University of Virginia Library

LETTER XVII.

To Mr. Thompson:—I told you in my last that we
was gwine to Niagary. Well, the Monday after I rit
you my last letter, Hooper and me tuck passage on board
the steambote Nickerbocker for Albany, up the Hudson
river, what you've heard so much about. It was a
butiful afternoon, and ther was peeple enuff aboard to
make a fust rate campmeetin—men, wimmin and children,
of all ages, sorts and sizes, and a merryer crowd
couldn't be well raked together. We wasn't long gittin
away from New York, and in a few minits our floatin
castle was movin through a fleet of vessels of all kinds,
gwine and cumin to the city, in one of the largest and
handsumest rivers in the world. Some of the passengers
had books, and maps, and spy-glasses in ther hands,
and was all the time pintin out the interestin places. I
had no time to read about 'em, and while they was porin
over ther books and maps, and axin which is this, and
that, and whar's so and so, I jest tuck my fill by lookin
at every thing that was to be seed.

We had a fust rate view of the Pallisades, as they
call 'em, what goes jest a leetle ahead of any pile of
rock I ever seed before, extendin for twenty miles on
the left bank, and risin in sum places more'n five hundred
feet rite perpendickiler out of the water. Now
and then ther is a fisherman's house standin on the
water's edge, lookin 'bout as big as a bee-gum agin the
everlastin stone wall behind it.

After passin the Pallisades, we cum into the Tappan
Sea, whar the river is more'n four miles wide and looks
as quiet as a duck-pond. Sing Sing prison, what stands

on the right at the hed of the Tappan Sea, was made to
keep the rascals in New York, what they haint got room
for on Blackwell's Island, but one man sed he didn't
blieve ther was stone enuff in the Pallisades to bild a
house big enuff to hold all that ought to be thar.

In a few minits more we was passin Stony Pint, whar
old Mad Antony Wayne waked up the British sogers
with the pints of his bayonets, one mornin before breckfust,
in 1779, and then we was among the highlands.
The sun was most down, and the mountains—sum of
'em more'n one thousand six hundred feet high—stood
out in bold relief agin the brown evenin sky, throwin
their dark shadows far over the river, that crooked and
twisted about in evry direction, as if it had got lost in
tryin to find its way through 'em.

It seemed as if old Miss Nature had jest tried her
hand at makin hills and hollers, wastin yeath enuff in
her fancy work to make two or three states like the
State of Delaware; and I couldn't help but think what
capers old Boreas must cut in the winter time, when he
undertakes to have a strait blow among these everlastin
crags and caverns, and precipises. One would think
it would take a right smart harrycane to git through 'em
without gettin scattered into forty thousand directions.
Such monstrous mountings I never seed before. They
may talk about pilin Ossa on Pelion, but if a body wanted
to astonish the world with a mounting, all they would
have to do would be to put Crow's Nest on Butter Hill,
or Bull Head on Bare Mount, and if that wouldn't lay all
the other hills in the shade, then they mought take my hat.

The passengers was all terribly delighted with the
scene, and them that had books and maps couldn't git
time to see any thing for answerin the questions of them
what didn't have none. Thar was one man from New
York, with a crowd of ladys, that know'd all about
every place we passed, and, to hear him talk, a body
would s'posed he had been born and raised all along the

shore like the Indian was. The ladys kep him monstrous
busy, you may depend.

“Whar's Antony's Nose, Mr. Johnson?” says one
of 'em.

“Oh yes,” ses another, “I want to see old Antony's
Nose. They say it's one of the greatest curiosities in
the world—it's so perfectly natural.”

“Antony's Nose?” ses Mr. Johnson, puttin his spy-glass
up to his eye. “Let me see. Ah, thar it is. You
can jest see the tip eend of it round that projection.”

“Whar! whar?” ses a dozen of 'em at once. “Do
tell us.”

“In a minit, ladies, we'll have a good view. There
now, do you see? Thar it is, rite ahead. That's Antony's
Nose.”

Well, I looked, and so did everybody else, but it
looked as much like a fodder stack as a man's nose to
me.

“I can't see no nose,” ses a old chap what had his
hed tied up with a red handkerchief to keep from ketchin
cold.

“Which eend is the nose on?” ses one of the ladys.

“Oh I see it—I see it,” ses a long-legged dandy in
check trowses. “I see it jest as plain as the nose on a
man's face.”

“Whar is it?” ses a dozen that was stretchin ther eyes
out of ther heds, but couldn't make it out no better than
I could.

“Why,” ses Mr. Johnson, “rite thar, a little on the
right of the wheel-house. Now, can't you see it, Miss
Abbigal, jest beyond that big rock in the edge of the
water thar? I can almost see the nostrils.”

“To be sure,” ses the dandy; “if it was a little later
we could hear it snore.”

“I can't see no sign of a nose,” ses a man what was
oglin the mountain with all his might, with a one-eyed
spectacle tied to a black ribbon.

“Nor me nother,” sed all of 'em.

“Well, it's monstrous strange,” ses Mr. Johnson—
“it's so plain. I can't see nothin else.”

“Aint you mistaken, Mr. Johnson?” ses one of the
ladys.

“Lord, no,” ses he; “I know it so well—I've been
on it as often as I've got fingers and toes.”

'Bout this time the captain of the boat passed along.
The passengers stopped him and ax'd him whar was
Antony's Nose?

“'Bout five miles ahead,” ses he; “you will see it
shortly af er we pass the next landin.”

Mr. Johnson was tuck with a sudden desire to promenade
with one of the ladys, and we didn't see his nose
no more on the top deck that night.

Bimeby we cum to Antony's Nose, sure enuff, but it
had been blowed so that nobody couldn't tell whether it
was a Roman nose or a pug—not by the old gentleman
himself, but by some oudacious stone quarryers, who had
to go and blast it all to pieces, as if ther wasn't enuff
rock in the place without ther taking such a liberty with
old Antony's countenance. Some men, you know, find
as much satisfaction in spilin a wonder, as others does
in findin 'em.

It was so dark when we got to West Pint—the place
whar Uncle Sam teaches the young ideas how to shoot
the enemies of our country—that we didn't see but
monstrous little of it. The boat stopped at the landin
a few minits, and we had time too look round on the
hills that seemed to rise to the skies, fencin us in on
every side, cuttin off the river above and below us, so it
looked as if we was in a little lake among the hills, insted
of bein on a river two hundred miles long.

We had a monstrous good supper, but I lost my share
of the strawberries and cream jest 'cause I happened to
call one of the nigger waiters “boy.” The kinky-headed
cus looked at me sideways, and rolled the whites
of his eyes at me like he was gwine to have a fit of

hidryfoby, and carried the berries and cream rite past
me to the other eend of the table. I called some more
of the waiters, but it was no use. The fust one had
told the rest, and all ther dignitys was up. They kep
lookin at me and whisperin to one another, and makin
motions, and I could smell the musk so strong that it
like to tuck my appetite from me, hungry as I was. If
you should ever cum this way a travellin, you musn't
call the nigger waiters, boy, nor uncle, nor buck, nor any
frendly, home name; and if your trunk happens to have
Georgia on it, you'd better scratch it off, if you want
any attention or civility from the waiters. They're all
misters here, and the she ones is misses, and it puts the
old harry in 'em to call 'em by any thing but ther
Northern names. You may call pore white men and
wimmin waiters, servants, slewers, or any thing you
please, but you must take monstrous good care how
you speak to the free niggers.

After supper we tuck a smoke on the top deck.
If the scenery of the Hudson is “grand, gloomy and
peculiar,” in the day-time, it don't lose none of its
charms by moonlight. To be sure, the mountings
don't look so bold, and we don't see so many prominent
objects standin out separate and distinct, excitin our
admiration on ther own hook as it were, but ther is
enuff to be seed to help the imagination to make
improvements even on nater itself. Thar's the broad
buzum of the river, reflectin the silver light of the
moon, with here and thar a little sloop or scooner,
glidin along in silence, with its snow-white sails jest
filled by the soft breeze that fans the smoke of your
segar away from your nose—the curvin banks, now
shootin boldly out into the strong light, disturbin the
quiet current of the river, and now retirin into the
deep shade, whar the water is sleepin still and dark as
a nigger baby in a shuck-pen—the lofty peaks raisin
ther bald heds into the sky to bathe 'em in the cold
moon-beams—the ravines and gorges windin and

twistin about between the hills, or spreadin out into
broad valleys, and reachin away for miles into the dim
haze, whar the dark Catskills rises ther misty forms
agin the vaulted Heavens—all conspirin to make a
landscape which—which, as the novel riters ses, is
more easy to imagine than describe.

Bimeby our segars went out, the moon went down,
the ladys went to ther cabin, and we went to look for
our berths. After huntin about for half a ower or
more for the rite one, I got into a rong one, whar I
hadn't more'n jest got into a doze before a old feller cum
along and hustled me out, showin me a ticket for the
place. By this time sum feller had got into mine,
and when I found him out, and got him awake, and
show'd him my ticket, he got out, cussin and growlin
like a bare with a sore hed, and went to rout out sumbody
else that was in his place. And so the thing
went round from berth to berth, and 'tween the rumagin
about of the servants, who was tryin to find the rite
berths for the gentlemen what had got into the rong
numbers, the cussin of them that was waked up on
suspicion, and the growlin of them that was huntin
about for a bed, in ther bare feet and drawers, I didn't
git to sleep for more'n two owers.

One little duck-legged man, what sed he was a
editor of a newspaper up in Albany, had all the
servants on the bote helpin him to find a bed, and
made more rumpus than all the rest put together.
He didn't have no ticket himself, so he jest kep
gwine round, routin evrybody up to see if they was
certain they was in the rite bed. What made it
worse, his memory wasn't very good, and he would
cum to the same man two or three times. Hooper
was layin rite under me, and you know how cross
old bachelors is at night when they're in bed.
Mr. Squib had waked him up once, and I could
hear him cussin about it, and I spected evry minit
the fussy little feller would cum back, and then I

know'd ther'd be a row. Shore enuff here cum
Squib with a gang of niggers behind him, all with
candles in ther hands. Fust he looked into my
curtains. “Boo!” ses I, and the little man's hed
disappeared like a shot. The next minit I heard him
wakin up Hooper.

“What number's this you're in, stranger?” ses he.

“Ah, ha! I've got you now,” shouted Hooper,
springin from his berth like a mad tiger, and grabbin
Squib by the neck.

“Murder—murder! take him off!” yelled the little
man, as they went down on the floor together.

Then thar was a row shore enuff. Hooper hollered
stop thief!—the little man hollered murder!—and the
niggers hollered help! The passengers cum scramblin
out of ther berths in all kinds of costume—tumblin
over the chairs and sofas, and grabbin, sum hold
of Hooper, and sum hold of Squib. However,
nobody didn't git hurt, and as soon as Hooper
got a chance to explain how he was subject to the
night-mare, evry thing was quiet agin. But the
little man found a place to sleep in the other eend of
the bote.

Sleep is like the magnetic telegraph—one travels
hundreds of miles in no time when he's asleep—and
early in the mornin we was at Albany. I had to give
a sevenpence for my boots to a nigger what had rubbed
off what little blackin ther was on 'em before, and by
the time I got dressed and got my face washed, we was
at the wharf.

Here was another gang of boddy-snatchers after us
and our baggage. Ther wasn't no choice of evils,
so we tuck the fust feller in the way, who whirled us
off to the railrode depot in a minit. The distance ain't
more'n about five hundred yards, and by the time we
got our trunks off the coach, here cum the passengers
walkin from the bote, with ther baggage in a wagon
belongin to the rode, free of charge. This was take

in enuff; but would you blieve it, when I gin the
driver a five dollar bill to get it changed, so I could
pay him his fair, the rascal went to his coach, jumped
on the box, popped his whip, and puttin his thumb on
his nose, wiggled his fingers at me as he druv off in a
canter. It was no time to rectify sich things—they
was callin out for the baggage to put it aboard for the
place it was gwine to—Hooper was buyin our tickets—
the bell was ringin for evrybody to git in the cars—
one chap was just caught tryin to steal a gentleman's
trunk rite before his eyes—I looked up agin the wall
and seed hand-bills stickin all about, what sed, in big
letters, “Look out for Pick-pockets!” and I jest put
my hands in my pockets and kep my eyes wide open,
til I got my seat in the cars. When we started I
drawed a long breth, and thanked my stars that we was
out of Albany.

And now I am gwine at the rate of fifteen miles a
ower, and Albany is fast fadin from my sight. I will
stop here while I go on to Buffalow, leavin you to
imagin what happens to me on the way, til you hear
from me agin. So no more from