched : 
 again curious narrow glens were found. 
 The men explored the glens, in one of 
 which they discovered a natural stairway 
 several hundred feet high leading to a 
 spring which burst out from an overhang- 
 ing cliff among aspens and willows, while 
 along the edges of the brooklet there 
 were oaks and other rich vegetation. 
 There were also many side-canons with 
 walls nearer to each other above than be- 
 low, giving them the character of grottoes ; 
 
 and there were carved walls arches, al- 
 coves and monuments, to all of which 
 the collective name of Glen Canon was 
 given. 
 
 One morning the surveyors came to a 
 point where the river filled the entire 
 channel and the walls were sheer to the 
 water's edge. They saw a fall below, 
 and in order to inspect it they pulled up 
 against one of the cliffs, in which was a 
 little shelf or crevice a few feet above 
 their heads. One man stood on the deck 
 of the boat while another climbed over 
 his shoulders into this insecure foothold, 
 along which they passed until it became 
 a shelf which was broken by a chasm 
 some yards farther on. They then re- 
 turned to the boat and pulled across the 
 stream for some logs which had lodged 
 on the opposite shore, and with which it 
 was intended to bridge the gulf. It was 
 no easy work hauling the wood along the 
 fissure, but with care and patience they 
 accomplished it, and reached a point in 
 the cliffs from which the falls could be 
 seen. It seemed practicable to lower the 
 boats over the stormy waters by holding 
 them with ropes from the cliffs ; and this 
 was done successfully, the incident illus- 
 trating how laborious their progress some- 
 times became. 
 
 The scenery was of unending interest. 
 The rocks were of many colors white, 
 gray, pink and purple, with saffron tints. 
 At an elbow of the river the water has 
 excavated a semicircular chamber which 
 would hold fifty thousand people, and 
 farther on the cliffs are of softly -tinted 
 marble lustrously polished by the waves. 
 At one place Major Powell walked for 
 more than a mile on a marble pavement 
 fretted with strange devices and emboss- 
 ed with a thousand different patterns. 
 Through a cleft in the wall the sun shone 
 on this floor, which gleamed with irides- 
 cent beauty. Exploring the cleft, Major 
 Powell found a succession of pools one 
 above another, and each cold and clear, 
 though the water of the river was a dull 
 red. Then a bend in the canon disclosed 
 a massive abutment that seemed to be 
 set with a million brilliant gems as they 
 approached it, and every one wondered. 
 As they came closer to it they saw many
 
 126 
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 springs bursting from the rock high over- 
 head, and the spray in the sunshine forms 
 the gems which glitter in the walls, at 
 the base of which is a profusion of mosses, 
 ferns and flowers. To the place above 
 where the three portages were necessary 
 
 the name of Cataract Canon was given ; 
 and they were now well into the Grand 
 Canon itself. The walls were more than 
 a mile in height, and, as Major Powell 
 says, a vertical altitude like this is not 
 easily pictured. " Stand on the south 
 
 THE HEART OF CATARACT CASON. 
 
 steps of the Treasury Building in Wash- 
 ington and look down Pennsylvania Ave- 
 nue to the Capitol Park, and measure this 
 distance overhead, and imagine cliffs to 
 extend to that altitude, and you will un- 
 derstand what I mean," the explorer has 
 written ; " or stand at Canal street in New 
 York and look up Broadway to Grace 
 Church, and you have about the dis- 
 tance ; or stand at the Lake street bridge 
 in Chicago and look down to the Central 
 
 Depot, and you have it again." A thou- 
 sand feet of the distance is through gran- 
 ite crags, above which are slopes and per- 
 pendicular cliffs to the summit. The gorge 
 is black and narrow below, red and gray 
 and flaring above. 
 
 Down these gloomy depths the expedi- 
 tion constantly glided, ever listening and 
 ever peering ahead, for the cafion is wind- 
 ing and they could not see more than a 
 few hundred yards in advance. The view
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 127 
 
 changed every minute as some new crag 
 or pinnacle or glen or peak became vis- 
 ible; but the men were fully engaged 
 listening for rapids and looking for rocks. 
 Navigation was exceedingly difficult, and 
 it was often necessary to hold the boats 
 
 MARY'S VEIL, A SIDE CANON. 
 
 from ledges in the cliffs as the falls were 
 passed. The river was very deep and 
 the canon very narrow. The waters 
 boiled and rushed in treacherous cur- 
 rents, which sometimes whirled the boats 
 into the stream or hurried them against 
 
 the walls. The oars were useless, and 
 each crew labored for its own preserva- 
 tion as its frail vessel was spun round like 
 a top or borne with the speed of a loco- 
 motive this way and that. 
 
 While they were thus uncontrollable 
 the boats entered a rapid, and 
 one of them was driven in shore, 
 but as there was no foothold for 
 a portage the men pushed into 
 the stream again. The next 
 minute a reflex wave filled the 
 open compartment and water- 
 logged her : breaker after break- 
 er rolled over her, and one cap- 
 sized her. The men were thrown 
 out, but they managed to cling 
 to her, and as they were swept 
 down the other boats rescued 
 them. 
 
 Heavy clouds lolled in the 
 canon, filling it with gloom. 
 Sometimes they hung above 
 from wall to wall and formed a 
 roof : then a gust of wind from 
 a side -canon made a rift in 
 them and the blue heavens were 
 revealed, or they dispersed in 
 patches which settled on the 
 crags, while puffs of vapor is- 
 sued out of the smaller gulches, 
 and occasionally formed bars 
 across the canon, one above an- 
 other, each opening a different 
 vista. When they discharged 
 their rains little rills first trickled 
 down the cliff, and these soon 
 became brooks : the brooks 
 grew into creeks and tumbled 
 down through innumerable cas- 
 cades, which added their music 
 to the roar of the river. As soon 
 as the rain ceased rills, brooks, 
 creeks and cascades disappear- 
 ed, their birth and death being 
 equally sudden. 
 
 Desolate and inaccessible as 
 the canon is, many ruins of 
 buildings are found perched upon ledges 
 in the stupendous cliffs. In some in- 
 stances the mouths of caves have been 
 walled in, and the evidences all point 
 to a race for ever dreading and fortify- 
 ing itself against an invader. Why did
 
 128 
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 these people chose their embattlements 
 so far away from all tillable land and 
 sources of subsistence ? Major Powell 
 suggests this solution of the problem : 
 For a century or two after the settle- 
 
 ment of Mexico many expeditions were 
 sent into the country now comprised in 
 Arizona and New Mexico for the pur- 
 pose of bringing the town-building peo- 
 ple under the dominion of the Spanish 
 
 LIGHTHOUSE ROCK IN THE CAflON OK DESOLATION. 
 
 government. Many of their villages were 
 destroyed, and the inhabitants fled to 
 regions at that time unexplored ; and 
 there are traditions among the existing 
 Pueblos that the canons were these lands. 
 The Spanish conquerors had a monstrous 
 greed for gold and a lust for saving souls. 
 "Treasure they must have if not on 
 earth why, then, in heaven and when 
 they failed to find heathen temples be- 
 decked with silver they propitiated Heav- 
 en by seizing the heathen themselves. 
 
 There is yet extant a cdpy of a record 
 made by a heathen artist to express his 
 conception of the demands of the con- 
 querors. In one part of the picture we 
 have a lake, and near by stands a priest 
 pouring water on the head of a native. 
 On the other side a poor Indian has a 
 cord around his throat. Lines run from 
 these two groups to a central figure, a 
 man with a beard and full Spanish pan- 
 oply. The interpretation of the picture- 
 writing is this : ' Be baptized ar. this saved
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 129 
 
 heathen, or be hanged as this damned 
 heathen.' Doubtless some of the peo- 
 ple preferred a third alternative, and 
 rather than be baptized or hanged they 
 chose to be imprisoned within these 
 canon-walls." 
 
 The rains and the accidents in the rap- 
 ids had seriously reduced the commissary 
 by this time, and the provisions left were 
 more or less injured. The bacon was 
 uneatable, and had to be thrown away : 
 the flour was musty, and the saleratus 
 was lost overboard. On August lyth the 
 party had only enough food remaining 
 for ten days' use, and though they hoped 
 that the worst places had been passed, 
 the barometers were broken, and they 
 did not know what descent they had yet 
 to make. The canvas which they had 
 brought with them for covering from' 
 Green River City was rotten, there was 
 not one blanket apiece for the men, and 
 more than half the party were hatless. 
 Despite their hopes that the greatest ob- 
 stacles had been overcome, however, on 
 the morning of August 27th they reach- 
 ed a place which appeared more perilous 
 than any they had so far passed. They 
 landed on one side of the river, and 
 clambered over the granite pinnacles for 
 a mile or two without seeing any way by 
 which they could lower the boats. Then 
 they crossed to the other side and walk- 
 ed along the top of a crag. In his eager- 
 ness to reach a point where he could see 
 the roaring fall below, Major Powell went 
 too far, and was caught at a point where 
 he could neither advance nor retreat: 
 the river was four hundred feet below, 
 and he was suspended in front of the 
 cliff with one foot on a small projecting 
 rock and one hand fixed in a little crev- 
 ice. He called for help, and the men 
 passed him a line, but he could not let 
 go of the rock long enough to seize it. 
 While he felt his hold becoming weaker 
 and expected momentarily to drop into 
 the canon, the men went to the boats and 
 obtained three of the largest oars. The 
 blade of one of them was pushed into 
 the crevice of a rock beyond him in such 
 a manner that it bound him across the 
 body to the wall, and another oar was 
 fixed so that he could stand upon it and 
 9 
 
 walk out of the difficulty. He breathed 
 again, but had felt that cold air which 
 seems to fan one when death is near. 
 
 Another hour was spent in examining 
 the river, but a good view of it could not 
 be obtained, and they once more went to 
 the opposite side. After some hard work 
 among the cliffs they discovered that the 
 lateral streams had washed a large num- 
 ber of boulders into the river, forming a 
 dam over which the water made a broken 
 fall of about twenty feet, below which was 
 a rapid beset by huge rocks for two or 
 three hundred yards. This was border- 
 ed on one side by a series of sharp pro- 
 jections of the canon-walls, and beyond 
 it was a second fall,- ending in another 
 and no less threatening rapid. At the 
 bottom of the latter an immense slab of 
 granite projected fully halfway across the 
 river, and upon the inclined plane which 
 it formed the water rolled with all the 
 momentum gained in the falls and rap- 
 ids above, and then swept over to the 
 left. The men viewed the prospect with 
 dismay, but Major Powell had an insa- 
 tiable desire to complete the exploration. 
 He decided that it was possible to let the 
 boats down over the first fall, then to run 
 near the right cliff to a point just above 
 the second fall, where they could pull 
 into a little chute, and from the foot of 
 that across the stream to avoid the great 
 rock below. The men shook their heads, 
 and after supper a sorry supper of un- 
 leavened flour and water, coffee and ran- 
 cid bacon, eaten on the rocks the elder 
 Howland endeavored to dissuade the 
 leader from his purpose, and, failing to 
 do so, told him that he with his brother 
 and Dunn would go no farther. That 
 night Major Powell did not sleep at all, 
 but paced to and fro, now measuring the 
 remaining provisions, then contemplating 
 the rushing falls and rapids. Might not 
 Howland be right ? Would it be wise to 
 venture into that maelstrom which was 
 white during the darkest hours of the 
 night ? At one time he almost concluded 
 to leave the river and to strike out across 
 the table-lands for the Mormon settle- 
 ments. But this trip had been the ob- 
 ject of his life for many years, looked 
 forward to and dreamed of, and to leave
 
 130 
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 the exploration unfinished when he was 
 so near the end, to acknowledge defeat, 
 was more than he could reconcile him- 
 self to. 
 
 In the morning his brother, Captain 
 Powell, Sumner, Bradley, Hall and 
 Hawkins promised to remain with him, 
 but the Howlands and Dunn were fixed 
 
 in their determination to go no farther. 
 The provisions were divided, and one of 
 the boats was left with the deserters, who 
 were also provided with three guns : How- 
 land was also entrusted with duplicate 
 copies of the rerords and with some me- 
 mentos the voyagers desired to have sent 
 to friends and relatives should they not 
 
 GRANITE WALLS. 
 
 be heard of again. It was a solemn part- 
 ing. The Howlands and Dunn entreated 
 the others not to go on, telling them that 
 it was obvious madness ; but the decision 
 had been made, and the two boats push- 
 ed out into the stream. 
 
 They glided rapidly along the foot of 
 the wall, grazing one large rock, and then 
 they pulled into the falls and plunged 
 
 over them. The open compartment of 
 the major's boat was filled when she 
 struck the first wave below, but she cut 
 through the upheaval, and by vigoious 
 strokes was drawn away from the dan- 
 gerous rock farther down. They were 
 scarcely a minute in running through the 
 rapids, and found that what had seemed 
 almost hopeless from above was really
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 13' 
 
 less difficult than many other points on 
 the river. The Rowlands and their com- 
 panion were now out of sight, and guns 
 were fired to indicate to them that the 
 passage had been safely made and to in- 
 duce them to follow ; but no answer came, 
 
 CANON IN ESCALANTE 11AS1N. 
 
 and after waiting two hours the descent 
 of the river was resumed. 
 
 A succession of falls and rapids still 
 had to be overcome, and in the afternoon 
 the explorers were opce more threatened 
 with defeat. A little stream entered the 
 
 canon from the left, and immediately be- 
 low the river broke over two falls, beyond 
 which it rose in high waves and subsided 
 in whirlpools. The boats hugged the left 
 wall for some distance, but when the men 
 saw that they could not descend on this 
 side they pulled up 
 stream several hun 
 dred yards and 
 crossed to the oth- 
 er. Here there 
 was a bed of basalt 
 about one hundred 
 feet high, which, 
 disembarking, they 
 followed, pulling 
 the boats after them 
 by ropes. The ma- 
 jor, as usual, went 
 ahead, and discov- 
 ered that it would 
 be impossible to 
 lower the boats 
 from the cliff; but 
 the men had al- 
 ready brought one 
 of them to the brink 
 of the falls and had 
 secured her by a 
 bight around a 
 crag. The other 
 boat, in which 
 Bradley had re- 
 mained, was shoot- 
 ing in and out from 
 the cliffs with great 
 violence, now 
 straining the line 
 by which she was 
 held, and now 
 whirling against 
 the rock as if she 
 would dash herself 
 to pieces. An ef- 
 fort was made to 
 pass another rope 
 to Bradley, but he 
 was so preoccupied 
 
 that he did not notice it, and the others 
 saw him take a knife out of its sheath 
 and step forward to cut the line. He 
 had decided that it was better to go 
 over the falls with her than to wait for 
 her to be completely wrecked against
 
 132 
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION, 
 
 the rocks. He did 
 not show the least 
 alarm, and as he 
 leaned over to cut 
 the rope the boat 
 sheered into the 
 stream, the stern- 
 post broke and he 
 was adrift. With 
 perfect composure 
 he seized the large 
 scull-oar, placed it 
 in the stern row- 
 lock and pulled 
 with all his strength, 
 which was consid- 
 erable, to turn the 
 bow down stream. 
 After the third 
 stroke she passed 
 over the falls and 
 was invisible for 
 several seconds, 
 when she reappear- 
 ed upon a great 
 wave, dancing high 
 over its crest, then 
 sinking between 
 two vast walls of 
 water. The men 
 on the cliff held 
 their breath as they 
 watched. Again 
 she disappeared, 
 and this time was 
 out of sight so long 
 that poor Bradley's 
 fate seemed settled ; 
 but in a moment 
 more something 
 was noticed emer- 
 ging from the water 
 farther down the 
 stream : it was the 
 boat, with Bradley 
 standing on deck 
 and twirling his hat 
 to show that he was 
 safe. He was spin- 
 ning round in a 
 whirlpool, however, 
 and S u m n e r and 
 Powell were sent 
 along the cliff to 
 
 VOL. XXVI. 26 
 
 PA-RU-NU-WEAP CARON.
 
 A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION. 
 
 133 
 
 see if they could help him, while the 
 major and the others embarked in the 
 remaining boat and passed over the fall. 
 After reaching the brink they do not re- 
 member what happened to them, except 
 that their boat was upset and that Brad- 
 ley pulled them out of the water. Pow- 
 ell and Sumner joined them by climbing 
 along the cliff, and, having put the boats 
 in order, they once more started down the 
 stream. 
 
 On the next day, August 29th, three 
 months and five days after leaving Green 
 River City, they reached the foot of the 
 Grand Canon of the Colorado, the pas- 
 sage of which had been of continuous 
 peril and toil, and on the 3Oth they end- 
 ed their exploration at a ranch, from 
 which the way was easy to Salt Lake 
 City. "Now the danger is over," writes 
 Major Powell in his diary ; " now the toil 
 has ceased; now the gloom has disap- 
 peared ; now the firmament is bounded 
 only by the horizon ; and what a vast ex- 
 panse of constellations can be seen ! The 
 river rolls by us in silent majesty ; the 
 quiet of the camp is sweet ; our joy is 
 almost ecstasy. We sit till long after 
 midnight talking of the Grand Canon, 
 talking of home, but chiefly talking of 
 the three men who left us. Are they 
 wandering in those depths, unable to 
 find a way out ? are they searching over 
 the desert-lands above for water ? or are 
 they nearing the settlements?" 
 
 It was about a year afterward that their 
 fate became known. Major Powell was 
 continuing his explorations, and having 
 passed through Pa-ru-nu-weap (or Roar- 
 ing Water) Canon, he spent some time 
 among the Indians in the region beyond, 
 
 from whom he learned that three white 
 men had been killed the year before. 
 They had come upon the Indian village 
 starving and exhausted with fatigue, say- 
 ing that they had descended the Grand 
 Canon. They were fed and started on 
 the way to the settlements, but they 
 had not gone far when an Indian ar- 
 rived from the east side of the Colo- 
 rado and told of some miners who had 
 killed a squaw in a drunken brawl. 
 He incited the tribe to follow and at- 
 tack the three whites, who no doubt 
 were the murderers. Their story of 
 coming down the Grand Canon was im- 
 possible no men had ever done that 
 and it was a falsehood designed to cov- 
 er their guilt. Excited by a desire for 
 revenge, a party stole after them, sur- 
 rounded them in ambush and filled them 
 with arrows. This was the .tragic end of 
 Dunn and the Rowland brothers. 
 
 Little need be added. The unflinch- 
 ing courage, the quiet persistence and the 
 inexhaustible zeal of Major Powell en- 
 abled him to achieve a geographical ex- 
 ploit which had been deemed wholly im- 
 practicable, and which in adventurous- 
 ness puts most of the feats of the Alpine 
 Club in the shade. But the narrative may 
 derive a further interest from one other 
 fact concerning this intrepid explorer, 
 whom we have seen standing at the bow 
 of his boats and guiding them over tem- 
 pestuous falls, rapids and whirlpools, soar- 
 ing among the crags of almost perpen- 
 dicular canon -walls and suspended by 
 his fingers from the rocks four hundred 
 feet above the level of the river: Major 
 Powell is a one-armed man !
 
 THE RUINS OF THE COLORADO VALLEY. 
 
 HOUSE OF A MOQUI CHIEF. 
 
 IT was about seventy years before our 
 English race gained a foothold on the 
 eastern coast of America that, far away 
 in the West, the seeds of another form 
 of Eastern civilization began to fall upon 
 ground which now belongs to our nation- 
 al territory. In the wilderness near the 
 western border of New Mexico there 
 134 
 
 stands a great crag, torn into curious 
 shapes by the wear of ages, bearing on 
 its summit a ruined fortress of a forgot- 
 ten people and on its side hieroglyphic 
 writing which no one can decipher. The 
 same smooth sandstone surface which 
 invited the picture-writing of the ancients 
 has also tempted later passers-by to per-
 
 THE RUINS OF THE COLORADO VALLEY. 
 
 135 
 
 petuate their names. A long series of 
 inscriptions in Spanish, begun before the 
 first English had landed at Jamestown, 
 tells how explorers, conquerors, govern- 
 ment emissaries and missionaries of the 
 Cross, passing that way, paused to leave 
 their names on the enduring rock. That 
 imperishable monument bears record to 
 all time that this remotest region of our 
 country, the last which the new life of 
 the nineteenth century penetrates, was 
 the first point to be touched by Euro- 
 pean civilization, if we except one old 
 Florida fort. It is three hundred and 
 forty years since the Spaniards entered 
 New Mexico. There, almost at the cen- 
 tre of the continent, in the valleys of the 
 Rio Grande and Colorado, the old Span- 
 ish life has remained, as unprogressive 
 as a Chinese province, continuing to the 
 middle of this century a kind of modified 
 feudal system. But this old declining 
 civilization of the South-west is new in 
 comparison with that which the Spanish 
 conquerors found existing in the country 
 when they entered it. A remnant of that 
 old half-civilized life lingers still, almost 
 unchanged by contact with white men, in 
 the seven citadels of the Moquis perched 
 on the high mesas of Arizona, while in 
 the Pueblo villages of New Mexico we 
 find it more affected by the Spanish in- 
 fluence. 
 
 The attraction which drew the conque- 
 rors of Mexico forty-five days' journey 
 away into the North was the fame which 
 had reached them of the Seven Cities of 
 Cibola (the buffalo), great in wealth and 
 population, lying in the valley of the Rio 
 de Zuni. To the grief of the invaders, 
 they found not cities, but rather villages 
 of peaceful agricultural people dwelling 
 in great pueblos three and four stories 
 high, and they searched in vain for the 
 rumored stores of gold. At that time the 
 pueblos held a large population skilled 
 in many arts of civilization. They culti- 
 vated large tracts of ground, wove fabrics 
 of cotton and produced ornate pottery. 
 Their stone-masonry was admirable. But 
 even three hundred years ago it seems 
 that the people were but a remnant of 
 what they had once been. Even then 
 the conquerors wondered at the many 
 
 ruins which indicated a decline from for- 
 mer greatness. The people have not now 
 the same degree of skill m their native 
 arts which the race once had, and it is 
 probable that when the Spaniards came 
 and found them declining in numbers 
 the old handicrafts were already on the 
 wane. 
 
 In a remote age the ancestors of these 
 Pueblo tribes, or a race of kindred habits, 
 filled most of that vast region which is 
 drained by the Colorado River and its 
 affluents, and spread beyond into the val- 
 ley of the Rio Grande. The explorers of 
 a great extent of country in Utah, Arizona, 
 New Mexico and Colorado have found ev- 
 erywhere evidences of the wide distribu- 
 tion and wonderful industry of that an- 
 cient people. On the low land which they 
 used to till lie the remains of their vil- 
 lages rectangular buildings of enormous 
 dimensions and large circular estufas, or 
 halls for council and worship. On the 
 sides of the savage cliffs that wall in or 
 overarch the canons are scattered in ev- 
 ery crevice and wrinkle those strange and 
 picturesque ruins which give us the name 
 "Cliff-dwellers" to distinguish this long- 
 forgotten people. And on commanding 
 points, seen far away down the canons or 
 across the mesas, stand the solitary watch- 
 towers where sentinels might signal to 
 the villagers below on the approach of 
 Northern barbarians. 
 
 It is only a few years since Mr. John Rus- 
 kin rejected a suggestion that he should 
 visit the United States, urging among oth- 
 er reasons that it would be impossible for 
 him to exist even for a short time in a 
 country where there are no old castles. 
 We Americans were disposed to resent 
 this slap at our country, and not a few 
 newspaper editors relieved their minds 
 by intimating that we could get along 
 quite comfortably without old castles and 
 without Mr. Ruskin. But, after all, it is 
 a consolation for our national pride to 
 know that the fault is not in our country, 
 but in Mr. Ruskin's ignorance of Amer- 
 ican archaeology. We have old castles 
 without number in the Western Territo- 
 ries ruined fortifications and dwellings 
 of an unknown antiquity, perhaps as old 
 as Warwick or Bangor, as impregnable as
 
 1 3 6 
 
 THE RUINS OF THE COLORADO VALLEY. 
 
 the highest cliff-built castle of the Rhine, 
 as grand in situation as the Drachenfels 
 or Dover Casfle. 
 
 Only the more eastern part of the great 
 domain held by that ancient people has 
 yet been examined thoroughly with ref- 
 erence to its antiquities. Within the last 
 decade Mr. W. H. Jackson of the United 
 States Geological Survey has brought to 
 notice, by his admirable photographs and 
 descriptions, the remains in the cliffs and 
 
 canons of South-western Colorado and 
 the adjacent region. Thirty years ago 
 Lieutenant Simpson described the ruined 
 pueblos of New Mexico. But in regard 
 to the ruins farther west, seen by Major 
 Powell in his headlong course down the 
 Colorado River, and the innumerable 
 remains of cities, fortresses and canals 
 mentioned by visitors to Arizona, but lit- 
 tle careful investigation has been made. 
 I believe that few richer fields for an an- 
 
 tiquary can be found in tne world than 
 this south - western region of our own 
 country. I cannot doubt that a thorough 
 comparative examination of these remains 
 would throw a new light upon the rela- 
 tionship between the ancient and modern 
 civilized tribes, and upon their connection 
 with their far more civilized Aztec neigh- 
 bors of the South. As yet, hardly an at- 
 tempt at excavation has been made in 
 the Colorado Valley. 
 
 There is no other district which em- 
 braces in so small a compass so great a 
 number and variety of the Cliff-dwellers' 
 
 ruined works as the canon of the Little 
 Rio Mancos* in South-western Color- 
 ado. The stream rises in a spur of the 
 San Juan Mountains, near the remote 
 mining-camp called Parrott City. Flow- 
 ing southward for a few miles through an 
 open valley, it is soon enclosed between 
 the walls of a profound canon which cuts 
 for nearly thirty miles through a" table- 
 
 * In studying the ruins of the Mancos and neigh- 
 boring canons I have made constant use of the 
 reports of explorations by Mr. W. H. Jackson and 
 Mr. W. H. Holmes in Bulletins of U. S. Geolog. and 
 Geograph. Survey, Second Series, No. i, and Annual 
 Report of the same survey for 1876.
 
 THE RUINS OF THE COLORADO VALLEY. 
 
 137 
 
 land called the Mesa Verde. The canon 
 is wide enough to permit the old inhab- 
 itants to plant their crops along the 
 stream, and the cliffs rising on either 
 side to a height of two thousand feet are 
 so curiously broken and grooved and 
 shelving, from the decay of the soft hori- 
 zontal strata and the projection of the 
 harder, as to offer remarkable facilities 
 for building fortified houses hard of ap- 
 proach and easy of defence. Therefore 
 the whole length of the canon is filled 
 with ruins, and for fifteen miles beyond 
 it to the borders of New Mexico, where 
 the river meets the Rio San Juan, the 
 valley bears many traces of the ancient 
 occupation. The scenery of the canon 
 is wild and imposing in the highest de- 
 gree: In the dry Colorado air there are 
 few lichens or weather-stains to dull the 
 brightness of the strata to the universal 
 hoariness of moister climates : the vertical 
 cliffs, standing above long slopes of de- 
 bris, are colored with the brilliant tints 
 of freshly-quarried stone. A gay ribbon 
 of green follows the course of the rivulet 
 winding down through the canon till it 
 is lost to sight in the vista of crags. 
 The utter silence and solitude of the wil- 
 derness reigns through the valley. It is 
 not occupied by any savage tribe, and 
 only a few white men within the last few 
 years have passed through it and told of 
 its wonders ; and yet its whole length is 
 but one series of houses and temples that 
 were forsaken centuries ago. I can hard- 
 ly imagine a more exciting tour of explo- 
 ration than that which Mr. Jackson's party 
 made on first entering this canon in 1874. 
 Above the entrance of the canon the 
 evidences of pre-historic life begin. On 
 the bottom-land, concealed by shrubbery, 
 are the half-obliterated outlines of square 
 and circular buildings. The houses were 
 of large size, and were plainly no tempo- 
 rary dwelling-places, for an accumulation 
 of decorated pottery fills the ground about 
 them, indicating long occupation. No 
 doubt they were built of adobe masses 
 of hard clay dried in the sun which the 
 wear of ages has reduced to smoothly- 
 rounded mounds. For some miles down 
 the canon remains of this sort occur at 
 short intervals, and at one point there 
 
 stands a wall built of squared sandstone 
 blocks. Along the ledges of the cliffs on 
 the right bits of ruinous masonry are de- 
 tected here and there, but for a time there 
 is nothing to excite close attention. At 
 last a watchful eye is arrested by a more 
 interesting object perched at a tremendous 
 height on the western wall of the canon. 
 It is a house built upon a shelf of rock 
 between the precipices, but, standing sev- 
 en hundred feet above the stream and 
 differing not at all in color from the crags 
 about it, only the sharpest eyesight can 
 detect the unusual form of the building 
 and the windows marking the two stories. 
 The climb up to the house-platform is 
 slow and fatiguing, but the trouble is re- 
 paid by a sight of one of the most curi- 
 ous ruins on this continent. Before the 
 door of the house, part of the ledge has 
 been reserved for a little esplanade, and 
 to make it broader three small abutments 
 of stone, which once supported a floor, 
 are built on the sloping edge of the rock. 
 Beyond this the house is entered by a 
 small aperture which served as a door. 
 It is the best specimen of a Cliff-dweller's 
 house that remains to our time. The walls 
 are admirably built of squared stones laid 
 in a hard white mortar. The house is 
 divided into two stories of three rooms 
 each. Behind it a semicircular cistern 
 nearly as high as the house is built against 
 the side of it, and a ladder is arranged 
 for descending from an upper window to 
 the water-level. The floor of the second 
 story was supported by substantial cedar 
 timbers, but only fragments of them re- 
 main. The roof, too, has entirely disap- 
 peared, but the canopy of natural rock 
 overhanging serves to keep out the weath- 
 er. The front rooms in both stories are 
 the largest and are most carefully finish- 
 ed. Perhaps they were the parlor and 
 "best bedroom" of some pre-historic 
 housewife. They are plastered through- 
 out with fine smooth mortar, and even in 
 that remote age the mania for household 
 decoration had a beginning : floor, walls 
 and ceiling were colored a deep red, sur- 
 rounded by a broad border of white. 
 
 The same cliff on which this house 
 stands has on its side many other ruins 
 some half destroyed by gradual decay,
 
 THE RUINS OF THE COLORADO VALLEY. 
 
 some crushed by falling rocks, none so 
 perfect as the one described ; but all are 
 crowded into the strangest unapproach- 
 able crevices of the canon-wall, like the 
 crannies which swallows choose to hold 
 their nests, far removed from the pos- 
 sibility of depredation. Some are so ut- 
 terly inaccessible that the explorers, with 
 
 all their enthusiasm and activity, have 
 never been able to reach them. How 
 any beings not endowed with wings could 
 live at such points it is hard to conceive : 
 it makes one suspicious that the Cliff- 
 dwellers had not quite outgrown the 
 habits of monkey ancestors. 
 
 As the canon widens with the descent 
 
 RUINS IN THE CANON OK THE MANGOS. 
 
 of the stream, the ruins in the western 
 wall increase in number. One fearful 
 cliff a thousand feet in height is chinked 
 all over its face with tiny houses of one 
 room each, but only a few of them can 
 be detected with the naked eye. One, 
 which was reached by an explorer at the 
 peril of his life, stands intact : ceiling and 
 floor are of the natural rock, and the wall 
 is built in a neat curve conforming to the 
 shape of the ledge. 
 
 A mile farther down the stream there 
 is a most interesting group of houses. 
 
 Eight hundred feet above the valley 
 there is a shelf in the cliff sixty feet in 
 length that is quite covered by a house. 
 The building contains four large rooms, 
 a circular sacred apartment and smaller 
 rooms of irregular shape. It was called 
 by its discoverers "The House of the 
 Sixteen Windows." Behind this house 
 the cliff-side rises smooth and perpen- 
 dicular thirty feet, but it can be scaled 
 by an ancient stairway cut into it which 
 ascends to a still higher ledge. The 
 stairs lead to the very door of another
 
 THE RUINS OF THE COLORADO VALLEY. 
 
 139 
 
 house filling a niche a hundred and 
 twenty feet long. A great canopy of 
 solid rock overarches the little fortress, 
 reaching far forward beyond the front 
 wall, while from below it is absolutely 
 unapproachable except by the one dif- 
 ficult stairway of niches cut in the rock. 
 In time of war it must have been im- 
 pregnable. These dwellings have given 
 more ideas about their interior furnishing 
 than any of the others. Among the ac- 
 cumulated rubbish were found corn and 
 beans stored away. In the lower house 
 were two large water-jars of corrugated 
 pottery standing on a floor covered with 
 neatly-woven rush matting. In a house 
 not far above were found a bin of char- 
 red corn, and a polished hatchet of stone 
 made with remarkable skill. 
 
 From this point onward both the val- 
 ley and the cliffs are filled with the traces 
 of a numerous population, every mile of 
 travel bringing many fresh ones into sight. 
 Among the cliff-houses there is of neces- 
 sity a variety in form and size as great as 
 the differences of the caves and crevices 
 that hold them ; but among the buildings 
 of the low ground there is more uniform- 
 ity, not only in this canon, but in all the 
 valleys of the region. Most of them may 
 be classed as aggregated dwellings or 
 pueblos with rectangular rooms, round 
 watch-towers and large circular build- 
 ings. To these must be added a few 
 which seem to have been built only for 
 defence. The straight walls have gene- 
 rally fallen, except the parts supported 
 by an angle of a building ; but, as usual 
 in old masonry, the circular walls have 
 much better resisted decay. 
 
 About midway down the canon the 
 curved wall of a large ruin rises above 
 the thicket. It is a building of very cu- 
 rious design. The outer wall was an ex- 
 act circle of heavy masonry a hundred 
 and thirty feet in circumference. With- 
 in, there is another circular wall, concen- 
 tric with the outer, enclosing one round 
 room with a diameter of twenty feet. The 
 annular space between the two walls was 
 divided by partitions into ten small apart- 
 ments. Other buildings of the same type 
 occur in this region,, some of much larger 
 size and with triple walls. Even in this 
 
 one, which is comparatively well pre- 
 served, the original height is uncertain, 
 though the ruin still stands about fifteen 
 feet high. The vast quantity of debris 
 about some of them indicates that they 
 were of no insignificant height, and their 
 perfect symmetry of form, the careful fin- 
 ish of the masonry, the large dimensions 
 and great solidity, made them the most 
 imposing architectural works of that an- 
 cient people. I find no reason to doubt 
 that they were their temples, and the 
 presumption is very strong that they 
 were temples for sun-worship. The oc- 
 currence of a circular room in connec- 
 tion with nearly every group of buildings 
 is of special interest, as seeming to link 
 the Cliff-dwellers to the modern Pueblo 
 tribes in their religious customs. 
 
 Most striking and picturesque of all 
 the ruins are the round watch-towers. 
 On commanding points in the valley, 
 and on the highest pinnacles of the 
 cliffs overlooking the surface of the 
 mesa, they occur with a frequency which 
 is almost pathetic as an indication of the 
 life of eternal vigilance which was led 
 by that old race through the years, per- 
 haps centuries, of exterminating warfare 
 which the savage red men from the North 
 waged upon them. To us the suffering 
 of frontier families at the hands of the 
 same bloodthirsty savages is heartrend- 
 ing. What was it to those who saw year 
 by year their whole race's life withering 
 away, crushed by those wild tribes ? 
 
 Near the lower end of the canon stands 
 one of the most perfect of these towers, 
 rising sixteen feet above the mound on 
 which it is built. It was once attached 
 to an oblong stone building which seems 
 to have been a strongly-fortified house. 
 The rectangular walls, as usual, are pros- 
 trate, and have left the tower standing as 
 solitary and picturesque and as full of 
 mystery as the round-towers of Ireland. 
 
 After the stream breaks from its long 
 confinement out into the open plain of 
 the San Juan Valley the traces of old life 
 are still abundant, but they present no 
 features very different from those above. 
 At the canon's mouth an Indian trail 
 strikes away toward the north-west. It 
 passes a remarkable group of ruins at a
 
 140 
 
 THE RUINS OF THE COLORADO VALLEY. 
 
 spot called Aztec Springs, and continues 
 to the McElmo, the next arroya, or dry 
 stream -bed, west of the Rio Mancos. 
 Aztec Springs no longer deserve the 
 name, for within a short time the last 
 trace of water has disappeared from the 
 spot, showing that the slow drying up of 
 the great South-west country, which has 
 been going forward for ages, and which 
 starved out the old inhabitants, is still 
 progressing. In the dry season there is 
 no water within many miles of this spot, 
 though it is strewn with the remains of 
 stone buildings covering several acres 
 
 and indicating a large population of in- 
 dustrious people who must have lived by 
 agriculture. Until a long comparative 
 study has been made of all the remains 
 of this race it is mere guesswork to esti- 
 mate the age of the ruins ; but when the 
 prostrate condition of these walls is com- 
 pared with the state in which the Chaco 
 ruins of New Mexico are found, and when 
 we consider that the latter have no doubt 
 been deserted for at* least three hundred 
 and fifty years, it is reasonable to sup- 
 pose an age of a thousand years for 
 these massive walls at Aztec Springs. 
 
 CIRCULAR RUIN IN THE O 
 
 Many other great structures of this re- 
 gion, which seem to be coeval with these, 
 are situated many miles away from any 
 perennial water, and the time which has 
 elapsed since those sites were suitable for 
 large farming-towns must be counted by 
 centuries. In this group are two large 
 quadrangular buildings with walls still 
 fifteen feet high, two of the circular es- 
 tufas, besides a multitude of half-distin- 
 guishable walls of dwellings. It is the 
 largest group of ruins in Colorado. 
 
 Not many miles beyond these so-called 
 springs the trail leads into the dry bed of 
 
 .a. 
 
 THE MANCOS. 
 
 the McElmo near its head, and another 
 long succession of antiquities is entered 
 upon , but to enumerate them further would 
 be tedious, for the ruins of the Mancos are 
 good representatives of all those which 
 are found along the courses of the Ani- 
 mas, La Plata, McElmo, Montezuma, 
 Chelley and other tributary valleys of 
 the San Juan. Nevertheless, there are 
 a few buildings here and there of some 
 unusual interest which cannot be passed 
 by without mention. On the verge of a 
 little side-canon of the McElmo there is 
 a curious instance of the keen ingenuity
 
 THE RUINS OF THE COLORADO VALLEY. 
 
 141 
 
 of this people in taking every advantage 
 of the fantastic, castle-like shapes which 
 Nature has formed out of the canon-walls. 
 High on the edge of the mesa appears 
 the ragged outline of a ruinous watch- 
 tower sharply drawn against the clear, 
 unvarying blue of the sky. It seems to 
 be a tower of unusual height, but a closer 
 view shows it to be half of Nature's build- 
 ing. A tall fragment of rock, torn from 
 its bed, has rolled down the slope to the 
 edge of the steep descent. This rock the 
 old builders have chosen to crown with a 
 little round tower where a sentinel, guard- 
 ing the village behind him from stealthy 
 attacks, could command a wide sweep of 
 country. The same thing on a larger scale 
 is found at another point where the dry 
 McElrno meets with the drier Hoven- 
 weep a tributary without tribute. In 
 this position stands an enormous rock 
 nearly cubical in shape. Its high sides 
 make it a natural fortress strong against 
 an enemy without artillery, and to its 
 natural strength the Cliff-dwellers have 
 added a battlement of masonry. But 
 among all the ruined strongholds of the 
 region that which is called the Legendary 
 Rock has a pre-eminent interest on account 
 of the Moqui romance or tradition which 
 clings to it. The rock is a grand and soli- 
 tary crag standing on a plateau of sand- 
 stone from which the soil is washed away. 
 It is far from water : a garrison must have 
 been dependent wholly on the very pre- 
 carious rain-supply. About it runs an 
 outer rampart of stone, and on the rock 
 itself is built a fortress. It is several 
 years since an aged member of the Mo- 
 qui tribe first confided to a white man 
 versed in his language the legend of this 
 rock. It has been widely published, and 
 considered of much significance. The 
 Moqui patriarch related how his people 
 in the old time were many. Their tribe 
 dwelt in the North-east. One year they 
 were visited by strangers from the North, 
 who came peaceably at first, but came 
 again another year, and year by year en- 
 croached and grew more warlike. At 
 last the Northern strangers gained the 
 mastery and drove them from their 
 homes. In a long, slow struggle the Mo- 
 qui forefathers gradually lost their ground, 
 
 till at last they made one final, desperate 
 fight for their old homes at the fortress 
 of the Legendary Rock. They conquered 
 their besiegers, but with such fearful car- 
 nage that the rocks bear still the stains 
 of the blood-streams that flowed in that 
 battle, and the remnant of the besieged 
 were glad to make an unmolested retreat 
 to the mesas of Arizona, where they dwell 
 to this day. 
 
 The story is an interesting one, and 
 has been honored by the explorers with 
 a place in their government report, for it 
 shows a belief among the Moquis that 
 those old builders were their kinsmen. 
 But, considering the fact that the first 
 Spanish discoverers found the Moqui 
 tribe in nearly the same condition as we 
 see it now, and that this story there- 
 fore must have been handed down for at 
 least three hundred years among an un- 
 lettered people, I am as much disposed 
 to distrust the other details of it as I am 
 to doubt that the red iron - stains in the 
 rock were caused by the blood of their 
 ancestors. 
 
 In the neighboring Montezuma Canon, 
 just beyond the State border, there are 
 some remains built after an unusual man- 
 ner with stones of great size. One build- 
 ing of many rooms, nearly covering a little 
 solitary mesa, is constructed of huge stone 
 blocks not unlike the pre-historic masonry 
 of Southern Europe. In the same dis- 
 trict there is a ruined line of fortification 
 from which the smaller stones have fallen 
 away and are crumbling to dust, leaving 
 only certain enormous upright stones 
 standing. They rise to a height of sev- 
 en feet above the soil, and the lower part 
 is buried to a considerable depth. Their 
 resemblance to the hoary Druidical stones 
 of Carnac and Stonehenge is striking, and 
 there is nothing in their appearance to in- 
 dicate that they belong to a much later 
 age than those primeval monuments of 
 Europe. 
 
 All the certain knowledge that we have 
 of the history and manners of the Cliff- 
 dwellers may be very briefly told, for 
 there is no written record of their exist- 
 ence except their own rude picture-wri- 
 ting cut or painted on the canon-walls, 
 and it is not likely that those hieroglyph-
 
 142 
 
 THE RUINS OF THE COLORADO VALLEY. 
 
 ics will ever be deciphered. But much 
 may be inferred from their evident kin- 
 ship to the Moquis of our time ; and the 
 resemblance of the ancient architecture 
 and ceramics to the arts as they are still 
 practised in the degenerate pueblos of 
 Arizona gives us many intimations in re- 
 gard to the habits of the Cliff-dwellers. 
 
 It was centuries ago how long a time 
 no one will ever know when that old 
 race was strong and numerous, filling the 
 great region from the Rio Grande to the 
 
 Colorado of the West, and from the San 
 Juan Mountains far down into Northern 
 Mexico. They must have numbered many 
 hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions. 
 It is not probable that they were combined 
 under one government or that they were 
 even closely leagued together, but that 
 they were essentially one in blood and 
 language is strongly indicated by the 
 similarity of their remains. That they 
 were sympathetic in a common hostility 
 to the dangerous savage tribes about them 
 
 RUINS AT AZTEC SPRINGS. 
 
 tan hardly be doubted/ They were of 
 peaceful habits and lived by agriculture, 
 having under cultivation many thousands 
 of acres in the rich river-bottoms, which 
 they knew well how to irrigate from 
 streams swollen in summer by the melt- 
 ing snows of the high mountain-ranges. 
 We read of their dry canals in Arizona, 
 so deep that a mounted horseman can 
 hide in them. We know that they raised 
 crops of corn and beans, and in the south 
 cotton, which they skilfully wove. That 
 they had commercial dealings across their 
 whole country is shown by the quantity 
 of shell-ornaments brought from the Pa- 
 cific coast which are found in their Col- 
 orado dwellings. They did not under- 
 stand the working of metals, but their 
 implements of stone are of most excel- 
 lent workmanship. Their weapons in- 
 
 dicate the practice of hunting, and while 
 the race was still numerous their forts and 
 their sharp obsidian arrows made easy 
 their resistance to the wandering savage 
 hordes. 
 
 I believe that no instance can be cited 
 of a people still in their Stone Age who 
 have surpassed that old race in the ma- 
 son's art : indeed, I doubt if any such 
 people has even approached their skill 
 in that respect. The difficulty of con- 
 structing a great work of well-squared, 
 hammer-dressed stones is enormously in- 
 creased if the masons must work only 
 with stone implements. Imagine the in- 
 finite, toilsome patience of a people who 
 in such a way could rear the ancient Pue- 
 blo Bonito of New Mexico, five hundred 
 and forty feet long, three hundred and 
 fourteen wide and four stories high ! In
 
 THE RUINS OF THE COLORADO VALLEY. 
 
 143 
 
 one wall of a neighboring building of 
 stone less carefully dressed it is estimated 
 that there were originally no less than 
 thirty million pieces, which were trans- 
 ported, fashioned and laid by men with- 
 out a beast of burden or a trowel, chisel 
 or hammer of metal. 
 
 Nothing marks more strikingly the vast 
 advance which these people had made 
 from the condition of their savage neigh- 
 bors than their evident efforts not only for 
 household comfort, but even for the beau- 
 tifying of their homes. I have referred 
 to the rush-carpeted floor of the "House 
 of the Sixteen Windows" and the deco- 
 rated walls of the two-story house on the 
 Mancos ; but they, like other semicivilized 
 peoples, found the first expression for their 
 love of the beautiful in the ceramic art. 
 The variety of graceful forms and deco- 
 rations found in their pottery is endless. 
 In some regions the country for miles is 
 strewn with the fragments of their earth- 
 enware. The ware is usually pale gray 
 shading to white : the decoration is in 
 black or red, often in the angular designs 
 commonly called "Greek patterns." The 
 Moquis of our time produce a handsome 
 ware closely resembling that of the an- 
 cient people. But the old cliff-painters 
 and the modern potters often sacrificed 
 beauty to a passion for producing the 
 most wildly-grotesque forms. There is a 
 certain general resemblance, which often 
 strikes me forcibly, but which is almost in- 
 definable, between the ceramic and sculp- 
 tured forms of the Mississippi Mound- 
 builders, the Pueblo tribes and the an- 
 cient Mexicans. The resemblance seems 
 to lie partly in a certain capacity which 
 those peoples possessed in common of 
 producing the most frightfully-grotesque 
 forms ever evolved by the human imag- 
 ination forms plainly intended to suggest 
 living beings, yet not at all transgressing 
 the injunction against "anything that is in 
 the heaven above, or that is in the earth 
 beneath, or that is in the waters under the 
 earth." The resemblance seems to me 
 very significant. 
 
 At the time of the Spanish conquest the 
 Pueblo tribes were worshippers of the sun 
 and fire, like all the races of this conti- 
 nent which were above barbarism. To- 
 
 day, even in those pueblos where a cor- 
 rupted form of the Roman faith is accept- 
 ed, there are traces of the old sun-wor- 
 ship mingled with it, and in all pueblos 
 there are large circular rooms called es- 
 tufas reserved for councils and for wor- 
 ship. The invariable appearance of es- 
 tufas among the ruined towns, and even 
 on the ledges of the cliffs, shows what 
 sacredness was attached to the circular 
 room, which perhaps was symbolic of 
 the sun's orb : it indicates a unity of re- 
 ligious faith between the ancients and 
 moderns. 
 
 The priest who chronicled the events 
 of the first expedition to New Mexico was 
 impressed with the great ruined towns 
 which they saw even before crossing the 
 desert of Arizona. There is good rea- 
 son to believe that the cliff-dwellings, the 
 last retreats of a persecuted people, were 
 abandoned before that time. But how 
 could a people so numerous, intelligent 
 and civilized fall a prey to stupid, roving 
 savages ? The wild tribes never could 
 have won the fight against their more 
 quick - wilted neighbors if the ancients 
 had not begun their own destruction. 
 
 The story which they have left record- 
 ed on the face of the country is of this 
 sort. At some very remote time they 
 began agriculture in the valleys of the 
 South-west. They found the rainfall of 
 the region too limited for farming with- 
 out irrigation, but the whole country was 
 intersected by streams fed through sum- 
 mer by the snows of the mountain-tops 
 and the abundant springs of the wooded 
 slopes and uplands. Thus their crops 
 were watered and yielded increase with 
 a regularity unknown to farmers who 
 must look to the summer rainfall for 
 success. The people prospered, multi- 
 plied and spread over a wide country. 
 In every green valley rose their great 
 common dwellings and circular temples. 
 By superior numbers and intelligence 
 they were strong against their enemies. 
 But the spreading population required a 
 great wood - supply. The finest of the 
 trees were felled for timbering their 
 houses, and whole forests were swept 
 away to give them fuel and perhaps to 
 feed perpetual sacred fires. The coun-
 
 "44 
 
 THE RUINS OF THE COLORADO VALLEY. 
 
 try was all too little watered at the best, 
 and the mountain-sides, once stripped of 
 their covering, oftentimes dried up and 
 no new growth of trees appeared. Old 
 men began to observe that the streams 
 did not maintain their even flow through 
 the whole year as when they were young, 
 and lamented the good old times when 
 there was no lack of water for irrigation. 
 The streams began to be swollen with 
 disastrous floods in spring and winter, 
 and to dwindle away alarmingly in sum- 
 
 mer. So through centuries the gradual 
 destruction of the wood brought ever- 
 increasing drought, and drought led in 
 its train famine, disease and wholesale 
 death. The people were decimated and 
 discouraged, and on the northern fron- 
 tier began to be at the mercy of savage 
 raiders. They fled from their pleasant 
 valley-homes to hide in caves and dens 
 of the earth, and built the cliff-dwellings. 
 There a remnant lingered in unceasing 
 fear of the foes who coveted the fruits of 
 
 RUINS IN MONTEZUMA CANON. 
 
 their toil ; but even from these refuges 
 they were driven ages ago. Where they 
 used to build villages and cultivate fields 
 are now barren gulches where two or 
 three times a year a resistless flood rushes 
 down from the mountains that can no 
 longer retain their moisture. Thus end- 
 ed their national suicide. 
 
 It was a strange ignorance that led 
 them to their own destruction, was it 
 not? Yet we as a nation from Maine 
 to California are recklessly working the 
 same ruin. We are stripping our moun- 
 tains a hundred times more rapidly than 
 they, but who cares whether the forests 
 are restored ? 
 
 As a child I played and bathed in a 
 pretty tumbling brook among the Litch- 
 field hills, and wondered that so small a 
 stream but fifty years before had given 
 
 power to all the mills now ruined on its 
 banks. Twenty years more have passed, 
 and now in the heat of summer there is 
 hardly water for a child to bathe. The 
 hills are stripped, the stream has dwin- 
 dled, but the spring floods tear through 
 the valley like a deluge. Even the larger 
 streams that still turn the mill-wheels and 
 make the wealth of Connecticut are not 
 the trusty servants that they once were. 
 In summer they grow weak and must be 
 supplemented with steam, and at times 
 they rise in fury and carry destruction be- 
 fore them. It is the beginning of woes, 
 but our Atlantic slope with its heavy rain- 
 fall cannot easily be changed to a desert. 
 In the far West it is different. Colorado, 
 Nevada and California, with a less regular 
 rainfall and with greater floods and small- 
 er streams, would soon find the desert en-
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 croaching on the habitable land. But in 
 these very States the waste of timber is 
 most extravagant. Mining -camps and 
 cities devour the woods about them, and 
 in every dry summer many hundred 
 square miles are burned by the reckless- 
 ness of Indians and white men. Where 
 the Californian mountains have been 
 cleared, the browsing millions of sheep 
 keep down all new growth, and, bring- 
 
 ing great wealth in our age, they threaten 
 to impoverish posterity. 
 
 The dreary experiment has been tried 
 by the ancient races of both continents. 
 Why should we repeat it ? The question 
 should command the earnest attention of 
 State and national governments. In our 
 own land already one old race has wrought 
 its own destruction in this same way. 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 GOING TO THE JUDGE'S. 
 
 THE day might have graced the month 
 of June, so balmy was the air, so 
 warmly shone the sun from a cloudless 
 sky. But the snow -covered mountain- 
 range whose base we were skirting, the 
 leafless cotton woods fringing the Fon- 
 taine qui Bouille and the sombre plains 
 that stretched away to the eastern hori- 
 zon told a different story. It was on one 
 of those days elsewhere so rare, but so 
 common in Colorado, when a summer 
 sky smiles upon a wintry landscape, that 
 we entered a town in whose history are 
 to be found greater 'contrasts than even 
 those afforded by earth and sky. To- 
 10 
 
 day Pueblo is a thriving and aggressive 
 city, peopled with its quota of that great 
 pioneer army which is carrying civiliza- 
 tion over the length and breadth of our 
 land. Three hundred and forty years 
 ago, as legend hath it, Coronado here 
 stopped his northward march, and on 
 the spot where Pueblo now stands es- 
 tablished the farthermost outpost of New 
 Spain. 
 
 The average traveller who journeys 
 westward from the Missouri River imag- 
 ines that he is coming to a new country. 
 "The New West" is a favorite term with 
 the agents of land - companies and the
 
 146 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 writers of alluring railway-guides. These 
 enterprising advocates sometimes indulge 
 in nights of rhetoric that scorn the tram- 
 mels of grammar and dictionary. Wit- 
 ness the following impassioned utterances 
 concerning the lands of a certain West- 
 ern railroad : " They comprise a section 
 of country whose possibilities are simply 
 infinitesimal, and whose developments 
 will be revealed in glorious realization 
 through the horoscope of the near fu- 
 ture." This verbal architect builded 
 wiser than he knew, for what more fit- 
 ting word could the imagination suggest 
 wherewith to crown the possibilities of 
 alkali wastes and barren, sun -scorched 
 plains ? 
 
 A considerable part of the New West 
 of to-day was explored by the Spaniards 
 more than three centuries ago. Before 
 the English had landed at Plymouth 
 Rock or made a settlement at James- 
 town they had penetrated to the Rocky 
 Mountains and given to peak and riv- 
 er their characteristic names. Southern 
 Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona have 
 been the theatres wherein were enacted 
 deeds of daring and bravery perhaps un- 
 surpassed by any people and any age ; 
 and that, too, centuries before they be- 
 came a part of our American Union. The 
 whole country is strewn over with the 
 ruins of a civilization in comparison with 
 which our own of to-day seems feeble. 
 And he who journeys across the Plains 
 till he reaches the Sangre del Cristo 
 Mountains or the blue Sierra Mojadas 
 enters a land made famous by the ex- 
 ploits of Coronado, De Vaca and per- 
 haps of the great Montezuma himself. 
 
 In the year 1540, Francisco Vasquez 
 de Coronado was sent by the Spanish 
 viceroy of Mexico to explore the regions 
 to the north. Those mountain - peaks, 
 dim and shadowy in the distance and 
 seeming to recede as they were approach- 
 ed, had ever been an alluring sight to 
 the gold - seeking Spaniards. But the 
 coveted treasure did not reveal itself to 
 their cursory search ; and though they 
 doubtless pushed as far north as the Ar- 
 kansas River, they returned to the cap- 
 ital from what they considered an unsuc- 
 cessful expedition. The way was opened, 
 
 however, and in 1595 the Spaniards came 
 to what is now the Territory of New Mex- 
 ico and founded the city of Santa Fe\ 
 They had found, for the most part, a 
 settled country, the inhabitants living in 
 densely - populated villages, or pueblos, 
 and evincing a rather high degree of civ- 
 ilization. Their dwellings of mud bricks, 
 or adobes, were all built upon a single 
 plan, and consisted of a square or rect- 
 angular fort-like structure enclosing an 
 open space. Herds of sheep and goats 
 grazed upon the hillsides, while the bot- 
 tom-lands were planted with corn and 
 barley. Thus lived and flourished the 
 Pueblo Indians, a race the origin of 
 which lies in obscurity, but connected 
 with which are many legends of absorb- 
 ing interest. All their traditions point to 
 Montezuma as the founder and leader of 
 their race, and likewise to their descent 
 from the Aztecs. But their glory depart- 
 ed with the coming of Cortez, and their 
 Spanish conquerors treated them as an 
 inferior race. Revolting against their op- 
 pressors in 1680, they were reconquered 
 thirteen years later, though subsequently 
 allowed greater liberty. By the treaty of 
 Guadalupe-Hidalgo in 1848 they became 
 citizens of the United States. From one 
 extreme of government to another has 
 drifted this remnant of a stately race, till 
 now at last it finds itself safely sheltered 
 in the arms of our great republic. 
 
 Such is the romantic history of a por- 
 tion of our so-called "New West;" but 
 it was with a view of ascertaining some 
 facts concerning .occurrences of more 
 recent date, as well as of seeing some of 
 the actors therein, that we paid a visit to 
 Pueblo. We found it a rather odd mix- 
 ture of the old and the new, the adobe 
 and the "dug-out" looking across the 
 street upon the imposing structure of 
 brick or the often gaudily-painted frame 
 cottage. It looked as though it might 
 have been indulging in a Rip Van Win- 
 kle sleep, except that the duration might 
 have been a century or two. H igh mesas 
 with gracefully rounded and convoluted 
 sides almost entirely surround it, and 
 rising above their floor -like tops, and 
 in fine contrast with their sombre brown 
 tints, appear the blue outlines of the di?
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 tant mountains. Pike's 
 Peak, fifty miles to the 
 north, and the Spanish 
 Peaks, the Wawatoyas, 
 ninety to the south, are 
 sublime objects of which 
 the eye never grows 
 weary ; while the Sier- 
 ra Mojadas bank up the 
 western horizon with a. 
 frowning mountain- 
 wall. A notch in the 
 distant range, forty 
 miles to the north-west, 
 indicates the place 
 where the Arkansas 
 River breaks through 
 the barriers that would 
 impede its seaward 
 course, forming per- 
 haps the grandest canon 
 to be found 'in all this 
 mighty mountain - wil- 
 derness. Truly a stri- 
 king picture was that 
 on which Coronado and 
 his mail-clad warriors 
 gazed. 
 
 A motley throng com- 
 pose the inhabitants of 
 Pueblo. The dark-hued 
 Mexican, his round face 
 shaded by the inevitable 
 sombrero, figures con- 
 spicuously. But if you 
 value his favor and your 
 future peace of mind 
 have a care how you 
 allude to his national- 
 ity. He is a Spaniard, 
 you should know a 
 pure Castilian whose 
 ancestor was some old 
 hidalgo with as long an 
 array of names and 
 titles as has the Czar of 
 All the Russias himself. 
 Though he now lives 
 in a forsaken -looking 
 adobe hut with dirt floor 
 and roof of sticks and 
 turf that serves only to 
 defile the raindrops that 
 trickle through its manv
 
 148 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 gaps though his sallow wife and ill- 
 favored children huddle round him or 
 cook the scanty meal upon the mud oven 
 in a corner of the room he is yet a 
 Spaniard, and glories in it. The tall, 
 raw-boned man, straight as a young cot- 
 tonwood, whose long black hair floats 
 out from beneath his hat as he rides into 
 town from his ranch down the river, may 
 be a half-breed who has figured in a score 
 of Indian fights, and enjoys the proud dis- 
 tinction of having killed his man. There 
 is the hungry-looking prospector, waiting 
 with ill-disguised impatience till he can 
 "cross the Range" and follow again, as 
 he has done year after year, the exciting 
 chase after the ever-receding mirage 
 the visions of fabulous wealth always go- 
 ing to be, but never quite, attained. The 
 time-honored symbol of Hope must, we 
 think, give place to a more forcible rep- 
 resentation furnished by the peculiar ge- 
 nius of our times ; for is not our modern 
 Rocky-Mountain prospector the complete 
 embodiment of that sublime grace ? His 
 is a hope that even reverses the proverb, 
 for no amount of deferring is able to make 
 him heartsick, but rather seems to spur 
 him on to more earnest endeavor. Has 
 he toiled the summer long, endured ev- 
 ery privation, encountered inconceivable 
 perils, only to find himself at its close 
 poorer than when he began ? Reluctant- 
 ly he leaves the mountain - side where 
 the drifting snows have begun to gather, 
 but seemingly as light-hearted as when 
 he came, for his unshaken hope bridges 
 the winter and feeds upon the limitless 
 possibilities of the future. Full of won- 
 derful stories are these same hope - sus- 
 tained prospectors tales that are bright 
 with the glitter of silver and gold. Not 
 a single one of them who has not discov- 
 ered "leads" of wonderful richness or 
 "placers" where the sands were yellow 
 with gold ; but by some mischance the 
 prize always slipped out of his grasp, 
 and left him poor in all but hope. And 
 in truth so fascinating becomes the occu- 
 pation that men who in other respects 
 seem cool and phlegmatic will desert an 
 almost assured success to join the horde 
 rushing toward some unexplored district, 
 impelled by the ever-flying rumors of un- 
 
 told wealth just brought to light. The 
 golden goal this season is the great Gun- 
 nison Country ; and soon trains of burros, 
 packed with pick and shovel, tent and 
 provisions, will be climbing the Range. 
 
 Pueblo has likewise its business-men, 
 its men of to-day, who manage its banks, 
 who buy and sell and get gain as they 
 might do in any well-ordered city, though, 
 truth to tell, there are very few of them 
 who do not sooner or later catch the pre- 
 vailing infection a part of whose assets 
 is not represented by some " prospect " 
 away up in the mountains or frisking 
 about the Plains in herds of cattle and 
 sheep. But perhaps the most curiously- 
 original character in all the town is Judge 
 Allen A. Bradford, of whose wonderful 
 memory the following good story is told : 
 Years ago he, with a party of officers, was 
 at the house of Colonel Boone, down the 
 river. While engaged in playing " pitch- 
 trump," of which the judge was very fond 
 and in fact the only game of cards with 
 which he was acquainted a messenger 
 rushed in announcing that a lady had 
 fallen from her horse and was doubtless 
 much injured. The players left their 
 cards and ran to render assistance, and 
 the game thus broken up was not re- 
 sumed. Some two years later the same 
 parties found themselves together again, 
 and " pitch-trump " was proposed. To the 
 astonishment of all, the judge informed 
 them how the score stood when they had 
 so hurriedly left the game, and with the 
 utmost gravity insisted that it be contin- 
 ued from that point ! 
 
 On a bright sunny morning we sought 
 out the judge's office, only to learn that 
 he had not yet for the day exchanged the 
 pleasures of rural life across the Fontaine 
 for less romantic devotions at the shrine 
 of the stern goddess. Later we were in- 
 formed, upon what seemed credible au- 
 thority, that upon the morning in ques- 
 tion he was intending to sow oats. Though 
 cold March still claimed the calendar, and 
 hence such action on the part of the judge 
 might seem like forcing the season, yet re- 
 flections upon his advanced years caused 
 us to suppress the rising thought that per- 
 haps some allusions to wild oats might 
 have been intended. Hence we looked
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 149 
 
 forward to a rare treat judicial dignity 
 unbending itself in pastoral pursuits, as 
 in the case of some Roman magistrate. 
 "A little better'n a mile " was the answer 
 to our interrogatory as to how far the 
 judge's ranch might be from town ; but 
 having upon many former occasions ta- 
 ken the dimensions of a Colorado mile, 
 we declined the suggestion to walk and 
 sought some mode of conveyance. There 
 chanced to be one right at hand, stand- 
 ing patiently by the wayside and presided 
 over by an ancient colored gentleman. 
 The coach had been a fine one in its 
 day, but that was long since past, and 
 now its dashboard, bent out at an angle 
 of forty-five degrees, the faded trimmings 
 and the rusty, stately occupant of the box 
 formed a complete and harmonious pic- 
 ture of past grandeur seldom seen in the 
 Far West. Two dubious-looking bron- 
 chos, a bay and a white, completed this 
 unique equipage, in which we climbed 
 the mesa and then descended into the 
 valley of the Fontaine. The sable driver 
 was disposed to be communicative, and 
 ventured various opinions upon current 
 topics. He had been through the war, 
 and came West fourteen years ago. 
 
 "You have had quite an adventurous 
 life," we remarked. 
 
 "Why, sah," he returned, "if the his- 
 tory ob my life was wrote up it would be 
 wuth ten thousand dollars." 
 
 While regarding the valuation as some- 
 what high, we yet regretted our inability to 
 profit by this unexpected though prom- 
 ising business-opportunity, and soon our 
 attention was diverted by a glimpse of 
 the judge's adobe, and that person him- 
 self standing by his carriage and await- 
 ing our by no means rapid approach. He 
 was about to go to town, and the oats 
 were being sown by an individual of the 
 same nationality as our driver, to whom 
 the latter addressed such encouraging 
 remarks as "Git right 'long dere now 
 and sow dat oats. Don't stand roostin' 
 on de fence all day, like as you had the 
 consumshing. You look powerful weak. 
 Guess mebbe I'd better come over dere 
 and show you how." 
 
 Judge Bradford's career has been a 
 chequeied one, and it has fallen to his lot 
 
 to dispense justice in places and under 
 circumstances as various as could well 
 be imagined. Born in Maine in 1815, 
 he has lived successively in Missouri, 
 Iowa, Nebraska and Colorado, and held 
 almost every position open to the pro- 
 fession of the law. From the supreme 
 
 THE JUDGF. 
 
 bench of Colorado he was twice called 
 to represent the Territory as delegate to 
 Congress. In 1852, when he was judge 
 of the Sixth Judicial District of Iowa, his 
 eccentricities of character seem to have 
 reached their full development. He ex- 
 hibited that supreme disregard for dress 
 and the various social amenities which 
 not infrequently betray the superior mind. 
 Never were his clothes known to fit, be- 
 ing invariably too large or too small, too 
 short or too long. As to his hair, the ex- 
 ternal evidences were of a character to 
 disprove the rumor that he had a brush 
 and comb, while the stubby beard fre- 
 quently remained undisturbed upon the 
 judicial chin for several weeks at a time. 
 The atrocious story is even told that 
 once upon a time, when half shaven, he 
 chanced to pick up a newspaper, became
 
 150 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 absorbed in its contents, forgot to com- 
 plete his task, and went to court in this 
 most absurdly unsymmetrical condition. 
 But, despite these personal eccentricities, 
 a more honest or capable judge has rare- 
 ly been called upon to vindicate the maj- 
 esty of the law. Upon the bench none 
 could detect a flaw in his assumption of 
 that dignity so intimately associated in 
 all minds with the judiciary, but, the er- 
 mine once laid aside for the day, he was 
 as jolly and mirthful as any of his fron- 
 tier companions. Judge Bradford was 
 no advocate, but by the action of a phe- 
 nomenal memory his large head was 
 stored so full of law as to emphasize, to 
 those who knew him, the curious dispro- 
 portion between its size and that of his 
 legs and feet. These latter were of such 
 peculiarly modest dimensions as to call 
 to mind Goldsmith's well-known lines, 
 though in this case we must, of necessity, 
 picture admiring frontiersmen standing 
 round while 
 
 Still the wonder grew 
 That two small feet could carry all he knew. 
 
 The judge's mind is of the encyclopae- 
 dical type, and facts and dates are his 
 especial "strong holt." But his counte- 
 nance fails to ratify the inward structure 
 when, pausing from a recital, he gazes 
 upon your reception of the knowledge 
 conveyed with a kindly smile a most in- 
 nocent smile that acts as a strong disposer 
 to belief. Whether it has been a simple 
 tale of the early days enlivened with rec- 
 ollections of pitch-trump and other social 
 joys, or whether the performances of sav- 
 age Indians and treacherous half-breeds 
 send a chill through the listener, it is all 
 the same : at its close the judge's amiable 
 features wear the same belief-compelling 
 smile. Under its influence we sit for hours 
 while our entertainer ranges through the 
 stores of his memory, pulling out much 
 that is dust -covered and ancient, but 
 quickly renovated for our use by his 
 ready imagination and occasional wit. 
 With a feeling akin to reverence we 
 listen a reverence due to one who had 
 turned his face toward the Rocky Moun- 
 tains before Colorado had a name, who 
 had made the perilous journey across the 
 great Plains behind a bull-team, and who 
 
 has since been associated with everything 
 concerned in the welfare and progress of 
 what has now become this great Centen- 
 nial State, toward which all eyes are turn- 
 ing. Not without its dark days to him has 
 passed this pioneer life, and none were 
 more filled with discouragement than 
 those during which he represented the 
 Territory in Congress. He describes the 
 position as one of peculiar difficulty on 
 one hand the clamors of a people for aid 
 and recognition in their rapid develop- 
 ment of the country, while on the other, 
 to meet them, he found himself a mere 
 beggar at the doors of Congressional 
 mercy and grace, voteless and hence 
 powerless. Truly, in the light of his ex- 
 perience, the office of Territorial delegate 
 is no sinecure. 
 
 No one has more closely observed the 
 course of events in the Far West than 
 Judge Bradford, and his opinions on 
 some disputed points are very decided 
 and equally clear. Many have wonder- 
 ed that Pueblo, which had the advantage 
 of first settlement, had long been a ren- 
 dezvous of trappers and frontier traders, 
 and lay upon the only road to the then 
 so-called Pike's Peak mines, that via the 
 Arkansas Canon that this outpost, situ- 
 ated thus at the very gateway of the Far 
 West, should have remained compara- 
 tively unimportant, while Denver grew 
 with such astonishing rapidity. But, in 
 the judge's opinion, it was the war of the 
 rebellion that turned the scale in favor 
 of the Queen City. The first emigrants 
 had come through Missouri and up the 
 Arkansas, their natural route, and as 
 naturally conducting to Pueblo. But 
 when Missouri and South-eastern Kan- 
 sas became the scenes of guerrilla war- 
 fare the emigrant who would safely con- 
 vey himself and family across the prai- 
 ries must seek a more northern parallel. 
 Hence, Pueblo received a check from 
 which it is only now recovering, and 
 Denver an impetus whose ultimate lim- 
 its no man can foresee. 
 
 Many strange things were done in the 
 olden time. When the Plains Indians 
 had gathered together their forces for the 
 purpose of persistently harassing the set- 
 tlement, the Mountain Utes, then the allies
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 15' 
 
 of the whites, offered their services to 
 help repel the common enemy. Peti- 
 tions went up to the governor and Leg- 
 islature to accept the proffered services, 
 but they were steadily refused. Our 
 long-headed judge gives the reason: 
 The administration was under the control 
 of men who were feeding Uncle Sam's 
 troops with corn at thirteen cents per 
 pound, and other staples in proportion, 
 and the Indian volunteers promised a 
 too speedy ending of such a profitable 
 warfare. 
 
 Thus eventually has passed the life of 
 
 Judge Bradford. During his threescore- 
 and-five years he has moved almost across 
 a continent, never content unless he was 
 on the frontier. Long may he live to 
 ride in his light coverless wagon in the 
 smile of bright Colorado sunshine, hon- 
 ored by all who know him, and affording 
 his friends the enjoyment of his rare good 
 presence ! 
 
 Thirty years ago this whole Rocky- 
 Mountain region, now appropriated by 
 an enterprising and progressive people, 
 contained, besides the native Indians 
 and the Mexicans in the south, only a 
 
 Lirii: 1 ': 11 !',!:^ 1 ^^^^'' 1 ^!!:'^-; 1 !;; 11 ': 1 !: 1 :''!::::!,^:!,- 
 
 OLD ADOBE FORT. 
 
 few trappers and frontier traders, most 
 of them in the employ of the American 
 Fur Company. These were the fearless 
 and intrepid pioneers who so far from 
 fleeing danger seemed rather to court 
 it. Accounts of their adventures now 
 a struggle with a wounded bear, again 
 the threatened perils of starvation when 
 lost in some mountain-fastness have 
 long simultaneously terrified and fasci- 
 nated both young and old. We all have 
 pictured their dress the coat or cloak, 
 often an odd combination of several va- 
 rieties of skins pieced together, with fur 
 side in ; breeches sometimes of the same 
 material, but oftener of coarse duck or 
 corduroy ; and the slouched hat, under 
 
 whose broad brim whatever of the face 
 that was not concealed by a shaggy, un- 
 kempt beard shone out red from exposure 
 to sun and weather. The American Fur 
 Company had dotted the country with 
 forts, which served the double purpose 
 of storehouses for the valuables collected 
 and of places where the employes could 
 barricade themselves against the too-often 
 troublesome savages. For such a pur- 
 pose, though not actually by the Fur 
 Company, was built the old adobe fort 
 the ruins of which are still to be seen 
 on the banks of the Arkansas at Pueblo. 
 How old it may have been no one seems 
 to know, but certain it is that for long 
 years, and in the earliest times, it was a
 
 152 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 favorite rendezvous. Here was always 
 to be found a jolly good party to pass 
 away the long winter evenings with song 
 and story. Here Kit Carson often stop- 
 ped to rest from his many perilous expe- 
 ditions, enjoying, together with Fremont 
 and other noted Rocky -Mountain ex- 
 plorers, the hospitalities of the old fort. 
 Many times were its soft walls indented 
 by the arrows of besieging Indians, but 
 its bloodiest tragedy was enacted in 1854, 
 when the Utes surprised the sleeping com- 
 pany and savagely massacred all. 
 
 While these events were transpiring at 
 the old fort a party of Mexicans had jour- 
 neyed from the south, crossed the Arkan- 
 sas River and formed a settlement on the 
 east side of the Fontaine. A character- 
 istically squalid and miserable place it 
 was, with the dwellings they scarce de- 
 served the name of houses built in the 
 side of the bluffs very much as animals 
 might burrow in the ground. Part dug- 
 out and part adobe were those wretched 
 habitations, and the shed-like parts which 
 projected from the hill were composed of 
 all conceivable and inconceivable kinds 
 of rubbish. Sticks, stones, bits of old 
 iron, worn-out mattings and gunny-sacks 
 entered more or less into the construction 
 of these dens, all stuck together with the 
 inevitable adobe mud. The settlement 
 extended some distance along the side of 
 the bluff, and the sloping plain in front 
 was dignified as the plaza. Perhaps the 
 dark-hued immigrants expected a large 
 town to spring from these unpromising 
 beginnings, and their plaza to take on 
 eventually all the importance which a 
 place so named ever deserves in the Span- 
 ish and Mexican mind. But the Pike's 
 Peak excitement, originating in 1852 with 
 the finding of gold by a party of Chero- 
 kee Indians, and reaching its culmination 
 in 1859, brought a far different class of 
 people to our Rocky-Mountain outpost, 
 and a civilization was inaugurated which 
 speedily compelled the ancient Mexican 
 methods to go by the board. Thus, Fon- 
 taine was soon absorbed by the rising 
 town of Pueblo, though the ancient dug- 
 outs still picturesquely dot the hillside, 
 inhabited by much the same idle and 
 vagabond class from which the prosper- 
 
 ous ranchman soon learns to guard his 
 hen-roost. 
 
 The growth of any of our Far Western 
 towns presents a curious study. In these 
 latter days it frequently requires but a few 
 months, or even weeks, to give some new 
 one a fair start upon its prosperous way. 
 Sometimes a mineral vein, sometimes the 
 temporary "end of the track " of a length- 
 ening railway, forms the nucleus, and 
 around it are first seen the tents of the 
 advance-guard. Before many weeks have 
 elapsed some enterprising individual has 
 succeeded, in the face of infinite toil and 
 expense, in bringing a sawmill into camp. 
 Soon it is buzzing away on the neighbor- 
 ing hillside, and the rough pine boards 
 and slabs are growing into houses of all 
 curious sizes and shapes, irregularly lin- 
 ing the main street. Delightfully free 
 from conventionality are matters in these 
 new towns. Former notions of things go 
 for naught. Values are in a highly-dis- 
 turbed state, and you will probably be 
 charged more for the privilege of sleep- 
 ing somewhere on the floor than for all 
 the refined elegancies of the Fifth Av- 
 enue. The board-walks along the street, 
 where they exist at all, plainly typify this 
 absence of a well-defined dead level or 
 zero-point in the popular sentiment ; for 
 the various sections are built each upon 
 the same eccentric plan that obtains in 
 the corresponding house. The result is 
 an irregular succession of steps equally 
 irregular, with enough literal jumping-off 
 places to relieve any possible monotony 
 attending the promenade. If the growth 
 of the town seems to continue satisfactory, 
 its houses at least those in or near its 
 central portions begin gradually to pass 
 through the next stage in their develop- 
 ment. During this interesting period, 
 which might be called their chrysalid 
 state, they are twisted and turned, some- 
 times sawn asunder, parts lopped off 
 here and applied elsewhere, and all those 
 radical changes made which would utter- 
 ly destroy anything possessed of protean 
 possibilities inferior to those of the com- 
 mon Western frame house. But, as a 
 final result of this treatment and some 
 small additions of new material, at last 
 emerges the shapely and often artistic
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 153 
 
 cottage, resplendent in paint, and bear- 
 ing small resemblance to the slab-built 
 barn which forms its framework. If the 
 sometime camp becomes a city if Au- 
 raria grows into a Denver and Fontaine 
 develops into Pueblo the frame houses 
 will sooner or later share a common fate, 
 that of being mounted on wheels or roll- 
 ers for a journey suburbward, to make 
 room for the substantial 
 blocks of brick or stone. 
 By this curious process 
 of evolution do most of 
 our Western towns rap- 
 idly acquire more or 
 less of a metropolitan 
 appearance. 
 
 Pueblo, while not a 
 representative Western 
 town in these respects, 
 yet in its early days 
 presented some curi- 
 ous combinations, 
 most of them growing 
 out of the heteroge- 
 neous human mixture 
 that attempted to form 
 a settlement. The fa- 
 mous Green - Russell 
 party, on its way from 
 Georgia to the Pike's 
 Peak country, had 
 passed through Mis- 
 souri and Kansas in 
 1858, and there found 
 an element ripe for any 
 daring and adventu- 
 rous deeds in unknown 
 lands. Many of the 
 border desperadoes, 
 then engaged in that hard - fought pre- 
 lude to the civil war, found it desirable 
 and expedient to leave a place where 
 their violent deeds became too well 
 known ; and these, together with others 
 who hoped to find in a new country re- 
 lief from the anarchy which reigned at 
 home, fell into the wake of the pioneers. 
 Pueblo received its full share of Kansas 
 outlaws about this time, and, what with 
 those it already contained, even a modi- 
 cum of peace seemed out of the question. 
 Here, for instance, was found living with 
 the Mexicans by the plaza a quarrelsome 
 
 fellow named Juan Trujillo, better known 
 by the sobriquet of Juan Chiquito or " Lit- 
 tle John," which his diminutive stature 
 had earned for him. This worthy is rep- 
 resented as a constant disturber of the 
 peace, and he met the tragic fate which 
 his reckless life had invited. From be- 
 ing a trusted friend he had incurred the 
 enmitv of a noted character named Char- 
 
 MEXICAN INTERIOR. 
 
 ley Antobees, than whom, perhaps, no 
 one has had a more varied frontier ex- 
 perience. Coming to the Rocky Moun- 
 tains in 1836 in the employ of the Amer- 
 ican Fur Company, he has since served 
 as hunter, trapper, Indian-fighter, guide 
 to several United States exploring expe- 
 ditions, and spy in the Mexican war as 
 well as in the war of the rebellion. Anto- 
 bees still lives on the outskirts of Pueblo, 
 and his scarred and bronzed face, framed 
 by flowing locks of jet-black hair, is fa- 
 miliar to all. The frame that has endured 
 so much is now bent, and health is at last
 
 154 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 broken, and about a year since an effort 
 was made by Judge Bradford and others 
 to secure him a pension. But twenty 
 years back he was in his full vigor and 
 able to maintain his own against all odds. 
 Whether or not it is true we cannot say, 
 but certain it is that he is credited with 
 causing the death of Juan Chiquito. An 
 Indian called " Chickey " actually did the 
 deed, lying in ambush for his victim. 
 Perhaps few were sorry at the Mexican's 
 sudden taking off, and in a country where 
 Judge Lynch alone executes the laws the 
 whole transaction was no doubt regarded 
 as eminently proper. 
 
 Among those who came to Pueblo with 
 the influx of 1858 were two brothers from 
 Ohio, Josiah and Stephen Smith. Stal- 
 wart young men were these, of a differ- 
 ent type from the Kansans and Missou- 
 rians, yet not of the sort to be imposed 
 upon. They were crack rifle-shots, and 
 even then held decided opinions on the 
 Indian question opinions which subse- 
 quent experiences have served to empha- 
 size, but not change. And what with 
 constant troubles with the savages, as 
 well as with the scarcely less intractable 
 Kansans, their first years in the Far West 
 could not be called altogether pleasant. 
 Many a time have their lives been in 
 danger from bands of outlaw immigrants, 
 who, dissatisfied with not finding gold 
 lying about as they had expected, sought 
 to revenge themselves upon the settlers, 
 whom they considered in fault for having 
 led the way. Their personal bravery went 
 far toward bringing to a close this reign 
 of terror and transforming the lawless 
 settlement into a permanent and pros- 
 perous town. Still in the prime of life, 
 they look back with pleasure over their 
 most hazardous experiences, for time has 
 softened the dangers and cast over them 
 the glow of romance. And while none 
 are more familiar with everything con- 
 cerning the early history of Pueblo, it is 
 equally true that none are more ready to 
 gratify an appreciative listener, and the 
 writer is indebted for much that follows 
 to their inimitable recitals. 
 
 About the first work of any note under- 
 taken in connection with the new town 
 was the building of a bridge across the 
 
 Arkansas. This was accomplished in 
 1860, when a charter was obtained from 
 Kansas and a structure of six spans 
 thrown across the river. It was a toll- 
 bridge, and every crossing team put at 
 least one dollar into the pockets of its 
 owners. But trouble soon overtook the 
 management. While one of the pro- 
 prietors was in New Mexico, building a 
 mill for Maxwell upon his famous estate, 
 the other was so unfortunate as to kill 
 three men, and was obliged, as Steph 
 Smith felicitously expressed it, to "skip 
 out." Thus the bridge passed into other 
 hands, where it remained till it was part- 
 ly washed away in 1863. The following 
 little matter of history connected with its 
 palmy days will be best given in the nar- 
 rator's own words: "We had a black- 
 smith who misused his wife. The citizens 
 took him down to the bridge, tied a rope 
 around his body and threw him into the 
 river. They kept up their lick until they 
 nearly drowned the poor cuss, then whis- 
 pered to him to be good to his wife or his 
 time would be short. He took the hint, 
 used his wife well, and everything was 
 lovely. That was the first cold-water 
 cure in Pueblo, and I ain't sure but the 
 last." This incident serves to illustrate 
 the inherent character of American gal- 
 lantry, for, however wild or in most re- 
 spects uncivilized men may appear to 
 become under the influence of frontier 
 life, instances are rare in which women 
 are not treated with all the honor and 
 respect due them. Indeed, I have some- 
 times thought that the general sentiment 
 concerning woman is more refined and 
 reverential among the bronzed pioneers 
 at the outposts than under the influence 
 of a higher civilization. 
 
 The Arkansas, ever changing its wind- 
 ing course after the manner of prairie- 
 rivers, has long since shifted its bed some 
 distance to the south, leaving only a por- 
 tion of the old bridge to span what in 
 high water becomes an arm of the river, 
 but which ordinarily serves to convey the 
 water from a neighboring mill. We lean 
 upon its guard-rail while fancy is busy 
 with the past. We picture the prairie- 
 schooners winding around the mesas and 
 through the gap : soon they have come
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 155 
 
 to the grove by the river-bank ; the horses 
 are picketed and the camp-fire is blazing ; 
 brown children play in the sand while their 
 parents lie stretched out in the shadow of 
 the wagons. They left civilization on the 
 banks of the Missouri more than a month 
 ago, and their eyes are still turned toward 
 those grand old mountain-ranges in the 
 west over which the declining sun is 
 
 now pouring its transfiguring sheen. The 
 brightness dazzles the eyes, and the Mex- 
 ican who rides by on a scarce manage- 
 able broncho with nose high in air might 
 be old Juan Chiquito bent upon some 
 murderous errand. But no : the rider has 
 stopped the animal, and is soliciting the 
 peaceful offices of a blacksmith, whose 
 curious little shop, bearing the suggestive 
 
 OLD BRIDGE. 
 
 name of "Ute," is seen near the bridge. 
 Here bronchos, mules and burros are 
 fitted with massive shoes by this frontier 
 Vulcan and sent rejoicing upon their 
 winding and rocky ways. Our sleepy 
 gaze follows along Santa Fe Avenue, and 
 the eye sees little that is suggestive of a 
 modern Western town. But soon comes 
 noisily along a one-horse street-car, which 
 asserts its just claims to popular notice 
 in consequence of its composing a full 
 half of a system scarce a fortnight old 
 by filling the air with direful screeches as 
 each curve is laboriously described. And 
 later, when the magnificent overland train, 
 twenty-six hours from Kansas City, steams 
 proudly up to the station, fancy can no 
 longer be indulged. The old has become 
 new. The great Plains have been bridged, 
 
 and the outposts of but a decade ago be- 
 come the suburbs of to-day. 
 
 Doubtless Old Si Smith now and then 
 indulges in reveries somewhat similar, 
 but his retrospections would be of a mi- 
 nute and personal character. To warm 
 up the average frontiersman, however 
 and Old Si is no exception into a style 
 at once luminous and emphatic and em- 
 bellished with all the richness of the bor- 
 der dialect, it is only necessary to suggest 
 the Indian topic. However phlegmati- 
 cally he may reel off his yarns, glowing 
 though they be with exciting adventure, 
 it is the red-skins that cause his eyes to 
 flash and his rhetoric to become fervid 
 and impressive. To him the Indian is 
 the embodiment of all that is supremely 
 vile, and hence merits his unmitigated
 
 1 5 6 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 hatred. Killing Indians is his most de- 
 lightful occupation, and the next in order 
 is talking about it. His contempt for 
 government methods is unbounded, and 
 the popular Eastern sentiment he holds 
 in almost equal esteem. The Smith bro- 
 thers have had a varied experience in 
 frontier affairs, in which the Indian has 
 played a prominent part. They hold the 
 Western views, but with less prejudice 
 than is generally found. They argue the 
 case with a degree of fairness, and many 
 of their opinions and deductions are nov- 
 el and equally just. Said Stephen Smith 
 to the writer : " We've got this thing re- 
 duced right do\vn to vulgar fractions, 
 and the Utes have got to go. The min- 
 eral lands are worth more to us than 
 the Indians are" this with a suggestive 
 shrug "and if the government don't re- 
 move them from the reserves, why, we'll 
 have to do it ourselves. There's a great 
 fuss been made about the whites going 
 on the Indian reserves ; and what did 
 it all amount to ? Maybe fifty or sixty 
 prospectors, all told, have got over the 
 lines, dug a few holes and hurt nobody. 
 But I suppose the Indians always stay 
 where they ought to ! I guess not. Some 
 of them are off their reserves half the 
 time, and they go off to murder and kill. 
 Do they ever get punished for that ? Not 
 much, except when folks do it on their 
 own account. But let a white man get 
 found on the Indian reserves and there's 
 a great howl. I want a rule that will 
 work both ways, and I don't give much 
 for a government that isn't able to pro- 
 tect me on the Indian reserves the same 
 as anywhere else. Some years ago In- 
 dian troubles were reported at Washing- 
 ton, and Sherman was sent out to inves- 
 tigate. Of course they heard he was 
 coming, and all were on their good be- 
 havior. They knew where their blankets 
 and ponies and provisions came from. 
 Consequently, Sherman reported every- 
 thing peaceful : he hadn't seen anybody 
 killed. That's about the kind of infor- 
 mation they get in the East on the In- 
 dian question. 
 
 " Misused ? Yes, the Indians have 
 been misused, badly misused. I know 
 that. But who have they misused ? This 
 
 whole country is covered with ruins, and 
 they all go to show that it has been in- 
 habited by a highly-civilized race of peo- 
 ple. And what has become of them ? I 
 believe the Indians cleaned them out 
 long years ago ; and now their turn has 
 come. I find it's a law of Nature " and 
 here the narrator's tone grew more reve- 
 rent as if touching upon a higher theme 
 "that the weak go to the wall. It's a 
 hard law, but I don't see any way out of 
 it. The old Aztecs had to go under, and 
 the Indians will have to follow suit." 
 
 Whatever humanitarians and archze- 
 ologists may conclude concerning these 
 opinions, they are nevertheless exten- 
 sively held in the Far West. The fron- 
 tiersman, who sees the Indian only in his 
 native savagery, who has found it neces- 
 sary to employ a considerable part of his 
 time in keeping out of range of poisoned 
 arrows, and who must needs be always 
 upon the alert lest his family fall a prey 
 to Indian treachery, cannot be expected 
 to hold any ultra - humanitarian views 
 upon the subject. He has not been 
 brought in contact with the several par- 
 tially-civilized tribes, in whose advance- 
 ment many see possibilities for the whole 
 race. He cannot understand why the 
 government allows the Indians to roam 
 over enormous tracts of land, rich in min- 
 erals they will never extract and contain- 
 ing agricultural possibilities they will nev- 
 er seek to realize. His plan would be to 
 have only the same governmental care 
 exercised over the red man as is now 
 enjoyed by the white, and then look to 
 the law of the survival of the fittest to 
 furnish a solution of the problem. The 
 case seems so clear and the arguments 
 so potent that he looks for some outside 
 reasons for their failure, and very nat- 
 urally thinks he discovers them in gov- 
 ernmental quarters. "There's too many 
 people living off this Indian business for 
 it to be wound up yet a while." Thus 
 does a representative man at the outposts 
 express the sentiment of no inconsider- 
 able class. 
 
 Next to the Indian himself, the fron- 
 tiersman holds in slight esteem the sol- 
 diers who are sent for the protection 
 of the border. The objects of his su-
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 157 
 
 preme hatred still often 
 merit his good opinion 
 for their bravery and 
 fighting qualities, but 
 upon raw Eastern re- 
 cruits and West-Point 
 fledglings he looks 
 with mild disdain. Hav- 
 ing learned the Indian 
 methods by many hard 
 knocks, he doubtless 
 fails to exercise proper 
 charity toward those 
 whose experiences have 
 been less extended; 
 and added to this may 
 be a lurking jealousy 
 which, however, would 
 be stoutly disclaimed 
 because the blue uni- 
 form is gaining honors 
 and experience more 
 easily and under con- 
 ditions more favorable 
 than were possible with 
 him in the early days. 
 "They be about the 
 greenest set!" said an 
 old Indian - fighter to 
 whom this subject was 
 broached, "and the 
 sight of an Injun jest 
 about scares 'em to 
 death at first. I never 
 saw any of 'em / was 
 afraid of if I only had 
 any sort of a show. 
 Why, back in '59 I un- 
 dertook to take a young 
 man back to the States, 
 and we started off in 
 a buggy a buggy, do 
 you mind. When we 
 got down the Arkansas 
 a piece we heard the 
 rod-skins was pretty 
 thick, but we went right 
 on, except keeping more 
 of a lookout, you know. 
 But along in the after- 
 noon we saw fifteen or 
 twenty coming for us, 
 and we got ready to 
 give 'em a reception.
 
 1 5 8 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 We had a hard chase, but at last they got 
 pretty sick of the way I handled my rifle, 
 and concluded to let us alone for a while. 
 They kept watch of us, though, and meant 
 to get square with us that night. Well, 
 we travelled till dark, stopped just long 
 enough to build a big fire, and then lit 
 out. When those Injuns came for us 
 that night we were some other place, 
 and they lost their grip on that little 
 scalping -bee. They didn't trouble us 
 any more, that's sure. And when we 
 got to the next post there were nigh a 
 hundred teams, six stages and two com- 
 panies of soldiers, all shivering for fear 
 of the Injuns. It rather took the wind 
 out of 'em to see us come in with that 
 buggy, and they didn't want to believe 
 we had come through. But, like the 
 man's mother-in-law, we were there, 
 and they couldn't get out of it. And, sir, 
 maybe you won't believe me, but those 
 soldiers offered me seventy -five dollars 
 to go back with them ! That's the sort 
 of an outfit the government sends to 
 protect us !" 
 
 We have had frequent occasion since 
 our frontier experiences began to ponder 
 the untrammelled opulence of this West- 
 ern word, outfit. From the Mississippi 
 to the Pacific its expansive possibilities 
 are momentarily being tested. There 
 is nothing that lives, breathes or grows, 
 nothing known to the arts or investigated 
 by the sciences nothing, in short, com- 
 ing within the range of the Western per- 
 ception that cannot with more or less 
 appropriateness be termed an "outfit." 
 A dismal broncho turned adrift in mid- 
 winter to browse on the short stubble of 
 the Plains is an "outfit," and so likewise 
 is the dashing equipage that includes a 
 shining phaeton and richly-caparisoned 
 span. Perhaps by no single method can 
 so comprehensive an idea of the term in 
 question be obtained in a short time, and 
 the proper qualifying adjectives correctly 
 determined, as by simply preparing for a 
 camping- expedition. The horse-trader 
 with whom you have negotiated for a pair 
 of horses or mules congratulates you upon 
 the acquisition of a "boss outfit." When 
 your wagon has been purchased and the 
 mules are duly harnessed in place, you 
 
 are further induced to believe that you 
 have a "\vay-up outfit," though, obvious- 
 ly, this should now be understood to pos- 
 sess a dual significance which did not be- 
 fore obtain, since the wagon represents a 
 component part. The hardware clerk dis- 
 plays a tent and recommends a fly as 
 forming a desirable addition to an even 
 otherwise " swell outfit." The grocer 
 provides you with what he modestly 
 terms a "first-class outfit," albeit his 
 cans of fruits, vegetables and meats are 
 for the delectation of the inner man. 
 Frying-pans and dutch -ovens, camp- 
 stools and trout-scales, receive the same 
 designation. And now comes the crown- 
 ing triumph of this versatile term, as well 
 as a happy illustration of what might be 
 called its agglutinative and assimilating 
 powers ; for when horses and wagon have 
 received their load of tent and equipments, 
 and father, mother and the babies have 
 filled up every available space, this whole 
 establishment, this omnium gatherum of 
 outfits, becomes neither more nor less than 
 an "outfit." 
 
 The last five years have witnessed a 
 wonderful material progress in the Far 
 West. The mineral wealth discovered 
 in Colorado and New Mexico has caused 
 a great westward-flowing tide to set in. 
 The nation seems to be possessed of a 
 desire to reclaim the waste places and 
 to explore the unknown. Cities that were 
 founded by "fifty-niners," and after a 
 decade seemed to reach the limits of 
 their growth, have started on a new ca- 
 reer. And for none of these does the 
 outlook seem brighter than in the case 
 of the city of Pueblo, the old outpost 
 whose early history we have attempted 
 to sketch. Its growth has all along been 
 a gradual one, and its improvements have 
 kept pace with this healthy advance. Its 
 public schools, like those of all Far West- 
 ern towns which the writer has visited, 
 are model institutions and an honor to 
 the commonwealth. A handsome brick 
 court-house, situated on high ground, is an 
 ornament to the city, and differs widely 
 from that in which Judge Bradford held 
 court eighteen years ago the first held 
 in the Territory, and that, too, under mil- 
 itary protection. Pueblo's wealth is large-
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 159 
 
 ly derived from the stock-raising business, 
 the surrounding country being well adapt- 
 ed to cattle and sheep. The rancheros 
 ride the Plains the year round, and the 
 cattle flourish upon the food which Na- 
 ture provides in the summer the fresh 
 grass, and in the winter the same con- 
 verted into hay which has been cured 
 upon the ground. An important railway- 
 centre is Pueblo, and iron highways ra- 
 diate from it to the four cardinal points. 
 These advantages of location should pro- 
 cure it a large share of the flood of pros- 
 perity that is sweeping over the State. But 
 enterprises are now in progress which can- 
 not fail to add materially to its importance 
 as a factor in the development of the 
 country. On the highest lift of the mesa 
 south of the town, and in a most com- 
 manding position, it has been decided to 
 locate a blast-furnace which shall have 
 no neighbor within a radius of five hun- 
 dred miles. With iron ore of finest qual- 
 ity easily accessible in the neighboring 
 mountains, and coal-fields of unlimit- 
 ed extent likewise within easy reach, the 
 production of iron in the Rocky Moun- 
 tains has only waited for the growth of 
 a demand. This the advancement and 
 prosperity of the State have now well 
 assured. Many kindred industries will 
 spring up around the furnace, the Bes- 
 semer steel-works and the rail-mills that 
 are now projected ; and a few years will 
 suffice to transform the level mesa, upon 
 which for untold centuries the cactus and 
 the yucca-lily have bloomed undisturbed, 
 into a thriving manufacturing city whose 
 pulse shall be the throb of steam through 
 iron arms. The onlooking mountains, 
 that have seen strange sights about this 
 old outpost, are to see a still stranger 
 the ushering-in of a new civilization which 
 now begins its march into the land of the 
 Aztecs. 
 
 Perhaps these thoughts were occupying 
 our minds, as we climbed the bluffs for 
 a visit to this incipient Pittsburg. The 
 equipage did no credit to the financial 
 status of the iron company, as it consist- 
 ed of a superannuated express - wagon 
 drawn by a dyspeptic white horse which 
 the boy who officiated as driver found 
 no difficulty in restraining. Two gen- 
 
 tlemen in charge of the constructions, 
 their visitor and two kegs of nails com- 
 prised this precious load. The day was 
 cloudless and fine, albeit a Colorado 
 "zephyr" was blowing, and the party, 
 with perhaps the single exception of the 
 horse, felt in fine spirits. The jolly su- 
 perintendent, who both in face and mien 
 
 OLD si SMITH. 
 
 reminded one of the typical German no- 
 bleman, was overflowing with story, joke 
 and witty repartee. The site of the works 
 was reached in the course of time. Ex- 
 cavations were in progress for the blast- 
 furnace and accessory buildings, and de- 
 veloped a strange formation. The entire 
 mesa seems built up of boulders packed 
 together with a sort of alkali clay, dry 
 and hard as stone, and looking, as our 
 distingue guide remarked, as though not 
 a drop of water had penetrated five feet 
 from the surface since the time of the 
 Flood. Two blast-furnaces, each with a 
 capacity of five hundred tons, will be 
 speedily built, to be followed by rail-
 
 i6o 
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 mills, a Bessemer steel-plant and all the 
 accessories of vast iron- and steel-works. 
 With the patronage of several thousand 
 miles of railway already assured, and its 
 duplication in the near future apparently 
 beyond doubt, the success of this daring 
 frontier enterprise seems far removed 
 from the domain of conjecture. 
 
 All this was glowingly set forth by the 
 courtly superintendent, who, though but 
 three months in the country, is already 
 at heart a Coloradan. That there are 
 some things about frontier life which he 
 likes better than others he is free to ad- 
 mit. Among the few matters he would 
 have otherwise he gives the first place to 
 the tough "range" or "snow-fed" beef 
 upon which the dwellers in this favored 
 land must needs subsist. " I heard a 
 story once," said he, "about a young 
 man, a tenderfoot, who, after long won- 
 dering what made the beef so fearfully 
 tough, at length arrived at the solution, 
 as he thought, and that quite by accident. 
 He was riding out with a friend, an old 
 resident, when they chanced to come 
 upon a bunch of cattle. The young 
 man's attention seemed to be attracted, 
 and as the idea began to dawn upon him 
 he faced his companion, and, pointing 
 to an animal which bore the brand " B. 
 C. 45," savagely exclaimed, ' Look there ! 
 How can you expect those antediluvians 
 to be anything but tough ? Why don't 
 you kill your cattle before they get two 
 or three times as old as Methuselah ?' " 
 
 We took a long ride that afternoon 
 under a peerless sky, with blue moun- 
 tain-ranges on one hand, whose ridges, 
 covered with snow, seemed like folds of 
 satin, and on the other the great billowy 
 Plains, bare and brown and smooth as 
 a carpet. The white horse, relieved of 
 the kegs of nails, really performed prod- 
 igies of travel, all the more appreciated 
 because unexpf cted. A stone-quarry for 
 which we were searching was not found, 
 but a teamster was, who, while every- 
 thing solemnly stood still and waited, and 
 amid the agonies of an indescribable stut- 
 ter, finally managed to enlighten us some- 
 what as to its whereabouts. These ad- 
 ventures served to put us in excellent 
 humor, so that when the road was found 
 
 barricaded by a barbed wire fence, it only 
 served to give one of the party an oppor- 
 tunity to air his views upon the subject 
 Jo argue, in fact, that the barbed wire 
 fence had been an important factor in 
 building up the agricultural greatness of 
 the West. "For what inducements," he 
 exclaims, " does the top rail of such a 
 fence offer to the contemplative farmer ? 
 None, sir ! His traditional laziness has 
 been broken up, and great material pros- 
 perity is the result." 
 
 Whatever causes have operated to pro- 
 duce the effect, certain it is that the West 
 is eminently prosperous to-day. Every- 
 where are seen growth, enterprise and an 
 aggressiveness that stops at no obstacles. 
 Immigration is pouring into Colorado 
 alone at the rate of several thousands 
 per week. The government lands are 
 being rapidly taken up, and the stable 
 industries of stock-raising and farming 
 correspondingly extended. Manufac- 
 turing, too, is acquiring a foothold, and 
 many of the necessaries of life, which 
 now must be obtained in the East, will 
 soon be produced at home. The moun- 
 tains are revealing untold treasures of 
 silver and gold, and the possibilities which 
 may lie hid in the yet unexplored regions 
 act as a stimulus to crowds of hopeful 
 prospectors. But while Colorado is re- 
 ceiving her full share of the influx, a tide 
 seems to be setting in toward the old em- 
 pire of the Aztecs, and flowing through 
 the natural gateway, our old Rocky-Moun- 
 tain outpost. It is beginning to be found 
 out that the legends of fabulous wealth 
 which have come down to us from the 
 olden time have much of truth in them, 
 and mines that were worked successive- 
 ly by Franciscan monks, Pueblo Indians, 
 Jesuit priests and Mexicans, and had suf- 
 fered filling up and obliteration with every 
 change of proprietorship, are now being 
 reopened ; and that, too, under a new dis- 
 pensation which will ensure .prosperity 
 to the enterprise. Spaniard and priest 
 have long since abandoned their claim 
 to the rich possessions, and their doubt- 
 ful sway, ever upon the verge of revolu- 
 tion and offering no incentive to enter- 
 prise, has given place to one of a differ- 
 ent character. Under the protection of
 
 AN HISTORICAL ROCKY-MOUNTAIN OUTPOST. 
 
 161 
 
 beneficent and fostering laws this oldest 
 portion of our Union may now be expect- 
 ed to reveal its wealth of resources to en- 
 ergy and intelligent labor. And it may 
 confidently be predicted that American 
 enterprise will not halt till it has built up 
 the waste places of our land, and in this 
 case literally made the desert to blossom 
 as the rose. Thus gloriously does our 
 new civilization reclaim the errors of the 
 past, building upon ancient ruins the en- 
 lightened institutions of to-day, and graft- 
 ing fresh vigor upon effete races and na- 
 
 tionalities. And now, at last, the Span- 
 ish Peaks, those mighty ancient sentinels 
 whose twin spires, like eyes, have watch- 
 ed the slow rise and fall of stalely but 
 tottering dynasties in the long ago, are 
 to look out upon a different scene a 
 new race come in the might of its free- 
 dom and with almost the glory of a con- 
 quering host to redeem a waiting land 
 from the outcome of centuries of ava- 
 ricious and bigoted misrule, and even 
 from the thraldom of decay.
 
 LEADVILLE. 
 
 LEADVILLE, the baby among Amer- 
 ican cities, enjoys the distinction of 
 being the loftiest town in the world, be- 
 
 ing nearly eleven thousand feet above 
 the level of the sea. This proud pre- 
 eminence is dearly purchased. Though 
 
 it lies nearly on the thirty-ninth parallel, 
 the climate is almost arctic; it snows and 
 freezes all through the year ; vegetables 
 will not grow, nor can pigs or chickens 
 162 
 
 live at such an elevation ; pneumonia 
 keeps an army of doctors busy. When 
 the roads are bad, which is their normal 
 condition, the expense of hauling pro-
 
 LEADVILLE. 
 
 163 
 
 visions from Denver, one hundred and 
 twenty miles distant, is twice as much as 
 their original cost. Only a few months ago 
 flour was eight dollars per sack, while the 
 Denver price was two dollars and a half. 
 Two railroads are climbing the moun- 
 tains toward Leadville, and expect to get 
 there some time next year. In the mean 
 time travellers bound for the new Eldo- 
 rado must perform a considerable jour- 
 ney in coaches over roads hewn out of 
 the mountain-side, full of boulders and 
 for much of the way bordering on fright- 
 ful precipices. A slip of one of the horses, 
 the breaking of any essential part of the 
 harness, a mistake of the driver, would 
 precipitate the whole coach -load into 
 eternity. In justice, however, it must 
 be added that accidents are rare, and to 
 those who love grand mountain-scenery 
 the ever - shifting views of the Rocky 
 Mountains compensate for some risk. 
 
 The town itself lies in a hollow of the 
 Rocky Mountains, through which the 
 head-waters of the Arkansas flow over 
 boulders well washed by the gold-seek- 
 ers of 1860-67. On the west, Mount El- 
 bert and Mount Massive, with tops cov- 
 ered with perennial snow, rise nearly 
 fifteen thousand feet above the sea-lev- 
 el. North, east and south are the mines, 
 on a series of minor spurs and valleys 
 known as California Gulch, Oro Gulch, 
 Carbonate Hill, Stray Horse Gulch, Fryer 
 Hill, Iron Hill, Big Evans Gulch, Little 
 Evans, etc. etc. 
 
 The town is barely two years old, but, 
 as one of its newspapers exultingly re- 
 marks, it can already boast of one hun- 
 dred and twenty saloons, one hundred 
 and ten beer-gardens, one hundred and 
 eighteen gambling-houses and thirty-five 
 places of still worse repute. It is a strag- 
 gling place, nearly two miles long by 
 about half a mile wide, with a couple 
 of good streets Chestnut street and 
 Harrison Avenue. With two or three 
 exceptions, all the' houses are of wood, 
 either logs or boards, without founda- 
 tions. The Bank of Leadville occupies 
 a respectable brick building, and the 
 First National Bank is putting up a sub- 
 stantial stone edifice. A few months ago, 
 when the Leadville fever was at its height 
 
 and people came pouring in here in num- 
 bers far beyond the town's capacity to ac- 
 commodate them, lots rose to fabulous 
 prices and rents were preposterous. Two 
 or three small frame buildings on the cor- 
 ner of Harrison Avenue, which cost about 
 six thousand dollars, rented for nineteen 
 thousand a year, and lots which cost one 
 hundred dollars last fall sold for five 
 thousand dollars. This, of course, did 
 not last very long. Buildings sprang up 
 as by magic in every quarter of the city, 
 and rents fell as rapidly as they had 
 risen. Men were glad in those days to 
 procure half a bed with a stranger in a 
 room occupied by six or eight tenants 
 for one dollar a night. Now, very fair 
 board and lodging can be had for sev- 
 en dollars a week, and excellent hotels 
 charge only two and a half to three dol- 
 lars a day. Much, however, remains to 
 be done to finish the town. There is no 
 drainage, and everybody throws his gar- 
 bage out of window. There are no pigs, 
 and it is expensive to cart swill into the 
 Arkansas Valley. Imagine the smell 
 when the sun shines of an afternoon ! 
 An enterprising company undertook to 
 build waterworks. Owing to the sever- 
 ity of the winter climate, it was neces- 
 sary to lay the mains six feet below the 
 surface. But it never seems to have 
 occurred to the projectors that as the 
 houses are built on piles, without foun- 
 dations, it would be impossible to car- 
 ry the water into them from the mains 
 in the winter season ; so this modern 
 improvement will not probably prove 
 profitable. 
 
 Chestnut street is the main thorough- 
 fare. Here from early morning till mid- 
 night crowds of rough-looking men pace 
 the sidewalks or encumber the pavement 
 round the doors of drinking-saloons and 
 gambling-houses. Miners work in eight- 
 or ten-hour shifts, and get three dollars 
 a shift. They can live in their cabins or 
 boarding-houses for five or six dollars a 
 week. So they have plenty of money to 
 spend when they go down town, and as 
 a rule they do spend it right royally. In 
 some of the gambling -places there are 
 as many as eight or ten tables, which as 
 night approaches are often all surround-
 
 1 64 
 
 LEADVILLE. 
 
 ed by a crowd of gamblers and miners 
 betting all manner of sums from twenty- 
 five cents to twenty-five dollars, and suf- 
 fering nothing to interfere with their oc- 
 cupation except an occasional order for 
 drinks from the bar opposite. The deal- 
 ers are generally old hands, who pursued 
 their vocation in Nevada and in the Black 
 Hills, and who followed the crowd to 
 Leadville when the carbonate discover- 
 ies were first announced. Some of them 
 are quite prosperous and own consider- 
 able interests in the mines. All are well 
 known to the police, who never interfere 
 with them. They are a very different 
 class from the bunko- or lottery -men, 
 who pursue their calling in well-furnish- 
 ed offices up stairs or secret dens in back 
 streets, and are prepared to take a man's 
 money either by a quiet little game of 
 cards or a mock lottery, or, if neither 
 of these will do, by a straightforward 
 process of "stand and deliver." Ot this 
 latter class there are several hundred in 
 Leadville, and the city authorities for very 
 shame have lately taken some steps to get 
 rid of them. 
 
 A few months ago there were dance- 
 houses in Chestnut street. But these and 
 other cognate institutions, including one 
 or two opium-eating houses, have now 
 been confined to the back streets, where 
 they flourish luxuriantly. Some of the 
 dance - houses run a small theatre in 
 which the cancan is danced and va- 
 riety performances given, the curtain 
 rising anywhere round nine o'clock 
 and staying up till four in the morning. 
 This sort of performance is highly relish- 
 ed by the miners, who, when they go on 
 a spree, like to make a night of it. The 
 proprietor generally calculates to have 
 liquor enough behind his bar to supply 
 the thirstiest of his customers, but it not 
 unfrequently happens that he is com- 
 pelled at two in the morning to awake 
 the nearest grocer and lay in a couple 
 more baskets of champagne. Strange 
 to say, in such places as this nothing 
 but good liquor is drunk. Bad whiskey 
 "one-stamp goods" won't sell in Lead- 
 ville. Miners are ready to pay twenty-five 
 cents a glass, but they must have a good 
 article. Farther East the same class of 
 
 men would growl at paying more than 
 ten cents for a drink, but then they would 
 be satisfied with "forty-rod." Here you 
 may see men in clothes all in tatters and 
 covered with mud coolly emptying a pint 
 of Dry Verzenay at a draught. 
 
 Of course, in such a community vio- 
 lence is common. Every man is armed 
 or is supposed to be so. A late illustrated 
 paper had a picture which was intended 
 to be a caricature, in which a judge some- 
 where down South remarked on taking 
 his seat on the bench, "Gentlemen, the 
 court perceives a pistol sticking out of 
 the pocket of a member of the bar. He 
 will please hand it up here." Where- 
 upon the whole bar rose, and each man 
 surrendered his weapon. Such a scene 
 would be no caricature, but plain reality, 
 at Leadville. The example is set in high 
 quarters. Rightly or wrongly, the mine- 
 owners have been advised by their coun- 
 sel that in the cases of mines possession 
 is really nine points of the law. Now, 
 there is hardly a valuable mine here to 
 which there are not two or three claim- 
 ants. Hence, the moment rich ore is 
 struck the first thing to be done is to 
 protect the mine from seizure by some 
 adverse claimant. This is done by en- 
 camping a force of armed men round 
 the shaft with orders to shoot intruders. 
 The Iron Mine, which is valued at ever 
 so many millions, has had a force of 
 thirty-odd men for months doing noth- 
 ing but guard-duty. They are command- 
 ed by old soldiers and mount guard with 
 Winchester rifles ; and, if common rumor 
 be believed, nothing but such precautions 
 as these would have kept this valuable 
 property in its present owners' hands. 
 The Carbonate Mine has its guard, which 
 is armed with double-barrelled shot-guns 
 and revolvers and patrols the dumps day 
 and night. Another fruitful source of dis 
 putes is the title to lots, and here again 
 appeals to force are constant. Four logs 
 laid crosswise on an unoccupied lot con- 
 fer a title to the property. But if, in the 
 night or when you are away, some stran- 
 ger throws your four logs off and puts four 
 logs of his own on, whose is the land? 
 The lawyers say it belongs to the man 
 who keeps it. So the two disputants
 
 LEAD VILLE. 
 
 165 
 
 GUARD ON DUTY AT A MINE. 
 
 whip out their revolvers and indulge in 
 a little target-practice, and the best shot 
 goes on building his house, while the un- 
 dertaker pays his attentions to the other. 
 
 Familiarity with homicide has engen- 
 dered a public sentiment in Leadville 
 which recalls De Quincey's Essay on 
 "Murder as a Fine Art." There are 
 three men walking the streets who have 
 each, within the past three months, shot 
 his man dead in the town. One is out 
 on ten thousand dollars bail, one on five 
 thousand and one on three thousand. No 
 one seems to think the worse of them. 
 
 In justice to the police it must be said 
 that they do not always use their revol- 
 vers until they have exhausted their lo- 
 custs. By way of inaugurating the arri- 
 val of these last-named weapons, on the 
 very day they came a good old-fashion- 
 ed Donnybrook row was got up in Chest- 
 
 nut street. The crowd, knowing well how 
 rows generally end in Leadville, began 
 to disperse rather rapidly, cutting round 
 the corners of streets. But, strange to 
 say, there was not a shot fired. As some- 
 body explained afterward, the boys were 
 all in good - humor that day, and only 
 broke a few heads just for the fun of the 
 thing, and the police carried off their pris- 
 oners with a perfect entente cordials. 
 
 Taking all these characteristic features 
 together a semi-arctic climate, abomina- 
 ble roads, a town miserably built and not 
 drained at all, and a population which 
 for gambling, drinking and violence can 
 safely challenge the world the question 
 occurs, What could have tempted twenty 
 or twenty-five thousand people to such a 
 place ? The answer is easy : Leadville 
 is the greatest mining-camp not only in 
 the United States, but in the world.
 
 i66 
 
 LEADVILLE. 
 
 The geological history of the Leadville 
 mines has yet to be written. Half a score 
 of scientific men have published theories 
 on the subject, but they are nothing but 
 guesses. It is known or at least it is sup- 
 posed that as far back as the Silurian 
 Period most of this part of the continent 
 was covered by the ocean, and that the 
 Rocky Mountains or whatever moun- 
 tains then occupied their site were mere 
 strings of islands. As the earth's surface 
 cooled a process of upheaval and subsi- 
 dence must have gone on for millions of 
 years. Gradual contraction of the earth's 
 crust thrust mountains and plains like the^ 
 present .Parks out of the sea, while vast 
 layers of limestone were deposited by the 
 water. Geologists claim that they can 
 show that during the Cretaceous Period 
 the ocean again covered the land, leaving 
 only the high peaks bare, and again re- 
 ceded ; that this process of rise and fall 
 was repeated several times ; but that at last 
 the mountains and parks were raised for 
 good, the waters flowing off eastwardly. 
 With the beginning of the Tertiary Pe- 
 riod came the age of fire. The Middle 
 Park is supposed to have been a seeth- 
 ing sea of flame. Impelled by irresist- 
 ible subterranean gases, vast quantities 
 of metals held in solution in the bosom 
 of the earth were driven upward, and 
 found their way through crevices to the 
 surface, where they gradually cooled. 
 Mighty volcanoes burst through the 
 range, and out poured such volumes of 
 lava that in some places where they are 
 exposed they measure as much as twen- 
 ty miles in length by three thousand or 
 four thousand feet in depth. Once more 
 the mountains, pressed from below and 
 squeezed by lateral expansion, raised 
 their heads to a higher level, carrying 
 sea - shells nearly to the timber - line. 
 Next, and last, came the Glacial Period, 
 of which the traces are well marked in 
 Colorado. Not only the mountains, but 
 the whole State, must have been cover- 
 ed with thousands of feet of snow and 
 ice, which, as the climate moderated, 
 gradually melted, and sweeping down- 
 ward to the ocean cut the channels 
 through which the mountain - springs 
 now trickle to the sea. 
 
 Assuming this to be the true pre- 
 Adamite history of the State, we must 
 next look at the facts as present discov- 
 ery develops them. The carbonate of 
 lead, which is the mineral sought for at 
 Leadville, is found, with very few excep- 
 tions, in one position. It lies on the lime- 
 stone and under the porphyry, which is 
 in all probability nothing but ancient 
 lava. In some places the porphyry is 
 hard, in some soft, in some nearly white, 
 in some quite brown, but in all it bears 
 clear evidence of having been subjected 
 to the action of fire. Below the porphyry 
 is found where it is found the carbon- 
 ate of lead, carrying silver, iron and a 
 little copper and manganese. Sometimes 
 it is a hard rock, light or dark brown, 
 which requires blasting. Sometimes it 
 is a sand carbonate, gray or light or 
 dark brown, so friable that it can be 
 picked with the fingers and crumbles 
 as it is thrown into the cart. Sometimes 
 it appears in lumps of nearly solid ga- 
 lena, shining with the lustre of ham- 
 mered lead. Sometimes it appears in 
 streaks of from two or three inches to 
 two feet in width, and again a breast of 
 it will be found twenty, thirty and forty 
 feet wide. Sometimes it is found three 
 or four feet below the surface, and in oth- 
 er places shafts four hundred feet deep 
 have failed to strike it. Generally, it is 
 discovered in a contact-vein, which can 
 be followed like a fissure -vein, but in 
 some instances, as notably in the Little 
 Pittsburg, it is a mere isolated deposit 
 or "pocket," as it is called of greater 
 or less size, but without any connection 
 with other minerals, and incapable of be- 
 ing followed. In every case, however, 
 the carbonate lies upon the limestone, 
 and the porphyry or lava lies upon the 
 carbonate, and the wash upon the por- 
 phyry. 
 
 The limestone lies at every possible 
 angle with the horizon. The following 
 rough diagram shows its position on 
 Carbonate and Iron Hill, just half a 
 mile east of Leadville, and gives in ver- 
 tical section the position of four of the 
 principal mines the Iron, Shamrock, 
 Carbonate and Pendrey on what are 
 now called the three mineral steps :
 
 LEAD VILLE. 
 
 PENDRE 
 SHAF 
 
 QUARTZITE 
 
 VERTICAL SECTION SHOWING IRON MINE, CARBONATE, SHAMROCK AND PENDREY MINES. 
 
 Each of these mines has good ore, and 
 plenty of it, though from the lay of the 
 limestone it seems likely that the breast 
 which the Pendrey has lately struck will 
 prove to be a chance pocket which, in 
 rolling down the steep side of the lime- 
 stone, got lodged by some accident. But 
 if the lime-bed be followed under the 
 town of Leadville, there is no reason why 
 the carbonate should not be found there, 
 though it may be at a great depth as the 
 valley deepens. 
 
 Those who are fond of theorizing have 
 now fair material for a system by which 
 to justify the Leadville carbonates. The 
 repeated and long-continued invasion of 
 the elevated country by the sea would 
 account for the limestone beds, which lie 
 like a cloak over mountain and valley. 
 Then we may suppose that the frightful 
 internal convulsions of the earth which 
 preceded the volcanic eruptions would 
 naturally throw up, through splits and 
 crevices, vast quantities of molten min- 
 eral. How this mineral became con- 
 verted into carbonate may be explained 
 
 by any one of half a dozen hypotheses. 
 In course of time, as the internal throes 
 became more violent, volcanoes appear- 
 ed to relieve the agony, and wide tracts 
 of country were covered with lava. Fi- 
 nally, when the volcanoes had done their 
 work and relapsed into quiet, the rains 
 of heaven, pouring from the lofty peaks 
 of the Great Range, would explain the 
 varying mass of wash. 
 
 If this theory do not seem satisfactory, 
 there is no lack of others. A very learn- 
 ed German professor believes that the 
 Leadville carbonates were deposited by 
 water. He says there was at some pe- 
 riod or other in the Rocky Mountains a 
 vast inland lake whose waters were im- 
 pregnated with many minerals, but espe- 
 cially silver and lead. This lake kept 
 precipitating its mineral contents during 
 a series of ages, until the age of earth- 
 quakes and volcanoes threw up the bot- 
 tom of the lake and left it dry land. 
 Other scientists, criticising this scheme, 
 ask how the minerals got into the water. 
 But the defenders of the aqueous theory
 
 i6S 
 
 LEADVILLE. 
 
 point to a lake in Southern Colorado 
 which they aver is even now steadily 
 depositing mineral day by day. 
 
 Others again maintain that the move- 
 ment of glaciers during the Ice Period 
 scraped all this body of mineral into the 
 depressions between the hills from the 
 adjacent heights. This hypothesis fails 
 to account in any reasonable way for 
 the porphyry. 
 
 Practical miners, as a rule, trouble them- 
 selves very little about theories. They 
 know "float " when they see it, and they 
 know ore when they see it, and that suf- 
 fices them. In the Leadville camp they 
 know that to get ore they must go through 
 wash and porphyry and strike lime. This 
 is called "contact." If a miner goes 
 
 through wash and porphyry and strikes 
 lime without finding mineral, it is said to 
 be a "barren contact." In this case the 
 miner must follow the lime wherever it 
 goes, using his own instinct as to whe- 
 ther he shall go north, east, south or 
 west. Sooner or later, all who have 
 faithfully persevered in following the 
 lime have at last struck ore, in great- 
 er or less quantity and of more or less 
 value. But it is generally weary work, 
 as well as expensive. Nothing is more 
 eccentric than the lay of the lime. It 
 runs up hill and down hill, apparently 
 by pure caprice. In places it seems to 
 jump nearly perpendicularly in the air, 
 then turns again and falls to the old lev- 
 el. These spots are called "horses." 
 
 When ore has been struck, the next 
 thing to do is to find the size of the vein 
 and the richness of the ore. Extra shifts 
 are put on, if the owner can afford it, 
 and work is prosecuted night and day 
 until the boundaries of the vein are dis- 
 covered. It sometimes happens that the 
 deposit is so extensive that miners sink 
 day after day through mineral without 
 striking the lime. This is a "bonanza," 
 and means millions. Champagne is in 
 order at that mine. 
 
 Then the ore is taken to the assayer 
 to be tested. He proceeds to pulverize 
 his specimens very thoroughly with pes- 
 tle and mortar. From the powder he 
 selects three samples infinitesimal in 
 quantity, and weighs them in the finest 
 balance. The weight ascertained, he 
 mixes with the samples lead, borax and 
 broken glass to serve as a flux, and 
 roasts them in a scarifier in a fierce 
 
 charcoal assay-furnace. Half an hour 
 reduces the mixture to a fiery liquid, in 
 which the lead and silver lie at the bot- 
 tom. When the liquid cools the metal 
 is found in a button, and the overlying 
 slag is broken off. The button is then 
 cupelled, and the lead either driven off 
 in fumes or absorbed by the bonedust 
 of which the cupel is made. At the bot- 
 tom of the cupel the silver lies, a little 
 round ball, so small that the finest pin- 
 cers are needed to seize it. It is weigh- 
 ed in a balance enclosed in a glass frame 
 (for a hair turns the scale, and the least 
 wind would disturb the operation), and 
 the assayer can tell in an instant wheth- 
 er the ore contains forty ounces to the 
 ton or one hundred or five hundred or 
 a thousand. No culprit standing at the 
 bar of justice to await the verdict of the 
 jury experiences fiercer emotions than 
 does the mine-owner waiting in silence
 
 LEADVILLE. 
 
 169 
 
 till the assayer has weighed his little pin's 
 head of silver and pronounced whether 
 the mine is merely fair, or good, or a 
 bonanza. 
 
 If the foreman reports a good body of 
 ore, and the assayer announces that it 
 contains a sufficient quantity of silver to 
 justify working, it is then in order to de- 
 velop the mine. This requires capital. 
 Even by employing three shifts of two 
 men each in one hole very little ore can 
 be got out, especially if the ore be so 
 hard as to require blasting. To make 
 the mine pay, drifts must be -run on ev- 
 ery side and a large force of men em- 
 ployed. This involves an outlay beyond 
 the means of most men in Leadville. 
 Hence, half the good mines in the camp 
 are comparatively idle while their own- 
 ers are trying to sell to richer neighbors 
 
 or to Eastern speculators. Where the 
 owner has the necessary means no time 
 is lost in putting on a force of miners. 
 An experienced engineer traces the vein 
 wherever it wanders. Some veins are 
 like the roots of a tree, with rootlets 
 branching off in every direction into 
 pockets sometimes containing very rich 
 stuff indeed. These must all be explored. 
 Every few yards along the tunnels or in- 
 clines of the great mines the visitor will 
 be startled by the appearance of a gloomy 
 cave, half lit by a single candle and con- 
 nected with the main work by a hole 
 hardly large enough to crawl through, 
 but in which a solitary miner is delving 
 for tidbits of ore in a pocket. The follow- 
 ing diagram will show the underground 
 workings of the Carbonate and Shamrock 
 
 PENDREV MINE I LEADVILLE CITY 
 
 PLAT OF THE UNDERGROUND WORKINGS OF THE CARBONATE AND SHAMROCK MINES. 
 
 Where the mine is worked by a per- 
 pendicular shaft, the ore is brought to 
 the surface in buckets : where it is work- 
 ed by a tunnel or an incline, it is hauled 
 over a tramway in barrows. In either 
 case it passes under the eye of a sam- 
 pler at the top, who classes it as first-, 
 second-, third- or fourth - class ore, or 
 as refuse. In well-regulated mines .the 
 first four are conveyed at once to bins, 
 whence wagons carry it to the smelter, 
 while the refuse is thrown on the dump. 
 Many of the mines at Leadville, how- 
 ever, are too poor to have bins, and 
 dump all their ore 'at the mouth of the 
 
 shaft, sampling it from time to time. A 
 large quantity of good ore is thus lost. At 
 the smelter's it is received by a clerk, who 
 is handed at the same time a certificate 
 from a sampler that the ore has been as- 
 sayed and found to average so many 
 ounces of silver. This assay is imme- 
 diately checked by the smelter's assayer, 
 and if they agree, as they generally do, 
 the price is easily fixed upon, the money 
 paid to the mine - owner, and the ore 
 dumped into bins in the smelting es- 
 tablishment. 
 
 Then comes the most difficult part of 
 the business. The ore contains, besides
 
 LEADV1LLE. 
 
 SILVER WAVK. 
 
 silver and lead, a large quantity of iron 
 and stone, and some copper, antimony, 
 manganese and twenty other ingredients. 
 How to separate all these from the silver 
 and lead in a great smelting -furnace 
 which smelts one or two tons an hour 
 is the problem. For a long time it was 
 insoluble. All the learning of Swansea 
 and Freiberg, and all the experience of 
 Utah, Nevada and California, seemed to 
 avail nothing. Loss and ruin awaited 
 each successive attempt to treat the car- 
 bonates. It was not till several smelters 
 had failed and many weary months had 
 been spent in fruitless experiment that it 
 
 was discovered that by mixing the vari- 
 ous kinds of carbonate ores in certain 
 fixed proportions, and by using iron and 
 limestone, also in very exact quantities, 
 as a flux, the difficulty might be over- 
 come. As might be imagined, each smel- 
 ter has his own formula, which is jealous- 
 ly guarded from public knowledge. Even 
 the workmen don't know the weights of 
 the ores which they mix : the scale is set 
 by an unseen hand. But the problem 
 has been solved. Into the furnace from 
 great barrows the workmen throw the 
 mixed ore and flux, and with them in 
 fixed proportions, varying from twenty 
 
 MOUTH OF THE NEW DISCOVERY SHAFT.
 
 LEADVILLE. 
 
 to thirty-five per cent., according to the 
 nature of the ore, the charcoal which is 
 to do the work of smelting. The actual 
 time consumed in reducing the ore varies 
 according to its nature, but three and a 
 half to four hours is a fair average. At 
 the end of that time the entire contents 
 of the furnace are liquid fire. Near the 
 bottom of the pile the slag is tapped with 
 a long iron rod, and runs out into iron 
 vessels, which are wheeled into the yard 
 and their contents poured out. A trifle 
 below the point where 
 the slag is tapped the 
 lead runs into a receiv- 
 er by the side of the 
 furnace, where it is dip- 
 ped up with spoons and 
 poured into moulds. 
 It is then base bullion. 
 With a chisel and ham- 
 mer a small button is 
 cut out of each bar and 
 re-assayed. This sec- 
 ond assay ought to cor- 
 respond with the one 
 previously made of the 
 raw ore. If it does not, 
 the smelting has been 
 defective, and the slag 
 has carried off some 
 of the metal, which 
 must be reclaimed by 
 resmelting. If it does, 
 the bar is stamped with 
 its number and shipped 
 to the East chiefly to 
 New Jersey to be re- 
 fined. It is generally 
 calculated that the lead 
 will just about pay the 
 Eastern freight, though 
 when lead fell from four and a half to 
 three and a quarter cents this did not al- 
 ways prove to be the case. Of the per- 
 fect accuracy with which these tests and 
 assays and reductions are made some 
 idea can be formed from the fact that 
 in the case of a very heavy shipment 
 of base bullion a short time ago to New 
 York the returns of the miner's assay- 
 er, the smelter's assayer and the East- 
 ern refiner did not vary half an ounce. 
 The questions are asked in the East, 
 
 What do the Leadville mines now yield ? 
 How much silver can they produce in a 
 year ? To these questions no satisfactory 
 answer can be given, because of the fifty- 
 odd paying mines round Leadville not 
 five are properly developed or provided 
 with machinery to show what they can 
 produce. There are not five steam-en- 
 gines at work. Most of the hoisting is 
 done with a hand windlass, or at best 
 with an old horse turning a wheel. At 
 the present moment mine-owners are far 
 
 HYDRAULIC MINING IN CALIFORNIA GULCH. 
 
 more anxious to sell their mines to New 
 York companies, and realize a round sum 
 for them, than to take the proper means 
 to develop their property. To men who 
 have led lives of poverty, or at best of 
 moderate means, a* hundred thousand 
 dollars seems so large a sum that they 
 are willing to relinquish clear prospects 
 of great wealth to secure it in hand. Not 
 many men resemble Mr. Bassick of Ro- 
 sita, whose wife a year ago could not get 
 credit for a paper of pins, and who now
 
 172 
 
 LEADVILLE. 
 
 disdainfully declines an offer of seven- 
 teen million dollars for his famous mine. 
 Such sums seem fabulous. But if a mine 
 can yield a clear million a month, what 
 
 PROSPECTORS STARTING FOR THE HILLS. 
 
 is it worth ? When Professor Weiser was 
 asked the value of a leading mine in this 
 district, he hesitated and began to figure 
 with a pencil. "If," said he, "your ore 
 holds out and upon my word I don't 
 see why it shouldn't you have so many 
 tons of it ; and if the quality remains the 
 same and there is every geological rea- 
 son for supposing it will why your mine 
 ought to yield, gross, about two hundred 
 and ninety million dollars." 
 
 It must not be inferred from this that 
 every man who buys an interest in a 
 mine at Leadville, much less every man 
 who goes into Wall street and buys stock 
 in a Leadville mine, will make his for- 
 tune. He will be just as likely to lose 
 as to make money. It requires good 
 management to make even good mines 
 pay, and good management is rare. As 
 
 to the mines which are stocked in the 
 East, it would almost seem to be a case 
 of caveat einptor. Men will grow rich, 
 very rich, out of the Leadville mines. But 
 they will be for the most 
 part those who are on 
 the spot, who first take 
 care to secure a good 
 mine either with high- 
 grade or with a large 
 body of low-grade ore, 
 and who then adminis- 
 ter the business of the 
 mine with the same 
 t h r i ft and economy 
 which would be re- 
 quired for the success- 
 ful conduct of any 
 other business. 
 
 Nothing has thus far 
 been said of the gold- 
 mines of Leadville. 
 Twenty years ago gold 
 was discovered in Cal- 
 ifornia Gulch and the 
 upper Arkansas. For 
 six or seven years both 
 these streams were 
 successfully washed, 
 and several millions of 
 gold were taken from 
 the dirt. About twelve 
 years ago the yield of 
 the washings fell off, 
 and the roads became so bad that pro- 
 visions rose to exorbitant prices : flour 
 was seventy dollars per hundredweight. 
 This disgusted the' gold - washers, and 
 they emigrated in a body to the Pacific 
 slope. Shortly afterward the remains 
 of their labors were appropriated by a 
 company which has worked the placer 
 ever since, and is said to be making 
 money. It is now vigorously engaged 
 in washing the hill on one side of Cal- 
 ifornia Gulch, using for the purpose a 
 great hydraulic jet. The water comes 
 down through a race into which a 
 twelve-inch pipe is set. This pipe cul- 
 minates in a four -inch nozzle, which 
 squirts the water against the hillside 
 with force enough to dislodge the lar- 
 gest boulders, and drives everything hel- 
 ter-skelter into the flume. Where the
 
 LEADVILLE. 
 
 173 
 
 jet comes out of the nozzle it feels to the 
 touch like a bar of iron. 
 
 It is estimated that there are ten thou- 
 sand men prospecting the country in the 
 neighborhood of Leadville, Ten Mile, 
 Twin Lakes, Fairplay and Gunnison. 
 Our illustration shows the departure of 
 a party of prospectors from Harrison 
 Avenue. The men are laden with tools, 
 a bucket, rope, etc., while a little don- 
 key here called a burro carries flour, 
 bacon, coffee, sugar and a small stove 
 for the party. If any enterprising East- 
 ern youth wants to understand what 
 roughing it means, he has only to join 
 such a party as this. Much of the pros- 
 pecting is done above the timber-line, 
 where it freezes pretty nearly all the 
 time ; and though biscuit and bacon are 
 a wholesome diet, a steady continuance 
 of it for two or three months is apt to 
 
 prove monotonous. Then, the chances 
 are about nine to one that nothing will 
 be found ; and, when anything is found, 
 it is more than probable that the finders 
 will be so exhausted in means and grub 
 that they will be unable to drift or tim- 
 ber. Hardly a day passes that some good 
 hole with excellent prospects is not sold 
 at Leadville for a mere song, the seller 
 being compelled to raise money for his 
 necessities. A party of St. Louis capital- 
 ists a few months ago bid ten thousand 
 dollars for a group of mines near Tucson 
 in Arizona : the bid was declined. Ow- 
 ing to a series of accidents, the owners 
 got into difficulties and were compelled 
 to accept four hundred and fifty dollars 
 for the same property. It is the old sto- 
 ry, truer now than even in poor Palissy's 
 time Pauvrete empeche les bons e sprits 
 de parvenir.
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 HE MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 T^WENTY-EIGHT years ago I found 
 -L myself afloat on the Mississippi, and 
 going to Texas. The Mississippi is cer- 
 tainly the natural highway to Texas, for 
 its length and volume, and the vast re- 
 gions it traverses, unconsciously prepare 
 the mind to think and act in the giant- 
 esque manner befitting a country where 
 men measure their estates by square miles 
 and count their stock by thousands. All 
 the way from St. Paul's to New Orleans 
 this preparation goes on. After a day or 
 two one forgets the actual circumference 
 of the earth, things get a look of infin- 
 ity, conversation falls into adjectives and 
 italics : it seems reasonable to "strive with 
 things impossible," and natural to expect 
 whatever is magnificently great or ex- 
 travagantly wealthy. Thus above Cairo 
 we saw vast prairies waving with grain 
 and dotted with mounds older than the 
 Pyramids of Egypt ; tributary streams sur- 
 passing the largest rivers of Europe; and 
 '74 
 
 cities that had grown like the creations 
 of magic. Between Cairo and the mouth 
 of the Red River were endless forests, 
 enormous flatboats, rafts and steamers, 
 and queer Southern towns where life 
 went idly to a soft luxurious tune. Be- 
 low this the great river rushed away to 
 the sea with the velocity of a torrent, its 
 swiftest current cumbered by grim pro- 
 cessions of forest trees, their roots and 
 branches high in the air and looking in 
 the darkness like spectral fleets. Over the 
 turbid waters white pelicans gleamed, on 
 the se^dgy banks cranes stood motionless, 
 and from the floating logs and the levees 
 alligators rolled with a lazy thud into the 
 water. Still lower were the endless cypress- 
 swamps of Louisiana, and immensely rich 
 sugar - plantations, which for forty years 
 had yielded every year their forty thou- 
 sand pounds of cane -juice so largely 
 does the sugar-cane draw its nourish- 
 ment from the air, and so marvellously
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 fertile is this alluvium wrested from the 
 reluctant river. 
 
 The human element around me was 
 equally rich and strange. There were 
 fiery Southern planters with their half- 
 barbaric magnificence and generosity; 
 gigantic antediluvian figures in buckskin 
 that could only have come from the lush 
 woods of Tennessee or Kentucky; suave 
 city gamblers ; New Orleans cotton-fac- 
 tors; preachers, trappers, Indians, ne- 
 groes men of every shade of color, 
 creed and politics. A few among the 
 crowd were Texans, and it was easy to 
 pick them out men who were evidently 
 not complete without their horses, and 
 who were used to long silent journeys. 
 They had eyes that seemed to be con- 
 tinually on the lookout, noses like blood- 
 hounds, blood like mercury, and an iron 
 will that subordinated these peculiarities 
 to the time and place. No one could 
 be deceived, however, by their 
 apparent phlegm and indiffer- 
 ence. I pointed out the group to 
 a Louisiana cotton-planter, and 
 he said at once, "Texans." 
 
 "What kind of people are 
 they?" 
 
 "A good people to know, and 
 a good people not to know, just 
 as you take them. They do noth- 
 ing by halves : if it is cold, with 
 them it freezes; if it is hot, it 
 melts ; if it rains, it pours ; if th^ey 
 like you, they like you altogether ; 
 if they hate you well, they would 
 just as soon make you cold as 
 not." 
 
 Nevertheless, after two days in 
 New Orleans it was pleasant to 
 see their faces again on the Gal- 
 veston steamer. Everything was 
 so strange and unfamiliar that 
 any link, however slight, between 
 the old life and the new was wel- 
 come. Now, also, they were will- 
 ing to talk : our faces being all set 
 Texasward, they felt it safe to be 
 friendly. We sat together in the mellow 
 moonlight on the deck of the little steam- 
 er, and they told us tales of Mier and 
 Mexico, of Houston and Green, of In- 
 dians and Rangers, of lassoing horses 
 
 and hunting bears ; and so great is the 
 power of association that ever since the 
 Gulf of Mexico is to me a battle-ground 
 and a hunting-field. 
 
 At this time I saw little of Galveston : 
 the day we touched there the weather 
 was oppressively hot, and there were 
 many cases of yellow fever in the place. 
 Therefore, following the advice of our 
 travelling companions, we went directly 
 on board the little steamer which was to 
 take us up the Buffalo Bayou to Harris- 
 burg. The boat did not sail until sunset, 
 and we spent the whole day under an awn- 
 ing watching the myriads offish, chatting 
 with the negroes who came out to sell us 
 pineapples andbananas, and lookingwith 
 a mysterious terror that was only too pro- 
 phetic at the little white houses in the 
 oleander-groves where the victims of the 
 fever lay dying. 
 
 We sailed up the Buffalo Bayou in the 
 
 "HURRAH FOR TEXAS!" 
 
 moonlight. The narrow stream flowed 
 under a perfect arcade of magnolias, and 
 the warm air was heavy with their per- 
 fume. There was a strangely unreal look 
 about the sleepy negroes and silent pas-
 
 1 7 6 
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 sengers, and the intense silence was bro- 
 ken only by the regular laboring of the 
 engine, the call of the cicadas or the pas- 
 sionate love-song of some fiery mocking- 
 bird. It was all so unlike the cold, fresh 
 
 SAM HOUSTON. 
 
 air, the solemn mountains and misty 
 moorlands of my native Cumberland, 
 that I had to keep assuring myself it 
 was no winged dream of sleep, but an 
 actual experience of wakeful eyes. After 
 sailing some little time" we came to an 
 opening in the foliage, and the full moon 
 shone over a magnificent plain studded 
 with islands of oak and sycamore. Sud- 
 denly a man leaped to his feet and call- 
 ed out, " Friends ! strangers ! There's the 
 field of San Jacinto ! Hurrah for Texas ! 
 Hurrah for General Houston !" 
 
 Nothing I had ever seen was more re- 
 markable than the change in this man. 
 During the whole journey he had been 
 singularly cool and silent : now he stood 
 with his hand and hat above his head, 
 and his whole face and attitude transfig- 
 ured. We gathered eagerly round him, 
 and in short, rapid sentences he told 
 again the old, old story of crowned tyr- 
 anny strangled by a handful of heroes. 
 
 "See that clump of trees?" he cried. 
 " Six hundred men of us stood there, 
 well mounted and well armed with rifles, 
 double pistols and bowie-knives. Santa 
 Anna was fortified a mile away, fifteen 
 hundred men with him ; Par- 
 za, with two thousand men, 
 was twenty miles behind us; 
 Filasola, with one thousand 
 men, eight miles below us ; 
 Visca, with fifteen hundred 
 men, twenty-five miles above 
 us. We had come twenty-six 
 miles at a fast trot, and just 
 there, gentlemen, General 
 Houston stepped before us 
 and said, ' Boys, the moment 
 for making Texas free has 
 come. Is the enemy ours ?' 
 Some one cried, ' Every man 
 of them, general !' and then 
 with a square, solid Texas 
 yell we went for them. Yes, 
 sir, we went for them !" 
 "Go on," I said. 
 " Well, when we were with- 
 in twenty-five steps of the en- 
 emy we gave them the balls 
 in our rifles, and then we flung 
 the rifles away. With a pistol 
 in each hand and our knives 
 between our teeth we went at a run for 
 the breastwork, and broke with another 
 yell into the camp of the stupefied, star- 
 ing dons. Then we gave them h 1, you 
 bet." 
 
 "Was considerable of a fight," said 
 an old man leaning over the boat's side. 
 "Was there myself. Quick work. Good 
 time very good !" 
 
 "Should think so," answered the first 
 speaker. "Ten minutes decided it, and 
 in that time we killed or disabled eight 
 hundred men that is, Mexicans. Poor 
 little dons! Can hear them squeaking 
 yet their ' Misericordia ! quartel ! por el 
 amor de Dios!'" and the great rough- 
 looking fellow chuckled queerly to him- 
 self. 
 
 Whereupon I made deductions I had 
 no right to make, and rather rebukingly 
 said, " I do not think that is anything to 
 laugh at." 
 "What?"
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 177 
 
 "The poor Mexicans asking quarter." 
 
 " Poor little devils ! we gave them quar- 
 ter. Was laughing at their ' mighty and 
 glorious president and general.' " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Ran away, ma'am. Reckon he was 
 skeered. Was one of the boys myself 
 that went to hunt him up. Found the 
 ' mighty and glorious ' seven miles away 
 
 in a bog, up to his waist in the mire. 
 Lord ! how he knelt arid prayed for his 
 pitiful dog-goned life ! Cowardly scoun- 
 drel, ma'am !" 
 
 At this time I was as ignorant of Santa 
 Anna's cruelties and treacheries, though 
 proved by a hundred facts, as I was of 
 Nena Sahib's, which were as yet in the 
 future. So I held my peace, and listen- 
 
 THE FINDING OF THE "MIGHTY AND GLORIOUS." 
 
 ed to stories of Santa Fe and Perote un- 
 til we arrived at Harrisburg. 
 
 After a night's rest we proceeded by 
 railway to Richmond. The journey con- 
 fused all my previous ideas of railway- 
 travelling. We left when the passen- 
 gers got ready to leave, and went so 
 leisurely across the magnificent prairie 
 or park that I could readily believe the 
 assertion of an old planter that " the train 
 would stop at any time for the passengers 
 to gather grapes or flowers if a reasonable 
 number desired it." Still, it was comfort- 
 able travelling compared with our staging 
 from Richmond to Austin. The journey, 
 indeed, lay through a country like the 
 Garden of Eden, but it was impossible 
 to enjoy it. Sometimes the mustangs 
 had it all their own way, and did just 
 12 
 
 what they liked with the coach, and 
 sometimes the driver and the whiskey 
 he had drunk did what they liked : we 
 were entirely at their mercy. 
 
 In an hour after leaving Richmond we 
 began to perceive that we were now fair- 
 ly in a new country. The few houses we 
 saw were of the very rudest description, 
 all of them in the Texas order of archi- 
 tecture two rooms and a passage be- 
 tween. They had no windows and no 
 gardens, though the latter, indeed, seem- 
 ed useless when the whole country was a 
 noble park of the finest greensward, dot- 
 ted with groves of grand trees and bril- 
 liant with a thousand flowers. The air 
 too was singularly clear and exhilara- 
 ting ; a sense of boundless freedom and 
 purity pervaded everything; the world
 
 178 
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 looked as if it had just come fresh from 
 God's fingers. About sunset we began 
 to approach timber, and were told that 
 we should soon have rest and supper. 
 Presently we came to a log house set in 
 a grove of mulberry trees. Two or three 
 men were loafing under a rude veranda, 
 but our stopping or not stopping appear- 
 ed to have no kind of interest for them. 
 They went on spitting and talking about 
 
 A BIT OF TEXAS LAKE-SCENERY. 
 
 cotton even after we had dismounted. 
 Yet we had been expected, for our sup- 
 per was waiting. It was the usual Texas 
 meal coffee, corn bread and fried pork. 
 There was no milk and no butter, though 
 they owned thousands of cattle and at 
 least half a dozen female servants. The 
 mistress gave the universal Texan rea- 
 son : " It was too much trouble to milk 
 and churn." 
 
 There was no conversation at the ta- 
 ble : the men who had been branding 
 cattle and sowing corn seemed to have 
 nothing to ask those who had been to 
 "Orleans" and "the States," and the 
 travellers volunteered no information. 
 A party of Indians could not have been 
 more silent and undemonstrative. After 
 
 supper I was shown to a little room made 
 of unplaned and unpainted wood. It was. 
 about twelve feet square, and had a small 
 window, though most of the glass was 
 out. There was a bed in one corner, 
 and On the floor a pallet made of skins 
 and rugs for my children. They soon fell 
 asleep. I was less happy. The strange- 
 ness of the house and company, the mos- 
 quitos and the bedbugs, the cries of owls 
 and panthers, and the very sing- 
 ing of the mocking-birds, kept me 
 in a wakeful state of excitement. 
 At dawn I could bear it no long- 
 er : fresh air and fresh water be- 
 came imperative. A negro wo- 
 man gave me the latter in a tin 
 bowl, and after bathing my face 
 1 strolled away toward the wood. 
 I met at the entrance a young 
 Hercules, black as ebony, with 
 his axe over his shoulder. Na- 
 ture had forgot to make this 
 slave's soul bond, for, seeing my 
 delight, he took me a few rods 
 away and showed me the fairest 
 picture a little clearing round as 
 a fairy ring, a tiny sheet of water 
 just touched by the rising sun, 
 and standing round it, motionless 
 as statues, a flock of snow-white 
 herons. I wonder how he knew 
 I should like it ? I wonder often 
 where the bright, black sympa- 
 thetic face is now. 
 
 After our coffee, corn bread and 
 "fry" we started again, and by some mir- 
 acle arrived safely at the Colorado. It was 
 the first clear river we had met in Tex- 
 as, and its limpid, bluish -green waters, 
 and densely- wooded banks struck us 
 as very beautiful. There was no bridge, 
 and we forded it about a mile below the 
 city. It was no disadvantage, the ap- 
 proach being exceedingly picturesque 
 and interesting. Just at the entrance 
 of the town a little white wooden house 
 was pointed out as General Tom Green's 
 residence. We had heard so much of 
 this favorite Texas hero all the way from 
 New Orleans to Austin that we felt con- 
 siderable interest in the insignificant 
 frame cottage. On its veranda a very 
 beautiful girl sat rocking and reading,
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 '79 
 
 and around the house and on the steps 
 and on the fence were about twenty 
 children, black and white, playing. 
 
 Austin astonished me. I had expected 
 nothing half so beautiful and so civilized. 
 The capitol, a fine building of soft cream 
 limestone, stood upon a hill, and the town 
 rose from the river to it. The main street 
 was a broad avenue, its buildings being 
 most picturesquely diverse in construc- 
 tion and material. Some were rather 
 respectable houses of stone or concrete, 
 
 others were mere shells of pine lumber 
 or sturdy rooms of rough logs. 
 
 The hotel, a great wooden shell, stood 
 in the centre of the town. The whole 
 ground -floor was occupied by the bar 
 and dining-room. I got plenty of clean 
 water, and better beds than I expected, 
 and tried to be hopeful about the table. 
 The first meal undeceived me. About 
 fifty people, legislators, travellers and 
 boarders, sat down at one rude board, 
 which was covered with a queer variety 
 
 THE CAPITOL AT AUSTIN. 
 
 of cloths. A frame of rough pine slats, 
 on which about twenty towels were sus- 
 pended, hung above it, and a little negro 
 boy with a piece of string kept these tow- 
 els in continual motion. This novel con- 
 trivance was for the purpose of frighten- 
 ing away the myriads of flies that hung 
 over the food. We had the never-failing 
 coffee, corn bread and fry in this case 
 both of pork and beef. A few scorched 
 wheaten biscuit, a stew of dried apples 
 and a pitcher of molasses completed 
 the fare. We had, however, milk for our 
 coffee, and some salt butter, brought all 
 the way from New York, for our bread. 
 But every one seemed quite satisfied, 
 and as we only intended remaining un- 
 
 til we could rent a suitable house and 
 put it in order, we took gratefully what 
 was offered, finding abundant compen- 
 sation in the interesting company con- 
 gregating every evening on the piazzas. 
 The choice of a house did not occupy 
 us long. In fact, it was Hobson's choice : 
 there was but one decent shelter to let 
 in the place. It was two stories high, a 
 mere shell of pine boards overlapping 
 each other in the usual American fash- 
 ion. The lower floor contained a sitting- 
 and dining-room, the walls of the first 
 finished inside with planed wood cover- 
 ed with a coarse paper ; but the dining- 
 room walls still exhibited the rough back 
 of the outside shell whitewashed. Out
 
 i8o 
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 of this room a few steps, such as would 
 serve for cellar- or barn - steps in the 
 North, led to two sleeping -rooms in the 
 same unfinished condition. The ceilings 
 of all four instead of being plastered were 
 covered with unbleached calico sewn to- 
 gether and nailed to the beams. In the 
 spaces between the shingles and the cal- 
 ico innumerable bats made their homes, 
 and mice from a hundred little holes 
 watched us with bright, uncanny eyes. 
 There was no way of heating the up- 
 stair rooms, and the fireplaces down 
 stairs were simply large open brick 
 chimneys and hearths. The kitchen, as 
 in all Southern houses, was a detached 
 building; and, considering the number 
 of negroes usually loafing in it and the 
 amount of "frying" going on, the cus- 
 tom is a necessary one. 
 
 For this shell we agreed to pay three 
 hundred dollars a year, and then went 
 promptly to work to make it as home- 
 like as possible. We had been partic- 
 ularly warned against dressing and fur- 
 nishing above the average, and I deter- 
 mined before buying anything to return 
 the call of a lady whose social standing 
 I thought I might safely emulate. Her 
 husband, like my own, was in the gov- 
 ernment's employ, and her house was a 
 very popular rendezvous of Austin ma- 
 trons. 
 
 I found it right on the sidewalk of the 
 much -travelled road leading to the ford 
 a plain log house of two rooms, with 
 a wide boarded hall between them, and 
 a "lean-to" of unpainted planks at the 
 back. The favorite apartment was the 
 lady's sleeping - room : here were gath- 
 ered half a dozen charming women dis- 
 cussing the last evening's session of the 
 legislature, the merits of the speakers, the 
 dresses of the ladies present, their own par- 
 ticularly good children and their aggra- 
 vating servants. A very plain bedstead 
 with the great luxury of spotless large pil- 
 lows and a bright patched quilt of many 
 colors filled one corner of the room. The 
 floor was quite uncovered, but scrubbed 
 exceedingly white, and the chairs were 
 of unpainted wood with raw-hide seats. 
 But they were ample, low, perfectly clean, 
 and much more comfortable than many 
 
 more pretentious easy-chairs. There was 
 one small window fronting the street, and 
 a very convenient hole in the plaster be- 
 tween the logs facing the river, which the 
 ladies used as a peephole if there was a 
 sound of company coining that way. They 
 were all prettily dressed in white or col- 
 ored lawns, and had a certain childlike 
 frankness and courtesy that made me free 
 at once of their good -will and good of- 
 fices. I received a great deal of informa- 
 tion on all domestic subjects, from which 
 I inferred that the Texas women killed 
 themselves by their devotion to two causes 
 catering for something to eat and get- 
 ting the work of one servant out of six. 
 
 While we talked the husband of the 
 lady whom I was visiting came in from 
 the capitol. He was of English birth, 
 and as splendid a physical specimen 
 of manhood as I ever saw. He walked 
 calmly in among the congregated ladies, 
 removed his linen coat, washed his face 
 and hands, and then combed his hair 
 before a little bit of looking-glass hang- 
 ing against the whitewashed logs. After 
 a civil word or two, which we appropri- 
 ated in common, he went and sat down 
 on the back steps and called around him 
 a number of fine hunting-dogs. A hand- 
 some boy and two little girls were soon 
 clambering on his knee, and an old 
 negro woman began to cut up a water- 
 melon and spread a table with cold roast 
 beef and pale India ale in the lean-to 
 beside him. The semi-tropical foliage in 
 front and the pretty chattering women 
 behind, all combined to make him the 
 centre of a very idyllic picture. 
 
 Yet but a few months previously he 
 had been the chief actor in a domestic 
 tragedy of a nature that could only have 
 arisen in just such a state of society as 
 then existed in Texas. He had hired a 
 negro woman from an acquaintance, and 
 the woman proved to be lazy and impu- 
 dent. Instead of sending her home or to 
 the proper authorities for correction, he 
 whipped her himself. The woman com- 
 plained to the son of her owner whose 
 mistress she was and he, being a wild, 
 rough fellow just home from California, 
 said some things which my English ac- 
 quaintance threatened to whip him for if
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 181 
 
 repeated. The quarrel culminated, as all 
 Texas quarrels do, in loaded pistols. For 
 some time they cautiously watched for 
 each other, but the Californian's reck- 
 less bravado was no match for the Eng- 
 lishman's cool, cautious persistence. Af- 
 ter two or three days' dodging the for- 
 mer grew careless and impudently brave, 
 and his opponent shot him down as he 
 stood boasting in the street. Popular 
 sympathy was with the murderer : he 
 gave himself up to justice, was tried im- 
 mediately by a jury of his towns- 
 men, and honorably acquitted. It 
 was certainly a case of " I shoot 
 you or you shoot me," and I do 
 not pretend to say where the sin 
 of society ended and the sin of 
 the individual began. The reck- 
 less use of firearms in the 'street 
 was, however, so common that 
 most Texans would have con- 
 demned themselves in condemn- 
 ing this man. 
 
 It was clear to me from this visit 
 that the simplest furniture would 
 be the best ; and indeed I soon 
 found that more carpets, chairs 
 or tables than were absolutely 
 necessary only harbored insects 
 and made work which it was very 
 difficult to get attended to. Pro- 
 visions were a more serious con- 
 sideration. We none of us liked 
 corn bread, and wheaten floui* 
 was then brought from St. Louis, 
 and cost from fifteen to twenty 
 dollars a barrel. There was a lit- 
 tle fresh butter to be bought occasional- 
 ly, but it was so dear and the supply so 
 irregular that I preferred that brought 
 from New York, which cost fifty cents 
 per pound. The beef- market was only 
 open from about three o'clock A. M. un- 
 til sunrise, and I had therefore to trust a 
 servant with the selection of our roasts 
 and steaks. The meat was very sweet 
 and tender, and cost three cents per 
 pound. I gave my cook every day half 
 a dollar, and she bought a roast and a 
 couple of steaks about fourteen pounds 
 of beef. Its real cost was not more than 
 forty cents, but I soon found that it was 
 considered very bad' manners to ask for 
 
 "change" from marketing -money, and 
 I let the ten cents go for daily peace. 
 Milk was the dearest commodity. New 
 York could not regulate prices on this 
 article, and we paid the shameful price 
 of fifteen cents a quart a price partic- 
 ularly aggravating when there were thou- 
 sands of milch cows around, only " it was 
 too much trouble to drive them up." 
 
 Climate regulates life in a very large 
 degree, and I soon fell into Texan ways. 
 We had coffee and steak and wheat bread 
 
 WATCHING FOR FIRST SHOT. 
 
 for breakfast, and then my husband stroll- 
 ed up town to his office, stopping on the 
 way to smoke and discuss public affairs at 
 the favorite lounging- places. The govern- 
 ment offices did not open until ten o'clock, 
 and they closed at three not very hard 
 hours, especially when the number of 
 smokes and the general habit of taking 
 things easy are considered. My own im- 
 pression was and is that the employes 
 of the State of Texas had then a partic- 
 ularly pleasant time. They were, with 
 scarcely an exception, of foreign birth : 
 gentlemen from England, Ireland, Scot- 
 land, Germany, Switzerland and Africa 
 (the latter the servant) " ran " the depart-
 
 182 
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 inent in which I felt an interest, and it 
 was no more cosmopolitan in character 
 than the treasury, tax and land bureaus. 
 
 The ladies arranged their time in a 
 charmingly social and independent man- 
 ner. Some one who owned a carriage 
 made up her mind at whose house the 
 day could be most pleasantly spent. She 
 then called for two or three friends, and 
 all dropped in together, without notice 
 and without apology. Such visits were 
 generally welcome and gave little trou- 
 ble. Cook was told to kill a chicken or 
 two and make some cake, and the ladies 
 got into loose, comfortable toilettes, took 
 out their sewing or knitting, and talked 
 and laughed away the long sunny hours. 
 Children did not make any trouble : 
 black and white tumbled about the par- 
 lors together, and seemed to have just as 
 good a time as everybody. The negroes 
 were glad of such invasions. Every visit- 
 or brought a servant, and the more there 
 were in the quarters the merrier they 
 were: besides, if there was extra cook- 
 ing there were extra hands to do it, and 
 the little unavoidable recklessness about 
 sugar, flour, eggs, currants, etc. was look- 
 ed upon as something for their special 
 advantage. 
 
 To do negro cooks justice, they are 
 most excellent in their specialties. Such 
 coffee, cake, succotash and fried chicken 
 I never tasted before ; and the primitive 
 pots and kettles and the small amount 
 of fire with which they achieved results 
 never ceased to be a wonder to me. The 
 most delicate dishes were cooked in shal- 
 low iron skillets set upon a brick hearth, 
 and having under them and on their lids 
 a shovelful of red-hot oak or hickory 
 coals. By some marvellous instinct they 
 regulated the heat, and it was very rare- 
 ly that any dish was burnt or underdone. 
 Nay more, they accepted with the great- 
 est reluctance the most easily -managed 
 stove in lieu of their pots and skillets and 
 shovels. Vegetables were dear and rare, 
 except yams, cashaws and pumpkins. 
 Apples, pears or berries of any kind I 
 never saw in Central Texas, but peaches, 
 figs and delicious melons of every vari- 
 ety were abundant ; while the quantity of 
 grapes exceeded belief. True, the latter 
 
 were uncultivated, but gathered while 
 green they made a fine preserve, and 
 from the ripe fruit I made for many 
 years excellent wine. The thousands 
 and tens of thousands of bushels of 
 grapes annually wasted in Texas were 
 only paralleled by the waste of milk 
 and the reckless way in which hides 
 and horns were left to decay, as if no 
 possible use could be made of them. 
 
 I found that slavery in no way simpli- 
 fied the difficult servant - girl question. 
 Women with half a dozen slaves hang- 
 ing around their small rude houses could 
 still "get nothing done." Certainly, one 
 good English, or even Irish, servant would 
 have accomplished with ease the work 
 that "'most killed" four stout negro wo- 
 men. Besides which, they regarded it 
 as a great wrong to expect any thing like 
 general usefulness from them. Cook was 
 willing to prepare the food, but as to set- 
 ting a table or washing the dishes, "dat 
 was none ob her work, and she warn't 
 gwine to do it." Consequently, it was 
 necessary to hire a table-girl, who would 
 perhaps, if specially arranged with, sweep 
 the rooms and answer the door. But then 
 she "warn't no nuss-gal, and warn't 
 gwine to mind the chillens, dat was 
 clar as sunshine." So, then, you hired 
 a nurse, who most likely took to your 
 children as if they were her own, and 
 spent the livelong day in a holiday tem- 
 per playing with and dressing them. Nei- 
 ther nurse, cook nor housemaid would 
 wash, and a woman must be hired spe- 
 cially as a laundress. In that climate a 
 family of four will soil a great number of 
 white dresses, and the laundress could 
 make a very fair show of labor, inde- 
 pendently of that which she die not 
 show the wondrously - stiffened skirts 
 and shirts belonging to all her partic- 
 ular friends. 
 
 Three or four laughing, chattering, 
 quarrelling, singing negroes running 
 around one all day pretending to be 
 busy is at first a trial ; but one bears from 
 good-natured sources a great deal, and 
 they were so full of song and fun that I 
 soon learned to tolerate and even enjoy 
 them. Even their squabbles were inter- 
 esting, and their perfect readiness at all
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 183 
 
 A SOCIAL GATHERING IN THE QUARTERS. 
 
 hours and under all circumstances to 
 dance and "have a good time" was a 
 revelation to me of the possibilities of 
 human nature in that line. They lied 
 and stole as naturally as they ate and 
 slept, and I am really inclined to believe 
 without any very distinct idea that they 
 were doing wrong. I had one servant 
 who never could see any sin in gam- 
 bling except the sin of losing : that, he 
 was willing to acknowledge, " was wrong," 
 but then he always added triumphantly, 
 "Massa Tom don't care much." Their 
 moral estimation of lying was of the same 
 order. The lie going from them never 
 troubled their consciences : it was only 
 when it came back against them that 
 they conceived their honor to be in any 
 degree injured. An old negro preacher 
 who was caught robbing my chicken- 
 
 coop exactly defined their position on 
 the eighth commandment. " No, Mis' 
 Milly," he said with an air of injured 
 innocence, "I neber stealed anyfing in 
 my born days. Ef you take a fing what 
 is gwine into de stomach, dat ain't no 
 stealin' ; but ef it's gwine into de pocket, 
 den dat am stealin'." So, as my chick- 
 ens were going into Uncle Isaac's stom- 
 ach, he felt quite sinless in appropriating 
 them. Looking back now at these simple 
 creatures, with all their provoking, unrea- 
 sonable ways, and remembering also their 
 wealth of irrepressible good -humor and 
 affection, their ready sympathy in trouble, 
 their willingness to forgive wrongs, and 
 their unselfish devotion to those who were 
 kind to them, I find it very easy to bal- 
 ance accounts and leave a good deal in 
 their favor. They were not good ser-
 
 1 84 
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 vants, neither were they bad ones 
 something, I suppose, "between a hin- 
 derance and a help." 
 
 Taking things in this kind of humor, 
 there was not a cloud in my life for five 
 years. In the spring, when the woods 
 and prairies were like a vision of Para- 
 dise, we made long horseback excur- 
 sions through forests where the live-oaks 
 
 " TO TAKE WHAT'S GWINE INTO DE STOMACH 
 NO STEALIN'." 
 
 had been growing for centuries and the 
 turf was as green and smooth as in an 
 English park. In the autumn we went 
 again in great parties to gather pecans 
 and "winter grapes" and to have a grand 
 sucking-pig barbecue. In the long, hot 
 summer days we visited en deshabille, ate 
 melons, and felt it often joy enough to 
 lie still and breathe the clear warm air 
 and listen to the mocking-birds. In the 
 winter the town was gay with dances and 
 receptions, and every house was aglow, 
 the big chimneys piled high with fragrant 
 cedar logs. 
 
 Then there was the regular excitement 
 of the legislature. Whatever the mem- 
 bers might be, the ladies certainly were 
 faithful attendants on its sessions. Ev- 
 
 ery evening the lobbies were full of hand- 
 some women, and it was no small pleas- 
 ure to me to sit and watch such men as 
 Sam Houston, Sydney Johnson, Tom 
 Green or Judge Paschal pass in and 
 out among the pretty groups, stopping 
 perhaps in the middle of a compliment 
 to contradict some opponent or hurry 
 away to their seat and make a speech 
 full of passionate eloquence and 
 invective. 
 
 Personally, I saw little of In- 
 dians, but that little was more 
 than sufficient. Once I took sup- 
 per with a party of Tonkaways at 
 the house of Mr. Richardson, ed- 
 itor of the Austin Gazette ; and a 
 very singular supper it was. All 
 of them refused to sit, and on no 
 account would they eat two kinds 
 of food together. They were a 
 very ugly crowd, and had in an 
 offensive degree the peculiar smell 
 of wild animals. When in the city 
 they generally went from house to 
 house begging, and on one of 
 these occasions four "braves" 
 walked into my room as I sat 
 making a rough water-color 
 sketch of a very singular wild 
 flower. The sight of the paints 
 roused all the savage in them, 
 and they "asked" for them in a 
 way which admitted of no answer 
 but one. My baby lay asleep in 
 his cot beside me, and the wolfish 
 glances they threw at the child made me 
 glad to purchase their absence with the 
 gift of my whole box of Newman's col- 
 ors and a couple of gold saucers. They 
 had the reputation of cannibals, and the 
 post doctor told me two days afterward 
 that they had eaten the remains of an 
 Indian boy whom he had been attend- 
 ing for croup. 
 
 The Mexicans, once the possessors of 
 the whole country, had nearly disappear- 
 ed from around Austin. Indeed, in 1853, 
 and again in 1855, they were all ordered 
 to leave the city, on the ground that they 
 were horse - thieves , horse -stealing being 
 the unpardonable sin in Texas. They 
 seemed to me harmless, polite vaga- 
 bonds, with but one accomplishment,
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 185 
 
 that of throwing a lasso. If a Texan is 
 born with a rifle in his hand, then a 
 Mexican is born with a rope in his. As 
 
 soon as children can run alone they be- 
 gin catching ducks and chickens with 
 a lasso. They do it with a remarkable 
 
 EXERCISING AN ACCOMPLISHMENT. 
 
 cleverness, and old fowls that have oft- 
 en been taken in this way, knowing how 
 useless it is to try to escape, stoop to re- 
 ceive the rope when they see it coming. 
 General Green whose Mexican expe- 
 riences were wide and various once 
 said to me, " These blanketed fellows 
 would not believe a thing was caught 
 unless it was caught with a rope." To 
 catch a hog or a mule by the foot when 
 running is esteemed by them a very high 
 accomplishment ; and one day a Mexi- 
 can officer exhibited his skill in this way 
 before a party of Texans. "Sir," said 
 a man whose whole wardrobe was not 
 worth a dollar "sir, I would flog any 
 of my negroes who should be guilty of 
 such unintellectual stupidity as throwing 
 a rope over a pig's head." 
 
 " Hai Dios ! How then do you catch 
 your horses and chickens?" 
 
 " Our horses we teach to come to the 
 bridle, and we cut our chickens' throats 
 with a rifle-shot." 
 
 " Hai Dios ! What a strange people !" 
 
 But the most singular uses to which 
 the lasso has ever been put, even by 
 Mexicans, are surely those mentioned 
 by General Tom Green in his History 
 of the Mier Expedition. In describing 
 the battle of Mier he says : " For six 
 hours the artillery nearest us had been 
 silenced, and no one of the enemy dared 
 to approach it. To get it out of our reach 
 they had recourse to throwing a lasso 
 over it from behind a corner and drag- 
 ging it off; and in this they were more 
 successful than they were in roping the
 
 1 86 
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 steamboat Yellowstone as she passed 
 down the Brazos in 1836." 
 
 But strange and various as all these 
 surrounding elements were, my first six 
 years in Texas are a happy, beautiful 
 dream. Then the careless, lazy, roman- 
 tic life was rudely broken up, for with 
 1860 came a shadow of dark days and ru- 
 mors of fire, insurrections and war. The 
 first symptom of a new order of things 
 was the general restlessness among the 
 negroes. During the Presidential elec- 
 tion which resulted in the choice of Mr. 
 Lincoln there was so large a floating 
 population of Northern men in Texas 
 as to excite universal suspicion and re- 
 mark. Mills and other places where 
 large quantities of food were stored were 
 set on fire all over the country, and it 
 was clear to all observers that negro 
 dances were only a cloak for negro po- 
 litical meetings. Insurrections and ru- 
 mors of insurrections made every one 
 anxious and miserable ; we knew not 
 who could be relied on ; and now and 
 then unmentionable cruelties and retal- 
 iations occurred in isolated places where 
 some brutal and impatient slave was the 
 leader of his class. The safety of the 
 country lay in the fact that the Texan 
 laws were particularly just and consid- 
 erate on the slavery question, and that 
 the social customs permitted the closest 
 intimacy between owners and servants. 
 Black and white children grew up toge- 
 ther, and the black boy who had fished 
 and played and hunted with the white 
 one felt the tie of friendship stronger 
 than the bond of slavery. He was al- 
 ways anxious in any plot to save " his 
 young massa," and the same feeling 
 ruled the old black women who had 
 nursed the children of a house : they 
 "warn't gwine to hab ihcin hurted." In 
 this way hints were given and suspicions 
 roused which ensured the general safety. 
 
 As the country was more and more 
 drained of white men by the war the 
 danger and anxiety of women on lone- 
 ly plantations became very great. But 
 they rose wonderfully to the situation, 
 and in a vast number of cases farms 
 were better cultivated and servants bet- 
 ter managed than they had ever been 
 
 before. But everywhere people began 
 to lock doors at night that had always 
 before stood open and to sleep with arms 
 under their pillows. That beautiful con- 
 fidence in each other which had made 
 slavery endurable in domestic life was 
 quite broken. 
 
 For the first year or two hope made all 
 anxieties and deprivations light. Nearly 
 every one had some money, the Confed- 
 erate arms were successful, and peace was 
 confidently expected. But the blockade 
 became closer, one reverse followed an- 
 other, groceries were all used up, light 
 muslin dresses were in rags, and the 
 commonest necessities, such as pins, 
 needles, thread and buttons, beyond 
 price. In the second year people who 
 had been splendidly hospitable began to 
 economize. Gold was carefully hoarded 
 and Confederate bills were looked on 
 very suspiciously. Indeed, they were 
 generally refused for everything except 
 country produce, and even thus early 
 their value was twenty Confederate for 
 one gold dollar. In the summer of 1863 
 I paid eighty dollars for four yards of 
 domestic to make a pair of pillow-slips. 
 I thought them necessary then : a year 
 later I should not have been so extrav- 
 agant. In the same year I could not 
 procure flannel for my baby either in 
 Austin or San Antonio, and an English 
 gentleman gave me two of his own gar- 
 ments to cut up for the child. 
 
 Still, we were well off in comparison 
 with other Southern cities. We were so 
 far inland as to be beyond the reach of 
 active operations, and we never at any 
 time lacked for corn meal, beef, pork, 
 chickens, eggs, and such vegetables as 
 were raised with little labor. By some 
 miracle or favor I was never quite out 
 of tea and coffee, though these luxuries 
 were brought into the country through 
 Mexico and required both gold and in- 
 terest to reach them. The great major- 
 ity of people used parched rye, which 
 was popularly called "Confederate cof- 
 fee;" and from the leaves of the yupon 
 tree a tea was made not at all unlike fine 
 young hyson : indeed, my children drank 
 it for a long time without ever discover- 
 ing that it was native tea.
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 In 1864 a large number of negro men 
 were drafted for the army, and labor be- 
 came of immense value. For very poor 
 girls five hundred dollars (gold) and three 
 suits of clothing a year were demanded, 
 and every little housekeeping trifle, such 
 as salt, pepper, spices, etc., was a luxury. 
 Many poor people were using mesquite- 
 thorns as pins, and I find at this time a 
 present of a little rice and a paper of 
 needles from Bishop Gregg noticed in 
 my journal as an extraordinary god- 
 send. Even the government could not 
 command what was necessary for its 
 business, and during 1864 I spent a 
 
 great deal of time ruling paper for its 
 assessment-rolls and making envelopes 
 for the governor's and-comptroller's of- 
 fices. In the beginning of this year I 
 had to use my woollen window-curtains 
 for riding-habits for my daughters : we 
 had now also to spin the cotton thread 
 for stockings and knit for the whole 
 household ; our hats were made of plait- 
 ed corn -shucks, and the leather torn 
 from two fine English travelling traps 
 made all of us shoes. 
 
 By some means or other, which were 
 never discovered, the negroes were kept 
 better posted on the true state of affairs 
 
 A NEGRO ENCAMPMENT IN A CORN-FIELD. 
 
 than we were. Many a time when the 
 whole town was roused by the midnight 
 pony express with news of some great 
 victory, when bells were ringing and 
 men shouting, my cook's face said as 
 plainly as possible, "It's all a lie, and I 
 know it;" and in nine cases out of ten 
 she was right. After all, it was not the 
 want of luxuries, of dress, or even of 
 books and communication with the out- 
 er world, that hurt most. Worse than 
 the lack of these things, worse than the 
 occasional spells of terror and anxiety, 
 was the terrible, shameful spirit of self- 
 ishness and greed that marked the dying 
 hours of the Confederacy. 
 
 In April, 1865, reports of Lee's sur- 
 render reached Austin, and those in 
 authority who had appropriated United 
 States money or property began to look 
 Mexico-ward. There was also a great 
 dread of the return of the wild troops 
 raised in the Rio Grande country ; for 
 very few of these rough herdsmen, hunt- 
 ers, rangers and small farmers would ever 
 have lifted a finger to preserve slavery. 
 They owned few or no negroes, and if 
 they wanted "help" with their cattle 
 preferred some Mexican peon, or else 
 they worked in partnerships. It was 
 the cry of "State Rights" and Texan 
 independence that had taken them from
 
 i88 
 
 HOUSEKEEPING IN TEXAS. 
 
 their ranches and ranges. Indeed, as 
 soon as they found that they had been 
 drawn into a war to preserve the great 
 planters' power and property they be- 
 came restless and mutinous, and when- 
 ever opportunity offered great numbers 
 deserted. Long before the war was a 
 hopeless one the Texas mountains were 
 full of "jayhawkers" that is, of men 
 who had either resisted the Confederate 
 conscription or run away from the army. 
 They were hung or shot on sight, and it 
 was only necessary for a man to call his 
 enemy a jayhawker in order to get rid 
 of him. On July 22, 1864, three broth- 
 ers were hung on a tree within sight of 
 my windows : two of them had left a 
 fight they declared they had been de- 
 ceived into; the other, a lad of twenty, 
 had simply refused to take up arms. On 
 another occasion, riding my horse down 
 to the river to water him, I saw a man 
 hanging from the limb of a tree labelled 
 "Nigger- thief." Such incidents were not 
 of rare occurrence, and they made very 
 little sensation. 
 
 The lawless state of the town, the in- 
 difference of the government to every- 
 thing but plunder, the insolence of the 
 slaves and the want of all confidence 
 and comforts, made the news which I 
 thus chronicle under date of May 25, 
 1865, not unwelcome : " The war is over : 
 Lee has surrendered. Plunder and fight- 
 ing up town. Tom has gone to a public 
 meeting to consider the best way of pro- 
 tecting it." It was another month, how- 
 ever, before the proclamation of emanci- 
 pation reached Austin, and though the 
 negroes knew they were free, not one 
 dared to take advantage of the know- 
 ledge. On the 22d of June there was a 
 report of United States troops approach- 
 ing, and masters generally called their 
 slaves together and in as few words as 
 possible told them they "could go." I 
 felt sorry for both masters and negroes : 
 indeed, the latter had a very keen sense 
 of disappointment even in their triumph. 
 They had expected freedom to come with 
 a marching army and the sound of trum- 
 pets, and instead the ordinary mail had 
 brought the news and their masters had 
 read it to them. Absolved from all re- 
 
 straints, they began to gather in groups 
 about the street-corners or to make lit- 
 tle camps in the corn-fields, which were 
 full of ripe roasting ears. All their hopes 
 were fixed on the advent of the United 
 States troops, but as day after day pass- 
 ed and they came not, many returned to 
 their old masters. The rest kept quite in 
 the background, and hid their impatience 
 under that stolid air of stupidity which 
 experience had taught them was a coat- 
 of-mail in doubtful circumstances. 
 
 No one will ever understand what the 
 women suffered at this time. It was hard 
 enough to find the idol of 1861 clay : it was 
 hard to be suddenly cast down from afflu- 
 ence to poverty, hard to be haunted every 
 hour by the terror and lawlessness which 
 might any moment entangle their hus- 
 bands or sons or brothers, and very hard 
 also to be surrounded by domestic wants 
 and trials they had no more idea how to 
 manage than the children who cried on 
 their knees. The distress and confusion 
 in every house were but faint reflections 
 of the spirit of lawlessness which held its 
 orgies in the whiskey-stores. These places 
 had become simple rendezvous of roughs 
 and robbers with whom murder was a 
 business, and who, anticipating a new 
 order of things, were trying to arrange 
 for a retreat to the Rio Grande country. 
 They killed each other almost hourly in 
 settling points of dispute, but no one in- 
 terfered. 
 
 On the nth of June the men whom 
 they had probably waited for, the sol- 
 diers raised in the Rio Grande territory, 
 came into town. I have an impression 
 that their number was about two thou- 
 sand, and their bearing and appearance 
 I shall never forget. They were the real- 
 ization of the almost impossible heroes 
 of Mier and the Alamo. They rode like 
 centaurs, they were armed to the teeth, 
 and, though in a very tattered condition, 
 were in perfect discipline. 
 
 That afternoon in broad daylight the 
 United States treasury was robbed of 
 every dollar. The treasurer had already 
 fled to Mexico public opinion said far 
 from empty-handed but on the sol- 
 diers the whole blame fell. Governor 
 Murrah then followed the treasurer.
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 189 
 
 and with him every shadow of civil au- 
 thority departed. 
 
 Eight weeks of such a life made ev- 
 ery one almost hopeless as to better 
 days, but one evening just before sun- 
 set two hundred United States soldiers 
 rode very quietly up the street. They had 
 come to prepare for the two regiments 
 who were following them, and they went 
 about their business without demonstra- 
 tions of any kind. The next day the old 
 flag floated where the Confederate cross 
 would never float again, and the weary 
 town, worn out with its long and terri- 
 
 ble watch, rested almost gratefully under 
 its protecting folds. 
 
 The abolition of slavery has made great 
 political changes, but in domestic life there 
 is little difference between 1858 and 1878. 
 Generally, indeed, the new order of things 
 is found to be more economical to involve 
 less care and less obligation. If the wo- 
 men talk regretfully of the past, it is just as 
 people talk of a brilliant youth which yet 
 they would not choose to live over again, 
 and so " the tender grace of a day that is 
 dead" hangs pleasantly enough over the 
 days that remain. 
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 MASTER DON'T 'LOW HIS HORSES TO BE OVER-DRUV. 
 
 IT was thirty years ago. Since that 
 time the wheels of Progress have 
 been rattling onward with remorseless 
 speed : the times have changed, and 
 men and manners have changed with 
 them. Among the ruins are many things 
 which we cannot regret, and some things 
 which we may find both sweet and prof- 
 itable to remember. It was thirty years 
 
 ago, on a pleasant autumn morning, that 
 I stepped from the deck of the James 
 River steamer on to the rickety pier at 
 Grove Landing, a point some thirty miles 
 above Norfolk. The approach of the 
 boat aroused the only occupant of the 
 wharf, a drowsy, frowzy negro, who sat 
 astride of a log apparently absorbed in 
 angling, but who, perceiving a couple
 
 190 
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 of gentlemen passengers landed, rubbed 
 his eyes, drew up his line and examined 
 the hook, from which the bait had been 
 nibbled ; then, adjusting his rags, came 
 forward and obsequiously offered to tote 
 our luggage to the shore. His services be- 
 ing accepted, he balanced himself with a 
 travelling-bag in each hand and led the 
 way by the long platform which stretch- 
 ed across the shallow water between the 
 
 "KIN I TOTE YOUR LUGGAGE, SAH ?" 
 
 landing and the shore, then up the bank, 
 through a grove of overshadowing trees, 
 to a forlorn wooden shanty which served 
 the purpose of store, dwelling, stage-office, 
 hotel and grogshop, combining all the at- 
 ti actions and conveniences of a village 
 under one dilapidated roof. 
 
 From this description it will be readily 
 understood that Grove Landing was not 
 the terminus of mine, nor likely to be of 
 any one else's journeying, but only a place 
 of transit ; and I may take this opportu- 
 nity to reveal the fact that I was bound 
 for the city of Williamsburg, once the 
 proud capital of the Ancient Dominion, 
 and still the central point of its early 
 history and traditions. 
 
 My fellow-traveller was a native of the 
 soil, an officer of the United States navy 
 
 on leave and proposing to spend Christ- 
 mas among his kindred. He had recent- 
 ly returned from a long voyage to the 
 antipodes, while I was visiting the clas- 
 sic ground for the first time ; so we read- 
 ily fraternized in our eagerness to get over 
 the seven miles which lay between us and 
 our destination. But " luck in leisure " 
 seemed to be the watchword at Grove 
 Landing, and during the two hours we 
 waited for the hack we sincerely re- 
 gretted that human joys and sorrows 
 were not even more transitory than 
 they are generally represented. 
 
 It was high noon before we got 
 started, but the roads were level 
 and reasonably good, and our black 
 Jehu, exhilarated by the movement, 
 sung, whistled and cracked his whip 
 with an energy that cheered our hopes 
 and restored our good-humor. After 
 a spurt of half a mile, however, the 
 enthusiasm began to subside. The 
 driver laid up' his whip and com- 
 menced droning a Methodist hymn 
 in long-drawn semibreves, while the 
 horses jogged and our antiquated 
 vehicle swayed and creaked in lazy 
 consonance. Amidst the unbroken 
 level of empty stubble-fields and 
 dim woodlands there was nothing 
 either to attract the eye or amuse 
 the mind. My fellow-passenger evi- 
 dently chafed to realize the long- 
 anticipated home-greeting. I was a 
 philosopher that is to say, on occasions 
 but for several hours I had been cher- 
 ishing an enviable appetite until it had 
 become perhaps unenviable. Anticipa- 
 ting famous cheer at Williamsburg, and 
 determined not to commit "prandicide," 
 I had contemptuously rejected all the 
 ignoble lunches of crackers and cheese, 
 cakes and beer, herrings and whiskey, 
 suggested at the landing. So, when the 
 impatient sailor at length opened on the 
 driver and team with the most caustic 
 and expressive terms in the marine vo- 
 cabulary, I joined him with a will. The 
 impassive brutes paid less heed to our 
 well-meant efforts than they might have 
 done to the song of a mosquito. Con- 
 scious of failure, we tacked and manoeu- 
 vred with civil remonstrances and en-
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 191 
 
 treaties. Softened by these, our Jehu 
 dropped a stave or two of his hymn and 
 informed us that his " master didn't 'low 
 the critters to be over-druv." We next 
 condescended to bribery, and, contrib- 
 uting a quarter each, chucked them to the 
 conductor with the remark that his team 
 was more likely to suffer from being " un- 
 der-druv." At this he smiled from ear to 
 ear, pocketed the cash, took up the whip 
 and chirruped briskly to his horses. 
 The next mile was accomplished mer- 
 rily. There was a long stretch of level 
 road before us, and through the haze 
 we could faintly discern the distant 
 steeples of Williamsburg rising above 
 the woods. Suddenly its speed was 
 checked, and our vehicle brought to 
 a full stop in the re-entering angle 
 of a worm fence. The driver shuffled ' 
 down from his box, unharnessed his 
 horses, and, jumping the fence, start- 
 ed for a barn about half a mile dis- 
 tant. The officer shouted after him 
 to demand the meaning of this sud- 
 den desertion. 
 
 "Gwine to feed, sah," he replied, 
 and, stumbling on his way, was soon 
 beyond reproach or remonstrance. 
 
 "Becalmed in sight of port!" said 
 my comrade with a sigh, then settled 
 himself for a nap. 
 
 Half an hour later the neighing of 
 the horses signalled the return of the dri- 
 ver, who was accompanied by a Izfd of 
 his own race, each hugging an armful of 
 husked corn. This was deposited in the 
 fence- corner under the noses of the ex- 
 pectant animals, who spent another half 
 hour or more in munching it. This ope- 
 ration was overlooked by the negroes 
 from the top rail, where they sat gos- 
 siping and caw-cawing like a pair of 
 crows. When the horses had worried 
 through their allowance we started again, 
 and soon trotted gayly through the main 
 street of Williamsburg, passing the Ra- 
 leigh and drawing rein in front of Hans- 
 ford's City Hotel, in its exterior and in- 
 ternal appointments resembling an old- 
 fashioned village inn. 
 
 It was three P. M. : the usual dinner- 
 hour was past, but my appetite brooked 
 no further ceremony, so I ordered some- 
 
 thing cold to be served as soon as pos- 
 sible. After a very reasonable delay I 
 was ushered into the dining-room, where 
 I found the benign and corpulent land- 
 lord standing at the head of a table that 
 would have seated and supplied a dozen 
 persons, although I was the only guest in 
 the house at the time. 
 
 Indicating my seat by a courteous wave 
 of the hand, he proceeded to deliver him- 
 
 "THE HAM, SAH, WAS A FAILURE." 
 
 self of an apology for the absence of the 
 crowning dish of every meal in Old Vir- 
 ginia : " I am sorry to say, sah, the ham 
 to-day was a failure, sah. I sent that 
 black rascal to the farm this morning, 
 and he brought me a ham that was 
 a little suspicious so much so that 1 
 couldn't allow it to appear, sah. Nig- 
 gers have no judgment, sah never will 
 learn anything, sah. Very sorry, indeed, 
 sah." 
 
 The board over which this apology was 
 delivered was spread with a superb sad- 
 dle of roasted mutton, cold, with a salad 
 and potatoes, flanked by five dishes of 
 fresh and succulent York River oysters 
 stewed, fried, broiled, scalloped and 
 raw. Sharp-set as I was, I made a cere- 
 monious response to mine host's speech, 
 expressing my appreciation of the noble 
 spread before me, and regretting that I
 
 I 9 2 
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 might not be able to do it full justice. 
 My performance, however, quite relieved 
 the good man's mind in regard to the 
 ham, and certainly rewarded me for the 
 abstinence and vexations of the day. 
 
 The friend whom I expected to meet 
 here, and who was to be my cicerone in 
 this interesting region, had not yet ar- 
 rived, so I only glanced at the broad, 
 grass-grown streets and antiquated build- 
 ings of the quiet city, and then retired to 
 arrange the fossils and botanical speci- 
 mens I had collected, and finally to rest. 
 
 As the next morning was fair, and my 
 friend would probably not arrive until the 
 afternoon, I concluded to occupy the time 
 by a visit to the site of old Jamestown, 
 seven or eight miles distant. The land- 
 lord furnished the horse, and I took the 
 road after an early breakfast. My steed 
 was spirited and well-gaited, the road 
 through level woodlands admitted of 
 rapid travelling, and after an hour's ride 
 I found myself near a farm-house on the 
 banks of the swampy bayou which sep- 
 arates Jamestown Island from the main- 
 land. I here discovered that I had miss- 
 ed the direct road, which by means of a 
 causeway and bridge affords a dry pas- 
 sage over to the island. 
 
 I had the alternative of seeking this 
 road by a circuitous and somewhat con- 
 fused path, or of leaving my horse and 
 boating across the bayou directly to the 
 tower, which seemed quite near at hand 
 as it loomed up above the low horizon. I 
 accepted the latter, and tying my horse 
 securely to a tree embarked in a heavy 
 scow, and with much labor rolled and 
 paddled up the stream toward my des- 
 tination. Half an hour of this work quite 
 exhausted me, and the tower seemed as 
 far off as when I started ; so, pushing my 
 leaky and unmanageable vessel through 
 an extensive thicket of rushes and cat- 
 tails, I at length effected a landing on 
 terra firma, and thence on foot made a 
 bee-line for my landmark. A weary walk 
 through tangled grass and over plough- 
 ed fields brought me to the site of an- 
 cient Jamestown, and here, upon a bro- 
 ken tombstone, I sat down to rest and 
 woo the melancholy Muse of History. 
 It was on this spot (May 13, 1607) that 
 
 our ancestral adventurers planted the seed 
 whose growth in two centuries and a half 
 has overshadowed the New World. The 
 settlement is thus described by an old 
 writer : " The place they chose was a 
 peninsula, two-thirds thereof being en- 
 compassed by the river Powhatan, and 
 the other third by a small narrow river, 
 capable, however, of receiving vessels of 
 an hundred tons almost as far as the main 
 river ; and at spring tides it overflows and 
 runs into the Powhatan, making the place 
 a perfect island, containing about two 
 thousand acres of firm land, besides a 
 great deal of marshy ground ; which sit- 
 uation was looked upon as a great secur- 
 ity against the attacks of the Indians." 
 ..." They landed all the men here that 
 were intended to be left in the country, 
 and began to erect a slight fort, which 
 they barricaded with trees, and built 
 some few huts, to which they gave the 
 name of Jamestown." 
 
 It was natural and appropriate enough 
 that these loyal Englishmen should have 
 remembered their most gracious sovereign 
 and patron in naming their first establish- 
 ment in this new land, but posterity will 
 ever regret their bad taste in substituting 
 the flunkeyish appellation of "Jeems's 
 River" for the euphonious and majes- 
 tic " Powhatan." 
 
 The facilities for acquiring land in this 
 wild country so encouraged and exagge- 
 rated the Englishman's characteristic pas- 
 sion for rural independence that neither 
 the inconveniences and dangers of isola- 
 tion nor governmental authority could in- 
 duce these settlers to remain in towns, or 
 even in convenient proximity to each oth- 
 er. The very mechanics imported for the 
 needs of the colony quitted their trades 
 and turned planters. For this reason city 
 building has never flourished in Old Vir- 
 ginia, and Jamestown in its palmiest days 
 was never more than a very modest vil- 
 lage. In 1698, after having been the cap- 
 ital and chief town of the colony for nine- 
 ty-one years, it was nearly destroyed by 
 fire, and Governor Nicholson took ad- 
 vantage of the circumstance to remove 
 the seat of government to the Middle 
 Plantations. From this double misfor- 
 tune Jamestown never recovered, but
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 193 
 
 continued to depopulate and perish grad- 
 ually. A writer describing it in 1737 says 
 it had not more than three- or four-score 
 houses, chiefly storehouses and sailors' 
 taverns. Thereafter it sunk into such ob- 
 scurity that history fails to note the pre- 
 cise date when the last light twinkled in 
 its darkening windows and its last hearth- 
 stone grew cold. There are those yet liv- 
 ing who can remember when several ruin- 
 ed chimneys, some lines of brick founda- 
 tion-walls and one decaying, tenantless 
 
 house were still visible ; but beneath the 
 grinding ploughshare and the encroach- 
 ing waters of the river these have long 
 since disappeared. Now no trace of the 
 ancient settlement remains, except this 
 lonely church -tower and the graveyard 
 overgrown with trees and wild vines. The 
 tower is of brick, ten or twelve feet square, 
 from twenty-five to thirty in height and 
 picturesquely draped with a growth of 
 the Virginia creeper. The graveyard 
 adjacent is quite small, probably less 
 
 VIEW OF JAMESTOWN POINT, LOOKING UP THE RIVER. 
 
 than twenty yards square, enclosed by 
 a low crumbling wall and crowded with 
 memorials of the dead. Some of the 
 tombs are of fine marble richly carved, 
 with inscriptions in Latin, others of 
 coarser material and workmanship, let- 
 tered in antiquated English, the whole 
 so worn and blackened by time, broken 
 and scattered by iconoclastic idlers, over- 
 grown by roots and wild briers, that I 
 found not a single epitaph fully legible. 
 One fragment only remains impressed 
 upon my memory, that of some innocent 
 "child-wife" of two hundred years ago 
 gone to her early rest " Ursula Beverly, 
 wife of . . . Beverly, aged 17 years . . ." 
 It is evident that the graveyard, with 
 all its brick and marble memorials, will 
 shortly be absorbed; literally devoured 
 
 by the vigorous growth which occupies 
 and overshadows it. The undermining 
 river is also perceptibly approaching the 
 site of the tower, and in a few years there 
 will be nothing left of Jamestown but a 
 tradition. 
 
 At this point in my reflections I was 
 interrupted by the approach of a stout, 
 red-faced man in a broad-brimmed hat, 
 who rode up and saluted me with that 
 frank courtesy which is native to this 
 region. We mutually introduced our- 
 selves. He was overseer of the James- 
 town Island estate, now belonging to 
 Mr. Allen of Clifton : I was a sentimen- 
 tal tourist visiting the ruins both well- 
 understood characters and requiring no 
 further explanations. Seeing it was now 
 past noon, he politely entreated me to
 
 1 94 
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 visit the plantation -house and partake 
 of some refreshment; and as I was afoot 
 and the house nearly a mile distant, he 
 dismounted, urgently insisting that I 
 should use his horse. This I declined 
 with thanks, but accepted the invitation 
 to refresh ; so he rode rapidly homeward 
 to prepare for my coming, while I fol- 
 lowed at my leisure. The plantation- 
 house was a large double brick mansion 
 located in a pleasant grove of trees near 
 the river, which is a mile or more in 
 width at this point. Here I found a sub- 
 stantial lunch already served, of which I 
 partook, prefacing it with the essential 
 dram a lowland custom supposed to 
 counteract the effects of malaria and 
 bad water. 
 
 Amid the perishing ruins of bricks and 
 mortar and the mouldering tombs of 
 many successive generations it is pleas- 
 ant to observe how bravely a people will 
 cling to the good old customs of their 
 ancestors. More than two centuries ago 
 a writer thus described the habits of the 
 Virginia settlers: "The English inhab- 
 itants are very courteous to travellers, 
 who need no other recommendation but 
 the being human creatures. A stranger 
 has no more to do but to inquire upon 
 the road where any gentleman or good 
 housekeeper lives, and there he may de- 
 pend upon his being received with hospi- 
 tality. This good-nature is so very gen- 
 eral among their people that the gentry, 
 when they go abroad, order their princi- 
 pal servants to entertain all visitors with 
 everything the plantation affords, and 
 the poor planters who have but one bed 
 will very often sit up or lie upon a form 
 or couch all night to make room for a 
 weary traveller to repose himself." 
 
 Taking leave of my entertainer, I walk- 
 ed back by the road across the causeway 
 to the point where I had left my horse. 
 I was somewhat shocked at missing him 
 from the spot where I had tied him, but 
 was agreeably relieved presently to find 
 him safely stabled and revelling in corn 
 and fodder. The farmer had volunteer- 
 ed this civility during my long absence, 
 remarking that "he didn't like to see a 
 critter suffering," and then declined my 
 offer of remuneration with a look of dig- 
 
 nified surprise. An hour's gallop took 
 me back to Williamsburg, where I was 
 sincerely gratified to meet the friend I 
 had been expecting. 
 
 This gentleman had been from his 
 youth a zealous collector of the family 
 records and local traditions connected 
 with the history of his native State, and 
 by simply observing the cast of features, 
 voice and bearing of any dashing youth 
 he chanced to meet could name his race 
 and ancestry with surprising accuracy ; 
 while there was not a decaying planta- 
 tion-house, lonely chimney, mouldering 
 tombstone or archaeological brick in the 
 land with whose legend he was not fa- 
 miliar. In the great house and the cabin 
 he was always a welcome and honored 
 guest, and landed magnate, learned pro- 
 fessor, sallow oyster - scraper or super- 
 annuated negro all alike met him with a 
 smile of friendly recognition and claim- 
 ed a shake of his venerable hand. 
 
 If with such a Mentor as my compan- 
 ion in this land of traditions I have fail- 
 ed to note anything especially worthy of 
 remembrance, or have fallen into errors 
 and misconceptions, it must be charged 
 to my flippant and superficial nature, for 
 thirty years ago I esteemed the things of 
 the past as lightly as I now do those of 
 the present. 
 
 This site was first settled by English- 
 men in 1632 under the name of the 
 "Middle Plantations." Sixty-six years 
 afterward, when Governor Nicholson 
 made it the seat of the colonial gov- 
 ernment, it seems to have been still an 
 insignificant village of not more than 
 thirty or forty scattered houses. There 
 seem also to have been differences of 
 opinion among the old-time folks about 
 capital-moving, just as there are now-a- 
 days. One writer says : "Soon after his 
 [Governor Nicholson's] accession to the 
 government he procured the Assembly 
 and courts of judicature to be removed 
 from Jamestown (where there were good 
 accommodations for people) to Middle 
 Plantations, where there were none. 
 There he flattered himself with the 
 fond imagination of being the founder 
 of a new city. He marked out the 
 streets in many places, so that they
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 195 
 
 might represent the figure of a W, in 
 memory of His late Majesty, after whose 
 name the town was called Williamsburg : 
 there he procured a stately fabric to be 
 erected, which he placed opposite to the 
 college and graced with the magnificent 
 name of the Capitol." Judging the past 
 from the present, we may imagine the 
 sarcastic tone of this paragraph to have 
 been prompted by an interest in James- 
 town lots. 
 
 The Williamsburg speculator views the 
 
 subject through different glasses, thus : 
 " The first metropolis, Jamestown, was 
 built in the most convenient place for 
 trade and security against the Indians, 
 but often received much damage, being 
 twice burnt down, after which it never 
 recovered its perfection, consisting at 
 present of nothing but abundance of 
 brick rubbish and three or four good in- 
 habited houses." . . . " When the State- 
 house and prison were burnt down, Gov- 
 ernor Nicholson removed the residence 
 
 THE OLD CHURCH-TOWER, JAMESTOWN. 
 
 of the governor, with the meetings of 
 the general courts and General Assem- 
 blies, to Middle Plantations, seven miles 
 from Jamestown, in a healthier and more 
 convenient place and freer from the an- 
 noyance of rnoschetoes." . . . "Here he 
 laid out the city of Williamsburg, in the 
 form of a cipher made of W and M, on 
 a ridge at the head-springs of two great 
 creeks, one running into the James and 
 the other into the York River, which are 
 each navigable for sloops within a mile 
 
 of the town ; at the head of which creeks 
 are good landings and lots laid out and 
 dwelling-houses and warehouses built; 
 so that this town is most conveniently 
 situated in the middle of the lower part 
 of Virginia, commanding two noble riv- 
 ers, not above four miles from either, and 
 is much more commodious and healthful 
 than if built upon a river." 
 
 Notwithstanding all these advantages, 
 and the governor's zeal to build up his 
 new city, Williamsburg, during the eighty
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 years of its capitoline honors, never con- 
 tained more than two thousand inhabit- 
 ants. In 1779, following the predestined 
 "course of empire," the seat of govern- 
 ment was removed to Richmond. Since 
 that date the city of Williamsburg has 
 continued to dwindle. Its broad avenues 
 and spacious areas have grown into green 
 and pleasant pasture-grounds ; an occa- 
 sional conflagration has hastened the ruin 
 of its empty government buildings ; and 
 even the famous college, with its seven 
 endowed professorships, although reck- 
 oned among the things of life, stands like 
 " some banquet-hall deserted," having at 
 
 
 A LANDED PROPRIETOR. 
 
 this session but seventeen students in at- 
 tendance. Notwithstanding these gene- 
 ral indications of decadence, Williams- 
 burg still retains much to remind us of 
 its ancient dignity. This was evidently 
 no common village huddled together for 
 the convenience of artisans and huck- 
 sters. The haughty individuality of its 
 quaint, one-storied, hip-roofed dwellings, 
 each standing apart in its own grounds, 
 recalls the characteristic pride of the 
 old colonial planter, who, lured into city- 
 life by the charms of society or court- 
 ly ambition, still affected to spread 
 himself in aristocratic scorn of con- 
 tiguity. 
 
 The all-pervading quiet is also impres- 
 
 sive not as suggestive of death or stag- 
 nation, but rather of 
 
 That repose 
 Which marks the caste of Vere de Vere, 
 
 as if the venerable city held her traditions 
 too sacred to be disturbed by the clatter 
 of trade, and, once having worn a dia- 
 dem, disdains for evermore the vulgar 
 pretensions of Progress. 
 
 In full sympathy with the prevailing 
 sentiment, my friend and I passed the 
 day visiting the ancient sites and culti- 
 vating a dreamy intimacy with bygone 
 generations, all the more pleasing as it 
 was unvexed by any of those obtrusive 
 anachronisms which are so apt to inter- 
 rupt one's historic reveries in less-favor- 
 ed localities. 
 
 Our first thought leads us to the time- 
 honored minster of Bruton Parish, a pile 
 of dark brick masonry, cruciform, solid, 
 with a certain air of antiquated stateli- 
 ness, its tombs, memorial tablets and 
 high-backed pews reminding us of the 
 loyal piety or pious loyalty of the early 
 colonists. From hence we direct our 
 steps to the site of the old Capitol. The 
 transition from Church to State was brief 
 and natural enough in those old times 
 scarcely perceptible, in fact but now 
 how distant and how striking the con- 
 trast ! From the enduring and unsha- 
 ken walls of the church the music of the 
 solemn chant, the murmur of the fervid 
 litany, the recitative of the sublime creed 
 still bear witness to an imperishable faith 
 and proclaim the hope of an eternal fu- 
 ture, while the ancient Capitol (in its day 
 the most noble and commodious state 
 building in British America) has disap- 
 peared in dust and ashes, like the au- 
 thority, state-craft and political creed to 
 which it owed its passing existence. 
 
 The Capitol erected by Governor Nich- 
 olson in 1689 was destroyed by fire in 1746. 
 Its successor met a similar fate in 1832 : 
 traces of the foundation-plan and a few 
 crumbling bricks alone indicate its loca- 
 tion, which was in the centre of a spaci- 
 ous area at the end of a broad avenue, 
 facing the college, about a mile distant. 
 
 After Church and State, the University 
 appears in regular order to complete the 
 English political trinitv. From the ear-
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 liest settlements there had been individ- 
 ual efforts and liberal donations to estab- 
 lish schools for the benefit both of the 
 colonists and aboriginals, but the press- 
 ing necessities and sharp vicissitudes of 
 their new life were not calculated to im- 
 press men's minds with the advantages of 
 book-learning. Planting tobacco, fight- 
 ing Indians and literary culture are not 
 homogeneous. Moreover, the prevailing 
 predilection of the settlers for a life of 
 isolated independence on their own free- 
 holds was in itself an insuperable barrier 
 to anything like an organized system of 
 schooling. It is not surprising, therefore, 
 that more than half a century had rolled 
 over colonial Virginia before the plan of 
 an educational establishment was serious- 
 ly determined on by her rulers. Mean- 
 while, the wealthier gentry had been ac- 
 customed to send their sons to the Eng- 
 lish universities, while the poorer and 
 less ambitious got what they could from 
 home-teaching, assisted perhaps by some 
 wandering pedagogue or reputable cler- 
 gyman. At length, in 1660-61, the House 
 of Burgesses passed a bill authorizing a 
 subscription for the purpose of establish- 
 ing a college, to the end "that the Church 
 of Virginia may be furnished with a sem- 
 inary of ministers of the gospel, and the 
 youth may be piously educated in good 
 letters and manners, and that the Chris- 
 tian faith may be propagated amongst 
 the Western Indians to the glory of* Al- 
 mighty God." 
 
 Sir William Berkeley, then governor 
 of the colony, in reply to some questions 
 from England, expresses himself thus : 
 " I thank God there are no free schools 
 nor printing, and I hope we shall not 
 have these hundred years ; for learning 
 has brought disobedience and heresy and 
 sects into the world, and printing has di- 
 vulged them and libels against the best 
 government. God keep us from both !" 
 These were doubtless the orthodox and 
 ruling opinions of that day, and not in- 
 consistent with the governor's warm ap- 
 proval of a colonial " Oxford " to educate 
 the clergy and gentlemen of his realm. 
 But while everybody was willing, the proj - 
 ect lingered until 1691, when, through the 
 efficient zeal of the 'Rev. James Blair, a 
 
 197 
 
 charter with additional endowments was 
 obtained from the Crown, and the col- 
 lege, called William and Mary after its 
 royal patron's, actually established at 
 Williamsburg. 
 
 The after-history of the institution is a 
 record of struggles and vicissitudes. It 
 seerns never to have been very numer- 
 ously attended nor popularly prosperous, 
 but the long list of eminent names ap- 
 pearing in its catalogue proves how no- 
 bly the more important and practical 
 branches of its mission have been ful- 
 filled. The Indian school is now but a 
 
 A PROFESSOR OF THE HUMANITIES IN THE 
 INDIAN SCHOOL. 
 
 romantic tradition. Speaking of it in 
 1724, Hugh Jones says: "The young 
 Indians, procured from the tributary or 
 foreign nations with much difficulty, were 
 formerly boarded and lodged in town, 
 where abundance of them used to die, 
 either through sickness, change of pro- 
 vision and way of life, or, as some will 
 have it, often for want of proper neces- 
 saries and due care taken with them. 
 Those of them that have escaped well, 
 and have been taught to read and write, 
 have for the most part returned to their 
 home, some with and some without bap- 
 tism, where they follow their own savage
 
 198 
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGIXIA. 
 
 customs and heathenish rites. A few of 
 them lived as servants with the English 
 or loitered and idled away their time in 
 laziness and mischief." The intention 
 was at least humane and generous, and 
 about as successful as any "Indian pol- 
 icy" undertaken elsewhere or since by 
 people of the English race. 
 
 At this date the college is the most 
 imposing edifice extant in Williamsburg. 
 The original plans were furnished by Sir 
 Christopher Wren not in his ambitious 
 style, however, but plain, economical 
 and adapted to the purpose, reminding 
 one of the old London brick architecture 
 of the past century. It stands in a spa- 
 cious campus, the entrance to which is 
 guarded by two stunted live-oaks and a 
 statue of Norborne Berkeley, baron of 
 Botetourt, a governor of the colony and 
 liberal patron of literature and the arts, 
 who died in 1770. 
 
 And this brings us to the era of tran- 
 sition from English colonial history to 
 that of American independence a pe- 
 riod of which Williamsburg contains 
 many interesting memorials. 
 
 We may remark that the statue be- 
 fore us is noseless and otherwise muti- 
 lated, the record (it is said) of a patriotic 
 mob of 1776. Farther on we find the 
 remains of the palace where Lord Dun- 
 more, the last of the English governors, 
 kept royal state. The palace was burnt 
 by the French troops in 1781, and noth- 
 ing is left of it now but two stiff, prag- 
 matical-looking brick buildings staring 
 at each other across a grassy courtyard 
 one the old guard-room, the other oc- 
 cupied for offices. 
 
 Another reminiscence of Dunmore is 
 the old magazine on Capitol Square, 
 familiarly called the " Powder - horn." 
 Alarmed at the rebellious manifestations 
 around him, in 1774 he had all the ammu- 
 nition secretly removed from this build- 
 ing to a British ship of war lying in the 
 river an act which caused an armed 
 assemblage of the Virginians, who, led by 
 Patrick Henry, demanded and received 
 pecuniary satisfaction from the secretary 
 of the colony. This building is an oc- 
 tagon of stone with a sharp peaked roof, 
 and is still in perfect preservation. 
 
 Then, above all, there is the old Ra- 
 leigh Tavern, a low-browed, old-fashion- 
 ed wooden building, still kept as an inn 
 and parading a bust of Sir Walter Ra- 
 leigh over the front door. Here one 
 may enter the very room and sit in the 
 same chairs where high questions were 
 discussed in tones whose echoes have 
 not yet ceased to reverberate through 
 the world where that trenchant blade 
 was whetted which at one bold stroke 
 severed royal authority, Church bigotry 
 and caste education, the triple chain 
 which had hitherto bound the new peo- 
 ple to the old. Standing here, it is easy to 
 identify one's self with the past in fan- 
 cy to participate in the hopes, the fears 
 and enthusiastic resolves of the opening 
 contest then to skip some weary years 
 and again recall the emotions of pallid 
 citizens as from the housetops they watch- 
 ed the battle-cloud rising over the distant 
 woods and listened with bated breath to 
 the awful voices of those brazen-mouthed 
 orators uttering the ultima ratio rcgum 
 which brought that contest to a glorious 
 conclusion. But we must not anticipate. 
 Yorktown is only twelve miles distant, 
 and we will visit it to-morrow. 
 
 During our morning's round my com- 
 panion had so enlivened the gravity of 
 our historic studies by anecdotes of the 
 lords, ladies, governors and ancient gen- 
 try who had once figured on this desert- 
 ed stage that I began to feel annoyed 
 with a sense of my personal anachron- 
 ism in such ornate society and half 
 ashamed of my slopshop kerseymeres 
 and plumeless hat. I had gone back 
 two centuries without changing my 
 clothes. 
 
 Dinner was refreshing and consola- 
 tory, although there was nothing about 
 mine host's table or manners to recall 
 the progressive era from which I had 
 retrograded. The ham was baronial ; 
 the hominy pounded and cooked by a 
 recipe descended directly from the fa- 
 vorite wife of King Powhatan ; the teal 
 and red-head ducks, opened at the back 
 and broiled over the coals, were a savory 
 memento of Captain John Smith and his 
 fellow-adventurers of 1607 ; the scalloped 
 oysters were served in fossil shells of pre-
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 historic ages ; the very hearty yet defe- 
 rential urgency with which these tempt- 
 ing viands were offered and commended 
 to the guests belonged to other times. 
 Then, when the distinguished professor 
 of law, just informed of our coming and 
 hospitably jealous of the time already 
 lost, hastened over to move us to his 
 house, bag and baggage, the polished 
 yet glowing cordiality of his manner 
 fully realized my golden dreams of 
 colonial courtliness. Nevertheless, 
 Mentor and I had arranged our 
 plans otherwise, thinking it better 
 to remain at our inn, and I, being 
 the stranger, assumed the ungracious 
 task of declining the invitation. Our 
 stay in the city must be but brief; 
 we should be occupied early and late 
 in visiting the various objects of in- 
 terest in the vicinity, studying botany 
 in the woods and swamps, rummag- 
 ing records and digging for fossils 
 in marl-beds; my room was already 
 lumbered with specimens which I 
 desired to preserve, and which could 
 not be moved without an unreason- 
 able amount of time and trouble. 
 We thanked him most sincerely, 
 and regretted, etc., etc. 
 
 The professor listened with the 
 courtesy of a gentleman and the 
 practised patience of a judge, then 
 with an ejaculation of indignant sur- 
 prise exclaimed, "What! will my old * 
 kinsman here and his friend persist in 
 staying at a public tavern when my house 
 is open for them just across the street ?" 
 I was obstinate, adding that under the 
 circumstances I feared lest we might be 
 troublesome and unprofitable guests. 
 
 He replied with a look of disappoint- 
 ment, "Well, gentlemen, as you reject 
 my hospitality, .perhaps you will conde- 
 scend to take tea with me this evening ?" 
 This we cheerfully agreed to do, and 
 were prompt at the appointed hour. 
 
 The house was of the old style not 
 too stately, but broad and roomy, with 
 floors of polished parquetry, grooved in 
 semicircles where the heavy oaken doors 
 had been dragged open and shut for a 
 century or more. The furniture was sub- 
 stantially comfortable and elegantly un- 
 
 199 
 
 obtrusive. The walls were adorned with 
 ancestral portraits in the costumes of past 
 generations. The supper enfamille com- 
 pleted a most delightful picture of Old 
 Virginia's domestic life. 
 
 When this bountiful meal was con- 
 cluded, the professor with his guests 
 withdrew to a cozy sitting-room, where 
 they were presently joined by his grown 
 daughter, a girl of romantic beauty and 
 
 most engaging manners, who at her la- 
 ther's request entertained us with some 
 pleasant music. Very soon two or three 
 collegians dropped in, and the company 
 separated into natural and appropriate 
 groups. The young people were merry 
 and musical. I was grouped with the 
 elders, who for my edification continued 
 the subject of Virginia and her history. 
 But I was not old then, and the poetic 
 light of a fair young face had for the 
 hour banished the antique shadows that 
 had been haunting my fancy, and my 
 ears followed the merry music instead 
 of the learned and instructive discourse 
 of my friends. Thus I might have lost 
 the motive of the evening but for a diver- 
 sion caused by the entrance of a negro 
 servant bearing a service of massive sil-
 
 2OO 
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 ver. Our grizzled Ganymede was of a 
 type now obsolete of those who filled 
 their humble offices so loyally as to in- 
 vest even slavery itself with an air of 
 patriarchal dignity. The centre-piece of 
 the service was a pitcher of steaming 
 punch, which scented the room with 
 an unmistakable odor of "Scotch ortho- 
 doxy." The silver tankards were filled. 
 The Freshmen of course declined the 
 courtly professor's 1 invitation : this was 
 not "milk for babes." I now cheerfully 
 resumed my position in the Senior class : 
 .that peat-smoked "mountain-dew" was 
 of rare antiquity and had a history worth 
 discussing. 
 
 A sense of increasing comfort remind- 
 ed us that a November storm was brewing 
 without, and the zest of our punch was 
 possibly heightened by the pattering of 
 frozen rain-drops against the windows. 
 Punch is of an absorbing nature, and 
 we soon forgot everything else but our 
 Virginia traditions. So we sipped and 
 talked, and the conversation waxed and 
 warmed: the theme was inexhaustible, 
 and so, it seemed, were our tankards. I 
 imbibed and absorbed industriously, hop- 
 ing to finish my mug and turn it down, 
 but whenever I returned to it I was mys- 
 tified to find it always full and steaming 
 hot. I shook my head significantly at 
 the gray-haired butler, who smiled like 
 a beneficent sphinx. Meanwhile, the 
 Freshmen took their leaves and depart- 
 ed. The fair daughter kissed her father 
 and gracefully bid his guests good-night. 
 Still the ancient nectar-bearer stood his 
 ground, and still, like the miraculous 
 cruse of the widow of Zarephath, our 
 steaming tankards "failed not." Between 
 the alternating anecdotes of Washington 
 and Harry Lee and Jefferson and Ran- 
 dolph I frequently endeavored to catch 
 our old conjurer at his pleasant tricks, 
 but his art eluded my subtlety. So pass- 
 ed the genial and profitable hours until 
 at length (prematurely, as it seemed to 
 me) my Mentor suggested that it was 
 time to go : the finger of the mantel- 
 clock indicated midnight. Then we rose, 
 and, effusive with thanks and compli- 
 ments, bade adieu to our host. He sig- 
 nalled the major-domo, who obediently 
 
 deposited his silver pitcher, and, taking 
 up two lighted candles, led the way to the 
 hall. There we proposed to resume our 
 hats and cloaks, but the massive outer 
 door, near which we had left them, was 
 closed and barred, and the lights beck- 
 oned us persuasively toward the broad 
 stairway. 
 
 "But we left our wrappings here," said 
 I, groping about and hesitating to fol- 
 low the candles, which had already com- 
 menced the ascent. 
 
 Our conductor waved us upward with 
 the bland assurance that he was leading 
 us directly to the object of our wishes. 
 Hot punch lubricates a stubborn will as 
 warm suet does a stiff neck, and we fol- 
 lowed up the easy grade without further 
 resistance and dreamily uncertain as to 
 the denouement. 
 
 On reaching the upper hall I was ush- 
 ered into an elegantly-furnished cham- 
 ber, and as the major placed the candle 
 on the dressing-table a smile of triumph 
 twinkled through his habitual obsequi- 
 ousness. "Here," said he, "you will find 
 everything agreeable, I hope;" and bid- 
 ding me good-night he retired and closed 
 the door. 
 
 My bewilderment increased as I pro- 
 ceeded to inventory the contents of the 
 room. There in good faith hung my hat 
 and cloak, more neatly brushed than 
 usual. There too was my portmanteau, 
 and beside it my extra boots polish- 
 ed almost beyond recognition. Certain 
 changes of linen raiment which 1 had 
 sent to the hotel laundry lay on the 
 wardrobe, starched, crimped and prop- 
 erly folded. My sketch - book, papers, 
 travelling inkstand and pen were con- 
 veniently adjusted on a table, while a 
 roomy recess contained my museum of 
 shells, fossils and botanical specimens 
 arranged with more order and intelli- 
 gence than I was capable of bestowing 
 on them. Now, I was never supersti- 
 tious, yet I must acknowledge these un- 
 accountable appearances, joined with the 
 mystery of the punch -tankard and the 
 reputation of the African race for con- 
 jurations and enchantments, did so ob- 
 fuscate my brain that I concluded to 
 sleep before attempting a solution of the
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 problem. Thereupon I sank into the 
 curtained bed and slept luxuriously un- 
 til morning. My Mentor had occupied 
 a room across the hall, and we met the 
 professor and family at the breakfast- 
 table as recognized members of the 
 household, nor was there ever after the 
 slightest allusion made by anybody to 
 the mysterious manner of our transfer. 
 Head-quarters being thus happily es- 
 tablished, and the morning promising, 
 
 we took a carriage and drove to York- 
 town. Although it was high noon when 
 we reached there, we saw no living soul 
 in its grass-grown streets and no sign of 
 life about its decaying houses. Like Gold- 
 smith's "deserted village," it was dramat- 
 ically desolate. This sentiment was quite 
 appropriate to the purposes of our visit, 
 but then our horses must be fed, and 
 three hours' drive had sharpened our 
 own appetites ; so we groped about for 
 
 THE MOORE HOUSE, WHERE LORD CORNWALLIS SIGNED THE ARTICLES OF 
 
 CAPITULATION. 
 
 a tavern. At length we perceived a slen- 
 der smoke curling from the kitchen-chim- 
 ney of a very ancient, decrepit -looking 
 wooden house, which, from the absence 
 of everything like care or comfort, we 
 guessed might be a place for public en- 
 tertainment. So we mounted the rick- 
 ety steps which led to the open front 
 entrance, passed through the naked, 
 unfurnished hall, knocking by the way 
 at irresponsive doors, and thence across 
 a bare, dirty court to the kitchen. Here 
 we found an old negress sitting in the 
 chimney-corner smoking a corncob pipe. 
 She told us this was really a public-house, 
 " but not many people cum thar. Mas- 
 ter was now asleep up sta'rs, but didn't 
 
 like to be woke up," even to receive cus- 
 tomers. However, she in her capacity 
 of head-cook served us a lunch of bread, 
 milk and ham, while the coachman and 
 horses were directed to the stable to help 
 themselves. 
 
 Yorktown was established in 1705, and 
 for a time enjoyed a modest share of 
 commercial prosperity, although at best 
 its size was insignificant. A writer, de- 
 scribing it immediately after the surren- 
 der of Cornwallis, says : " It contains 
 about sixty houses : some of them are 
 elegant, many of them are greatly dam- 
 aged, and some totally ruined, being shot 
 through in a thousand places and honey- 
 combed ready to tumble to pieces. Rich
 
 202 
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 furniture and books were scattered over 
 the ground, and the carcasses of men 
 and horses, half covered with earth, ex- 
 hibited a scene of ruin and horror be- 
 yond description." Now, imagine the 
 rich furniture and dead bodies properly 
 disposed of, and Yorktown as we saw it 
 must have looked very much as it did 
 just after the event which has made its 
 name famous in history. Its church and 
 dwellings still show the scars of cannon- 
 shot: rubbish - heaps of brick and mor- 
 tar, lonely chimneys and charred tim- 
 bers mark the places where its elegant 
 edifices once stood. Here were the Brit- 
 ish earthworks, bastion and curtain still 
 complete in outline, and so little changed 
 in profile by the abrading elements that 
 they might still have been defensible. 
 Here too the curious searcher on the 
 grass-grown parapets or weedy enceinte 
 might often find leaden bullets and the 
 rusty relics of arms and accoutrements. 
 
 Continuing our walk beyond these 
 works, we presently came upon the 
 traces of the two advanced redoubts 
 stormed respectively by the Americans 
 led by Colonel Alexander Hamilton and 
 the French under the baron de Viomenil. 
 Searching still farther, we encountered 
 a venerable negro carrying a pumpkin 
 in one hand and in the other a basket 
 of oysters fresh scraped from the riv- 
 er. Oh being questioned concerning the 
 road we were on, he deposited his bur- 
 dens and, saluting us respectfully, re- 
 plied, " Dis road, sah ? Dis is de French 
 army road, sah. And dat field ? Dat is 
 General La Fayette's field, sah, whar dey 
 camped all growed up in pines now, 
 dough. And dat house over dere ? Dat 
 was General Washington's head -quar- 
 ters, sah." 
 
 " You appear to know all about it, un- 
 cle : were you at the siege ?" 
 
 Uncle chuckled and reflected : " 'Spec* 
 I was too young dem days to do any 
 fightin', but I puffeckly 'members how 
 scared I was when I heard de big guns 
 a-boomin'." 
 
 " How old are you, uncle ?" 
 
 The old man's face showed perplex- 
 ity, and he began counting on his fin- 
 gers : " T'ree years ago missis told me 
 
 den I was a-risin' of seventy : how old 
 is dat, sah ?" 
 
 "Quite satisfactory. You must be about 
 seventy-three, and as the siege took place 
 in October, 1781, only sixty-eight years 
 ago, you were then about five years old." 
 
 So we parted mutually pleased, he with 
 his silver coin and we at having found a 
 veritable living link. 
 
 Returning by way of the bluffs, we ex- 
 amined a cave said to have been used 
 by Lord Cornwallis as a council-cham- 
 ber when the town got too hot for cool 
 counsel. Ascending hence to the brow 
 of the bluff overlooking the water, we 
 found a grassy plateau where the British 
 flagstaff was planted, and where their 
 surgical head-quarters were established 
 during the bombardment. Human bones, 
 bleached and decaying, still lay scatter- 
 ed around. When La Fayette came to 
 America in 1824, he revisited Yorktown. 
 and on this spot was ceremoniously wel- 
 comed by a delegation of Virginians 
 headed by the distinguished Benjamin 
 Watkins Leigh. But our interest in the 
 ruins and glories of history is for the mo- 
 ment superseded by the magnificent view 
 from the plateau, embracing the course 
 of York River far inland and outward 
 until lost in Chesapeake Bay, the grace- 
 ful line of wooded bluffs on the York side, 
 and the county of Gloster, pleasantly di- 
 versified with field and woodland, on the 
 north. It is a scene of surpassing beau- 
 ty, and all the pride and glory of our 
 race sinks into insignificance as we bow 
 before the eternal and unchanging maj- 
 esty of Nature. 
 
 Yet the story of Yorktown is a stirring 
 theme for historian or poet, and, although 
 a "thrice-told tale," can never be heard 
 without a thrill of patriotic emotion. 
 Time is pressing, however, and its repe- 
 tition must be deferred for a more con- 
 venient season. 
 
 Returning to the village, my cicerone 
 conducted me to the clerk's office, where 
 we found the custodian of the public rec- 
 ords asleep on three chairs. He woke 
 amiably, and, recognizing my friend, 
 seemed pleased with the incident which 
 interrupted the inane monotony of his 
 j official life, and in the most obliging
 
 A VISIT TO THE SHRINES OF OLD VIRGINIA. 
 
 203 
 
 manner assisted us in rummaging his 
 files of dusty parchments and antiquated 
 record -books. Among other objects of 
 interest he showed us a manuscript plan 
 of Yorktown and its defences, drawn by 
 some officer who had assisted in the mil- 
 itary operations of 1781. 
 From hence, resuming our 
 carriage, we returned to 
 our hospitable friends at \ 
 
 Williamsburg. 
 
 Thus, within a range of 
 less than twenty miles I 
 had galloped over nearly 
 two hundred and fifty 
 years of American his- 
 tory, and visited the sites 
 of the three great events 
 which have fixed the seat 
 of empire in the Western 
 World and have given di- 
 rection to the aspirations and efforts of 
 humanity : the lonely tower at James- 
 town, which marks the first permanent 
 settlement of the English race on this 
 continent; the old Raleigh Tavern at 
 
 Williamsburg, where the ideas of the 
 Revolution of 1776 were promulgated; 
 the battle-field at Yorktown, where the 
 triumph of these ideas was definitely as- 
 sured. Yet it is curious to observe that 
 while the impulse given to mankind by 
 
 A CUSTODIAN OF THE PUBLIC RECORDS. 
 
 these events has continued to strengthen 
 and spread with accelerated progress, the 
 region which gave them birth still sleeps 
 in monumental immobility.
 
 PARADISE PLANTATION. 
 
 
 "HE SPLENDID SADDLE-HOSS." 
 
 course you will live at the hotel ?" 
 " Not at all. The idea of leaving 
 one's work three times a day to dress for 
 meals !" 
 
 " May I ask, then, where you do pro- 
 pose to reside ?" 
 
 "In the cottage on the place, to be 
 sure." 
 
 The Pessimist thrust his hands into 
 his pockets and gave utterance to a 
 long, low whistle. 
 
 " You don't believe it ? Come over 
 with us and look at it, and let us tell 
 you our plans." 
 
 "That negro hut, Hope? You never 
 can be in earnest?" 
 
 "She is until she has seen it," said 
 the Invalid, smiling. "You had better 
 go over with her: a sight of the place 
 will be more effectual than all your ar- 
 guments." 
 
 " But she has seen it," said Merry. 
 "Two years ago, when we were here 
 and old Uncle Nat was so ill, we went 
 over there." 
 
 "And I remember the house perfect- 
 ly," added Hope "a charming long, 
 low, dark room, with no windows and a 
 great fireplace, and the most magnificent 
 live-oak overhanging the roof." 
 
 "How enchanting! Let us move in 
 at once." The Invalid rose from his 
 204 
 
 chair, and taking Merry's arm, the four 
 descended the piazza-steps. 
 
 "Of course," explained Hope as we 
 walked slowly under the grand old trees 
 of the hotel park "of course the carpen- 
 ter and the painter and the glazier are to 
 intervene, and Merry and I must make 
 no end of curtains and things. But it 
 will be ever so much cheaper, when all 
 is done, than living at the hotel, besides 
 being so much more cozy ; and if we are 
 to farm, we really should be on the spot." 
 
 " Meantime, I shall retain my room at 
 the hotel," said the Pessimist, letting down 
 the bars. 
 
 "You are expected to do that," retort- 
 ed Merry, disdaining the bars and climb- 
 ing over the fence. " It will be quite as 
 much as you deserve to be permitted to 
 take your meals with us. But there ! 
 can you deny that that is beautiful ?" 
 
 The wide field in which we were walk- 
 ing terminated in a high bluff above the 
 St. John's. A belt of great forest trees 
 permitted only occasional glimpses of the 
 water on that side, but to the northward 
 the ground sloped gradually down to one 
 of the picturesque bays which so frequent- 
 ly indent the shores of the beautiful riv- 
 er. Huge live-oaks stood here and there 
 about the field, with soft gray Spanish 
 moss swaying from their dark branches.
 
 PARADISE PLANTATION. 
 
 205 
 
 Under the shadow of one more mighty 
 than the rest stood the cottage, or ra- 
 ther the two cottages, which formed the 
 much-discussed residence two unpaint- 
 ed, windowless buildings, with not a per- 
 pendicular line in their whole superficial 
 extent. 
 
 The Pessimist withdrew the stick which 
 held the staple and threw open the un- 
 shapely door. There were no steps, but a 
 little friendly pushing and pulling brought 
 even the Invalid within the room. There 
 was a moment's silence ; then, from Hope, 
 "Oh, the magnificent chimney! Think 
 of a fire of four-foot lightwood on a chilly 
 evening!" 
 
 " I should advise the use of the chim- 
 ney as a sleeping-room : there seems to 
 be none other," said the Pessimist. 
 
 "But we can curtain off this entire end 
 of the room. How fortunate that it should 
 be so large ! Here will be our bedroom, 
 and this corner shall be for Merry. And 
 when we have put one of those long, low 
 Swiss windows in the east side, and an- 
 other here to the south, you'll see how 
 pleasant it will be." 
 
 " It appears to me," he remarked per- 
 versely, "that windows will be a super- 
 fluous luxury. One can see out at a doz- 
 en places already ; and as for ventilation, 
 there is plenty of that through the roof." 
 
 "The frame really is sound," said the 
 Invalid, examining with a critical eye. 
 
 "Of course it is," said Hope. "Now 
 let us go into the kitchen. If that is only 
 half as good I shall be quite satisfied." 
 
 The kitchen-door, which was simply 
 an old packing-box cover, with the ad- 
 dress outside by way of doorplate, was 
 a veritable "fat man's misery," but as 
 none of the party were particularly fat 
 we all managed to squeeze through. 
 
 "Two rooms!" exclaimed Hope. "How 
 enchanting ! I had no idea that there 
 was more than one. What a nice little 
 dining -room this will make ! There is 
 just room enough." 
 
 "' Us four and no more,' " quoted Mer- 
 ly. " But where will the handmaiden 
 sleep?" 
 
 " The kitchen is large," said the Pes- 
 simist, bowing his head to pass into the 
 next room : " it will only be making one 
 
 more curtain, Merry, and she can have 
 this corner." 
 
 " He is converted ! he really is convert- 
 ed !" cried Merry, clapping her hands. 
 "And now there is only papa, and then 
 we can go to the sawmill to order lum- 
 ber." 
 
 "And to the Cove to find a carpenter," 
 'added Hope. "Papa can make up his 
 mind in the boat." 
 
 We had visited Florida two years be- 
 fore, and, charmed with the climate, the 
 river, the oaks, the flowers, the sweet do- 
 nothing life, we had followed the exam- 
 ple of so many worthy Northerners and 
 had bought an old plantation, intending 
 to start an orange-grove. We had gone 
 over all the calculations which are so 
 freely circulated in the Florida papers 
 so many trees to the acre, so many 
 oranges to the tree : the results were fair- 
 ly dazzling. Even granting, with a lordly 
 indifference to trifles worthy of incipient 
 millionaires, that the trees should bear 
 only one-fifth of the computed number 
 of oranges, and that they should bring 
 but one-third of the estimated price, still 
 we should realize one thousand dollars 
 per acre. And there are three hundred 
 and sixty acres in our plantation. Ah ! 
 even the Pessimist drew a long breath. 
 
 Circumstances had, however, prevent- 
 d our taking immediate steps toward se- 
 curing this colossal fortune. But now that 
 it had become necessary for us to spend 
 the winter in a warm climate, our golden 
 projects were revived. We would start a 
 grove at once. It was not until we had been 
 three days at sea, southward bound, that 
 Hope, after diligent study of an old Flor- 
 ida newspaper, picked up nobody knows 
 where, became the originator of the farm- 
 ing plan now in process of development. 
 
 " The cultivation of the crop becomes 
 the cultivation of the grove," she said 
 with the sublime assurance of utter ig- 
 norance, " and thus we shall get our 
 orange-grove at no cost whatever." 
 
 She was so much in earnest that the 
 Invalid was actually convinced by her 
 arguments, which, to do her justice, were 
 not original, but were filched from the 
 enthusiastic journal before alluded to. 
 It was decided that we were to go to
 
 206 
 
 PARADISE PLANTATION. 
 
 farming. It is true none of us knew 
 anything about the business except such 
 waifs of experience as remained to the 
 Invalid after thirty years' absence from 
 grandpa's farm, where he used to spend 
 the holidays. Holidays were in winter 
 in those times, and his agricultural ex- 
 perience had consisted principally in 
 cracking butternuts and riding to the 
 wood-lot on the ox-sled. But this was 
 of no consequence, as Hope and Mer- 
 ry agreed, since there were plenty of 
 books on the subject, and, besides, 
 there were the Florida newspapers ! 
 
 " I warn you I wash my hands of the 
 whole concern," the Pessimist had said. 
 "You'll never make farming pay." 
 "Why not?" 
 "Because you won't." 
 " But why, because ?" 
 "The idea of women farming!" 
 "Oh, well, if you come to that, I 
 should just like to show you what wo- 
 men can do," cried Merry; and this 
 unlucky remark of the Pessimist set- 
 tles the business. There is no longer 
 any question about farming. 
 
 No one could deny that the house 
 was pretty, and comfortable too, when 
 at last the carpenter and painter had 
 done their work, and the curtains and 
 the easy-chairs and the bookshelves 
 had taken their places, and the great 
 fire of pine logs was lighted, and the 
 mocking-bird's song streamed in with 
 the sunlight through the open door and 
 between the fluttering leaves of the ivy- 
 screen at the window. The piano was 
 always open in the evenings, with Mer- 
 ry or the Pessimist strumming on the 
 keys or trying some of the lovely new 
 songs ; and Hope would be busy at her 
 table with farm - books and accounts ; 
 and the Invalid, in his easy-chair, would 
 be listening to the music and falling off 
 to sleep and rousing himself with a little 
 clucking snore to pile more lightwood on 
 the fire; and the mocking-bird in his cov- 
 ered cage would wake too and join lusti- 
 ly in the song, till Merry smothered him 
 up in thicker coverings. 
 
 The first duty was evident., " Give it 
 a name, I beg," Merry had said the very 
 first evening in the new home; and the 
 
 I house immediately went into committee 
 of the whole to decide upon one. Hope 
 proposed Paradise Plantation ; Merry sug- 
 gested Fortune Grove; the Pessimist hint- 
 ed that Folly Farm would be appropriate, 
 but this proposition was ignominiously re- 
 
 " I'SE DE SECflON, SAH." 
 
 jected ; and the Invalid gave the casting- 
 vote for Hope's selection. 
 
 The hour for work having now arrived, 
 the man was not slow in presenting him- 
 self. " I met an old fellow who used to 
 be a sort of overseer on this very plan- 
 tation," the Invalid said. "He says he 
 has an excellent horse, and you will need 
 one, Hope. I told him to come and see 
 you." 
 
 "Which? the man or the horse?" ask- 
 ed Merry in a low voice. 
 
 "Both, apparently," answered the Pes- 
 simist in the same tone, "for here they 
 come." 
 
 "Ole man Spafford," as he announced 
 himself, was a darkey of ancient and ven- 
 erable mieri, tall, gaunt and weather- 
 beaten. His steed was taller, gaunter 
 and apparently twice as old an inter- 
 esting study for the osteologist if there 
 be any such scientific person.
 
 PARADISE PLANTATION. 
 
 207 
 
 " He splendid saddle-hoss, missis," said 
 the old man : "good wuk-hoss too bery 
 tine boss." 
 
 " It seems to me he's rather thin," said 
 Hope doubtfully. 
 
 " Dat kase we didn't make no corn dis 
 year, de ole woman an' me, we was bofe 
 so bad wid de misery in the leaders " 
 (rheumatism in the legs). " But Sancho 
 won't stay pore ef you buys corn enough, 
 missis. He powerful good horse to eat." 
 
 Further conversation revealed the fact 
 uhat old man Spafford was "de chief man 
 ob de chu'ch." 
 
 "What! a minister?" asked the Invalid. 
 
 " No, sah, not azatly de preacher, sah, 
 but I'se de nex' t'ing to dat." 
 
 "What may your office be, then, un- 
 cle?" asked the Pessimist. 
 
 "I'se de section, sah," answered the 
 old man solemnly, making a low bow. 
 
 " The sexton ! So you ring the bell, 
 do you ?" 
 
 " Not azatly de bell, sah we ain't got no 
 bell but I bangs on de buzz-saw, sah." 
 
 "What does he mean?" asked Merry. 
 
 The Pessimist shrugged his shoulders 
 without answering, but the "section" 
 hastened to explain: "You see, missy, 
 when dey pass roun' de hat to buy a bell 
 dey didn't lift nigh enough ; so dey jis' 
 bought a buzz-saw and hung it up in de 
 chu'ch-house ; an' I bangs on de buzz- 
 saw, missy." 
 
 The chief man of the church was found, 
 upon closer acquaintance, to be the sub- 
 ject of a profound conviction that he was 
 the individual predestinated to superin- 
 tend our farming interests. He was so 
 well persuaded of this high calling that 
 none of us dreamed of questioning it, 
 and he was forthwith installed in the 
 coveted office. At his suggestion an- 
 other man, Dryden by name, was en- 
 gaged to assist old man Spafford and 
 take care of Sancho, and a boy, called 
 Solomon, to wait upon Dryden and do 
 chores. A few day -laborers were also 
 temporarily hired, the season being so 
 far advanced and work pressing. The 
 carpenters were recalled, for there was 
 a barn to build, and hen-coops and a 
 pig-sty, not to speak of a fence. Hope 
 and Merry flitted hither and thither 
 
 armed with all sorts of impossible im- 
 plements, which some one was sure to 
 want by the time they had worked five 
 minutes with them. As for the Pessi- 
 mist, he confined himself to setting out 
 orange trees, the only legitimate busi- 
 ness, he contended, on the place. This 
 work, however, he performed vicarious- 
 ly, standing by and smoking while a 
 negro set out the trees. 
 
 " My duties appear to be limited to 
 paying the bills," remarked the Invalid, 
 "and I seem to be the only member of 
 the family who cannot let out the job." 
 
 " I thought the farm was to be self- 
 supporting?" said the Pessimist. 
 
 " Well, so it is : wait till the crops are 
 raised," retorted Merry. ' 
 
 " Henderson says," observed Hope, 
 meditatively, "that there are six hun- 
 dred dollars net profits to be obtained 
 from one acre of cabbages." 
 
 " Why don't you plant cabbages, then ? 
 In this seven-acre lot, for instance ?" 
 
 " Oh, that would be too many. Besides, 
 I have planted all I could get. It is too 
 late to sow the seed, but old man Spaf- 
 ford had some beautiful plants he let 
 me have. He charged an extra price 
 because they were so choice, but I was 
 glad to get the best : it is cheapest in the 
 end. I got five thousand of them." 
 
 "What sort are they?" asked the In- 
 valid. 
 
 " I don't know precisely. Spafford says 
 he done lost the paper, and he didn't 
 rightly understand the name nohow, 
 'long o' not being able to read ; but they 
 were a drefful choice kind." 
 
 "Oh, bother the name !" said the Pes- 
 simist: "who cares what it is ? A cab- 
 bage is a cabbage, I presume. But what 
 have you in this seven-acre lot ?" 
 
 "Those are peas. Dryden says that in 
 North Carolina they realize four hundred 
 dollars an acre from them when they 
 don't freeze." 
 
 The planting being now fairly over, we 
 began to look about us for other amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 " Better not ride old Sancho," remark- 
 ed old man Spafford one day as he ob- 
 served the Pessimist putting a saddle on 
 the ancient quadruped.
 
 PARADISE PLANTATION. 
 
 " Why not, uncle ? You ride him your- 
 self, and you said he was a very fine sad- 
 dle-horse." 
 
 " I rides he bareback. Good hoss for 
 lady : better not put man's saddle on," 
 persisted the old man. 
 
 The Pessimist vaulted into the saddle 
 by way of reply, calling out, "Open the 
 gate, Solomon," to the boy, who was go- 
 ing down the lane. But the words were 
 
 not spoken before Sancho, darting for- 
 ward, overturned the deliberate Solomon, 
 leaped the gate and rushed out into the 
 woods at a tremendous pace. The re- 
 sounding beat of his hoofs and energetic 
 cries of "Whoa! whoa!" from his rider 
 were wafted back upon the breeze, grad- 
 ually dying away in the distance, and 
 then reviving again as the fiery steed 
 reappeared at the same "grand galop." 
 
 OVERTURNED SOLOMON. 
 
 The Pessimist was without a hat, and his 
 countenance bore the marks of many a 
 fray with the lower branches of the trees. 
 
 " Here, take your old beast !" he said, 
 throwing the bridle impatiently to Spaf- 
 ford. "What sort of an animal do you 
 call him?" 
 
 The "section " approached with a grin 
 of delight : " He waw-hoss, sah. Young 
 missis rid he afo' the waw, an' he used 
 to lady saddle ; but ole marsa rid he to 
 de waw, an' whenebber he feel man sad- 
 dle on he back he runs dat a way, kase 
 he t'ink de Yankees a'ter him ;" and he 
 exchanged a glance of intelligence with 
 Sancho, who evidently enjoyed the joke. 
 
 The Invalid, who during the progress 
 of our planting had spent much time in 
 explorations among our " Cracker " neigh- 
 bors, had made the discovery of a most 
 disreputable two-wheeled vehicle, which 
 he had purchased and brought home in 
 triumph. Its wheels were of different 
 sizes and projected from the axle at most 
 remarkable angles. One seat was con- 
 
 siderably higher than the other, the cush- 
 ions looked like so many dishevelled dark- 
 ey heads, and the whole establishment 
 had a most uncanny appearance. It was 
 a perfect match, however, for Sancho, 
 and that intelligent animal, waiving for 
 the time his objection to having Yankees 
 after him, consented to be harnessed into 
 the vehicle and to draw us slowly and 
 majestically about in the pine woods. 
 He never objected to stopping anywhere 
 while we gathered flowers, and we always 
 returned laden with treasures to deck our 
 little home withal, making many a rare 
 and beautiful new acquaintance among 
 the floral riches of pine barren and ham- 
 mock. 
 
 Meantime, peas and cabbages and 
 many a "green " besides grew and flour- 
 ished under old man Spafford's fostering 
 care. Crisp green lettuce and scarlet 
 radishes already graced our daily board, 
 and were doubly relished from being, so 
 to speak, the fruit of our own toil. Para- 
 dise Plantation became the admiration of
 
 PARADISE PLANTATION. 
 
 209 
 
 all the darkey and Cracker farmers for 
 miles around, and it was with the great- 
 est delight that Hope would accompany 
 any chance visitor to the remotest corner 
 of the farm, unfolding her projects and 
 quoting Henderson to the open-mouthed 
 admiration of her interlocutor. 
 
 "Have you looked at the peas, lately, 
 Hope ?" asked the Pessimist one lovely 
 February morning. 
 
 " Not since yesterday : why ?" 
 
 "Come and see," was the reply; and 
 we all repaired to the seven-acre lot in 
 company. A woeful sight met our eyes 
 vines nipped off and trampled down 
 and general havoc and confusion in all 
 the ranks. 
 
 "Oh, what is it?" cried Merry in dis- 
 may. 
 
 "It's de rabbits, missy," replied old 
 man Spafford, who was looking on with 
 great interest. "Dey'll eat up ebery bit 
 o' greens you got, give 'em time enough." 
 
 "This must be stopped," said Hope 
 firmly, recovering from her stupor of sur- 
 prise. "I shall have a close fence put en- 
 tirely around the place." 
 
 "But you've just got a new fence. It 
 will cost awfully." 
 
 " No matter," replied Hope with great 
 decision : " it shall be done. The idea 
 of being cheated out of all our profits by 
 the rabbits !" 
 
 "What makes them look so yellow ?" 
 asked the Invalid as the family was look- 
 ing at the peas over the new close fence 
 some evenings later. 
 
 " Don't they always do so when they 
 blossom?" asked Hope. 
 
 "How's that, Spafford?" inquired the 
 Pessimist. 
 
 "Dey ain't, not to say, jis' right," re- 
 plied that functionary, snaking his head. 
 
 ' ' Why, what' s the matter ?' ' asked Hope 
 quickly. 
 
 "Groun" too pore I 'spec', missis. 
 
 " IT'S DE RABBITS, MISSY." 
 
 Mighty pore piece, dis : Ian' all wore 
 out. Dat why dey sell so cheap." 
 
 "Then won't they bear?" asked Mer- 
 ry in despairing accents. 
 
 "Oh yes," said Hope with determined 
 courage. " I had a quantity of fertilizers 
 put on. Besides, I'll send for more. It 
 isn't too late, I'm sure. We'll use it for 
 top-dressing, eh, Spafford?" 
 
 " I declare, Hope, I had no idea you 
 were such a farmer," said the Invalid 
 with a pleasant smile. 
 
 "And then, besides, we don't depend 
 upon the peas alone," continued Hope, 
 reflecting back the smile and speaking 
 with quite her accustomed cheerfulness : 
 "there are the corn and the cabbages." 
 
 "And the potatoes and cucumbers,"
 
 210 
 
 PARADISE PLANTA TION. 
 
 added Merry as we returned slowly to 
 the house by way of all the points of in- 
 terest the young orange trees, Merry's 
 newly-transplanted wisteria and the pig- 
 pen. 
 
 " I rather suspect that there is our most 
 profitable crop." said the Invalid as we 
 
 seated ourselves upon the piazza which 
 the Pessimist had lately built before the 
 house. He was looking toward a tree 
 which grew not far distant, sheltered by 
 two enormous oaks. Of fair size and 
 perfect proportions, this tree was one 
 mass of glossy, dark -green leaves, amid 
 
 PICKING PEAS. 
 
 which innumerable golden fruit glim- 
 mered brightly in the setting sunlight. 
 
 "Our one bearing tree," answered 
 Hope. "Yes, if we only had a thousand 
 like it we might give up farming." 
 
 " We shall have them in time," said the 
 Pessimist complacently, looking abroad 
 upon the straight rows of tiny trees almost 
 hidden by the growing crops. "Thanks 
 to my perseverance " 
 
 "And Dryden's," interpolated Merry. 
 
 "There are a thousand four-year-old 
 trees planted," continued the Pessimist, 
 not noticing the interruption. " I won- 
 der how many oranges that tree has 
 borne ?" 
 
 " I suppose we have eaten some twenty 
 
 a day from it for the last three months," 
 said Merry. 
 
 "Hardly that," said the Invalid, "but 
 say fifteen hundred. And the tree looks 
 almost as full as ever." 
 
 " What if we should have them gather- 
 ed and sold ?" suggested Hope "just to 
 see what an orange tree is really worth. 
 Spafford says that the fruit will not be so 
 good later. It will shrivel at last ; and 
 we never can eat all those oranges in 
 any case." 
 
 Shipping the oranges was the pleasant- 
 est work we had yet done. There was a 
 certain fascination in handling the firm 
 golden balls, in sorting and arranging, 
 in papering and packing ; and there was
 
 PARADISE PLANTATION. 
 
 211 
 
 real delight in despatching the first ship- 
 ment from the farm the more, perhaps, 
 as the prospect of other shipments be- 
 gan to dwindle. The peas, in spite of 
 the top-dressing, looked yellow and sick- 
 ly. The cucumbers would not run, and 
 more blossoms fell off than seemed de- 
 sirable. The Pessimist left off laughing 
 at the idea of farming, and spent a great 
 deal of time walking about the place, 
 looking into things in general. 
 
 " Isn't it almost time for those cabbages 
 to begin to head ?" he asked one day on 
 returning from a tour of inspection. 
 
 " Dryden says," observed Merry, "that 
 those are not cabbages at all : they are 
 collards." 
 
 "What, under the sun, are collards?" 
 asked the Invalid. 
 
 " They are a coarse sort of cabbage : 
 the colored people like them, but they 
 never head and they won't sell," said 
 Hope, looking up from a treatise on 
 agricultural chemistry. "If those should 
 be collards !" 
 
 She laid aside her book and went out 
 to investigate. "At any rate, they will 
 be good for the pigs," she remarked on 
 returning. " I shall have Behavior boil 
 them in that great pot of hers and give 
 them a mess every day. It will save 
 corn." 
 
 " ' Never say die !' " cried the Pessimist.* 
 " ' Polly, put the kettle on, -'tie on, -'tie 
 on ! Polly, put ' " 
 
 The Invalid interposed with a remark. 
 " Southern peas are selling in New York 
 at eight dollars a bushel," he said. 
 
 " Oh, those peas ! Why won't they 
 grow?" sighed Merry. 
 
 The perverse things would not grow. 
 Quotations went down to six dollars and 
 to four, and still ours were not ready to 
 ship. The Pessimist visited the field more 
 assiduously than ever ; Merry looked de- 
 spondent ; only Hope kept up her courage. 
 
 " Henderson says," she remarked, clos- 
 ing that well-thumbed volume, "that one 
 shouldn't look for profits from the first 
 year's farming. The profits come the 
 second year. Besides, I have learned 
 one thing by this year's experience. 
 Things should not be expected to grow 
 as fast in winter >even a Southern win- 
 
 ter as in summer. Next year we will 
 come earlier and plant earlier, and be 
 ready for the first quotations." 
 
 It was a happy day for us all when at 
 last the peas were ready to harvest. The 
 seven-acre lot was dotted over with boys, 
 girls and old women, laughing and joking 
 as they picked. Dryden and old man 
 Spafford helped Hope and Merry with 
 the packing, and the Pessimist flourish- 
 ed the marking-brush with the greatest 
 dexterity. The Invalid circulated between 
 pickers and packers, watching the pro- 
 ceedings with profound interest. 
 
 In the midst of it all there came a show- 
 er. How it did rain ! And it would not 
 leave off, or if it did leave off in the even- 
 ing it began again in the morning with 
 a fidelity which we would fain have seen 
 emulated by our help. One day's drench- 
 ing always proved to be enough for those 
 worthies, and we had to scour the coun- 
 try in the pouring ra'in to beat up recruits. 
 Then the Charleston steamer went by in 
 spite of most frantic wavings of the sig- 
 nal-flag, and our peas were left upon the 
 wharf, exposed to the fury of the elements. 
 
 They all got off at last in several de- 
 tachments, and we had only to wait for 
 returns. The rain had ceased as soon 
 as the peas were shipped, and in the 
 warm, bright weather which followed we 
 all luxuriated in company with the frogs 
 and the lizards. The fields and woods 
 were full of flowers, the air was saturated 
 with sweet odors and sunshine and songs 
 of birds. A messenger of good cheer 
 came to us also by the post in the shape 
 of a cheque from the dealer to whom we 
 had sent our oranges. 
 
 " Forty dollars from a single tree !" 
 said Hope exultantly, holding up the 
 slip of paper. "And that after we had 
 eaten from it steadily for three months !" 
 
 "The tree is an eighteen-year-old seed- 
 ling, Spafford says," said the Invalid, 
 looking at the document with interest. 
 " If our thousand do as well in fourteen 
 years, Hope, we may give up planting 
 cabbages, eh ?" 
 
 "The price will be down to nothing by 
 that time," said the Pessimist, not with- 
 out a shade of excitement, which he en- 
 deavored to conceal, as he looked at the
 
 212 
 
 PARADISE PLANTATION. 
 
 cheque. "Still, it can't go below a cer- 
 tain point, I suppose. The newspapers 
 are sounder on the orange question than 
 on some others, I fancy." 
 
 One would have thought that we had 
 
 never seen a cheque for forty dollars be- 
 fore, so much did we rejoice over this one, 
 and so many hopes of future emolument 
 did we build upon it. 
 
 "What's the trouble with the cucum- 
 
 bers, Spafford ?" asked the Pessimist as 
 we passed by them one evening on our 
 way up from the little wharf where we 
 had left our sailboat. 
 
 " T'ink it de sandemanders, sah. Dey 
 done burrow under dat whole cucumber- 
 patch eat all the roots. Cucumbers can't 
 grow widout roots, sah." 
 
 "But the Florida Agricitltitralist says 
 that salamanders don't eat roots," said 
 Hope : "they only eat grubs and worms." 
 
 Spafford shook his head without vouch- 
 safing a reply. 
 
 "The grubs and worms probably ate 
 the roots, and then the salamanders ate 
 them," observed the Pessimist. " That is 
 poetical justice, certainly. If we could 
 only eat the salamanders now, the retri- 
 bution would be complete." 
 
 " Sandemanders ain't no 'count to eat," 
 said old man Spafford. " Dey ain't many 
 critters good to eat. De meat I likes best 
 is wile-cat." 
 
 " Wild-cat, uncle !" exclaimed Merry. 
 
 " Do you mean to say you cat such thingb 
 as that?" 
 
 "Why, missy," replied the old man 
 seriously, "a wile-cat's 'most de properest 
 varmint going. Nebber eats not'ing but 
 young pigs and birds and rabbits, and 
 sich. Yankee folks likes chicken- meat, 
 but 'tain't nigh so good." 
 
 "Well, if they eat rabbits I think bet- 
 ter of them,' 1 said Hope; "and here 
 comes Solomon with the mail-bag." 
 
 Among the letters which the Invalid 
 turned out a yellow envelope was con- 
 spicuous. Hope seized it eagerly. " From 
 the market-man," she said. " Now we'll 
 see." 
 
 She tore it open. A ten - cent piece, 
 a small currency note and a one -cent 
 stamp dropped into her lap. She read 
 the letter in silence, then handed it to- 
 her husband. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed the Pessimist, 
 reading it over his shoulder. " This is 
 the worst I ever heard. ' Thirty-six crates
 
 PARADISE PLANTATION. 
 
 213 
 
 arrived in worthless condition ; twelve I 
 crates at two dollars ; fifty, at fifty cents ; 
 freights, drayage, commissions ; bal- 
 ance, thirty-six cents.' Thirty-six cents 
 for a hundred bushels of peas ! Oh, ye 
 gods and little fishes !" 
 
 Even Hope was mute. 
 
 Merry took the document. " It was all 
 because of the rain," she said. " See ! 
 those last crates, that were picked dry, 
 sold well enough. If all had done as 
 well as that we should have had our 
 money back ; and that's all we expect- 
 ed the first year." 
 
 "There's the corn, at any rate," said 
 Hope, rousing herself. " Dryden says it's 
 splendid, and no one else has any near- 
 ly as early. We shall have the first of 
 the market." 
 
 The corn was our first thought in the 
 morning, and we walked out that way 
 to console ourselves with the sight of its 
 green and waving beauty, old Spafford 
 being of the party. On the road we 
 passed a colored woman, who greeted 
 us with the usual "Howdy?" 
 
 "How's all with you, Sister Lucindy?" 
 asked the "section." 
 
 " All standin' up, thank God ! I done 
 come t' rough your cornfield, Uncle Spaf- 
 ford. De coons is to wuk dar." 
 
 We hastened on at this direful news. 
 
 "I declar' !" said old Spafford as we 
 reached the fence. " So dey is bin' to 
 wuk ! Done tote off half a dozen bushel 
 dis bery las' night. Mought as well give 
 it up, missis. Once dey gits a taste ob it, 
 good-bye /" 
 
 "Well, that's the worst I ever heard!" 
 exclaimed the Pessimist, resorting to his 
 favorite formula in his dismay. " Between 
 the coons and the commission-merchants 
 your profits will vanish, Hope." 
 
 "Do you think I shall give it up so?" 
 asked Hope stoutly. "We kept the rab- 
 bits out with a fence, and we can keep 
 the coons out with something else. It is 
 only a few nights' watching and the corn 
 will be fit for sale. Dryden and Solomon 
 must come out with their dogs and guns 
 and lie in wait." 
 
 " Bravo, Hope ! Don't give up the 
 ship," said the Invalid, smiling. 
 
 "Well, if she doesn't, neither will I," 
 
 said the Pessimist. " For the matter of 
 that, it will be first-rate sport, and I won- 
 der I haven't thought of coon -hunting 
 before. I'll come out and keep the boys 
 company, and we'll see if we don't ' sar- 
 cumvent the rascals ' yet." 
 
 And we did save the corn, and sell 
 it too at a good price, the hotels in the 
 neighborhood being glad to get posses- 
 sion of the rarity. Hope was radiant at 
 the result of her determination : the Pes- 
 simist smiled a grim approval when she 
 counted up and displayed her bank-notes 
 and silver. 
 
 "A few years more of mistakes and 
 losses, Hope, and you'll make quite a 
 farmer," he condescended to acknow- 
 ledge. " But do you think you have ex- 
 hausted the catalogue of animal pests ?" 
 
 "No," said Hope, laughing. "I never 
 dared to tell you about the Irish potatoes. 
 Something has eaten them all up : Uncle 
 Spafford says it is gophers." 
 
 "What is a gopher?" asked Merry. 
 "Is it any relation to the gryphon?" 
 
 " It is a sagacious variety of snapping- 
 turtle," replied the Invalid, "which walks 
 about seeking what it may devour." 
 
 ' ' And devours my potatoes, ' ' said H ope. 
 " But we have got the better of the rab- 
 bits and the coons, and I don't despair 
 'next year even of the gophers and sala- 
 manders." 
 
 " Even victory may be purchased too 
 dearly," said the Pessimist. 
 
 " After all, the experiment has not been 
 so expensive a one," said the Invalid, 
 laying down the neatly-kept farm-ledger, 
 which he had been examining. " The 
 orange trees are a good investment our 
 one bearing tree has proved that and as 
 for the money our farming experiment 
 has cost us, we should have spent as 
 much, I dare say, had we lived at the 
 hotel, and not have been one half as 
 comfortable." 
 
 " It is a cozy little home," admitted the 
 Pessimist, looking about the pretty room, 
 now thrown wide open to the early sum- 
 mer and with a huge pot of creamy mag- 
 nolia-blooms in the great chimney. 
 
 "It is the pleasantest winter I ever 
 spent," said Merry enthusiastically. 
 
 " Except that dreadful evening when the
 
 214 
 
 PARADISE PLANTATION. 
 
 account of the peas came," said Hope, 
 drawing a long breath. "But I should 
 like to try it again : I shall never be quite 
 satisfied till I have made peas and cu- 
 cumbers profitable." 
 
 "Then, all I have to say is, that you 
 are destined to drag out an unsatisfied 
 existence," said the Pessimist. 
 
 "I am not so sure of that," said the 
 Invalid. 
 
 And so we turned our faces northward, 
 not without a lingering sorrow at leaving 
 
 the home where we had spent so many 
 sweet and sunny days. 
 
 " Good-bye, Paradise Plantation," said 
 Merry as the little white house under the 
 live-oak receded from our view as we 
 stood upon the steamer's deck. 
 
 " It was not so inappropriately named," 
 said the Invalid. " Our life there has sure- 
 ly been more nearly paradisiacal than any 
 other we have known." 
 
 And to this even the Pessimist assented.
 
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