Major Jones's sketches of travel comprising the scenes, incidents, and adventures in his tour from Georgia to Canada |
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| 18. | LETTER XVIII. |
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 | Major Jones's sketches of travel |  |
LETTER XVIII.
To Mr. Thompson:—Dear Sir—When I left off in
my last letter, I was whizzin along in the cars at the
rate of 'bout fifteen miles a ower, on my way to
Buffalow. You know ther ain't no great deal of
romance in a railrode jurney, if you don't happen
to no mishaps, sich as runnin off the track and
bein tilted heels over hed down a fifty feet embankment,
into a quagmire forty foot deep, or pitchin into
the train what's gwine tother way, and havin a double
seat, back and all, jammed rite through your stummick
in the collision, or bustin yer biler and havin your
arms and legs sent whirlin in evry direction among
the tree-tops in a harrycane of bilin hot steam. Well,
as none of these accidents didn't happen to us to make
our trip interestin, I shan't truble you with a very long
account of my jurney through this part of the great
Empire State.
It is a Empire State, shore enuff—a empire of cities
and towns, standin so thick that, in the railrode cars,
it jest seems to be one everlastin Broadway, with here
and thar a Bolin Green or a Union Park by way of
variety. I tried to keep a run of the towns, but they
stood so thick together and the cars went so fast, that
when I ax'd anybody the name of a place, before I
could make him understand what I wanted, in the
bominable racket, we was in the middle of another
town, and by the time I could understand the hard
name of that one, we was runnin the children and pigs
wimmin a lookin out of the winders in another. Jest
as we got out of Amsterdam I ax'd one of the passengers
what place it was. He was readin a newspaper,
and didn't hear me good at fust.
“What town is this?” ses I.
“Eh?” ses he.
“What place is this?”
“This! oh! this is Tripe Hill, I blieve,” ses he.
“What Hill?” ses I.
“It looks like Cawnewaga,” ses he.
“Cawne-which?” ses I.
“Now we are in Fonda,” ses he.
Seein I couldn't git no satisfaction out of him, I give
it up. And shore enuff, cum to find out, we had been
gwine through three towns while I was tryin to find out
the name of the fust one.
This is a go-a-hed country, to be shore. I couldn't
help but think, as we went dashing along in the
middle of cities and towns, over lakes and rivers,
through mountings and valleys, wakin the echoes
with the thunderin clang of our iron wheels, and
settin all the animal creation a caperin over the
fields with the snort of our steam-car—how the old
codgers what lived three or four thousand years
before the Fourth of July would be tuck a-back if
ther ghosts was to cum on a jurney to the United
States now—how ther old notions would have to
stand out of the way before the march of human
knowledge which they would see displayed in evry
thing around 'em. What, for instance, would old
Mr. Abraham think, to see more'n a thousand peeple,
with bag and baggage—more'n all the jack-asses and
camels in his kingdom could carry—travelin at the
rate of fifteen miles a ower, all of 'em as comfortable
and snug as if they was settin in ther own parlors?
Or, to cum down to the later times, what would sich
see Romes, and Athenses, and Troys, springin up all
round 'em, thick as toadstools on a foggy mornin, with
more commerce, and havin almost as much inhabitants
as the cities of ther own day, what they used to think
couldn't be bilt short of two or three of ther long-lived
generations?
I used to think that the peeple of the old times had
a monstrous sight the advantage of us, livin as they did
to be five and six hundred years old; but, when I cum
to consider, I don't know as they was much better off
than we is. For what's the odds if we don't live so
long as Mr. Methusleum, if we can accomplish more
in our lifetimes than he did in his? If we can git up
a bigger nation in half a century than they did in five
times as long—if our boys know more about science
and other matters at ten years old, than ther's did at a
hundred—if we can travel farther and see more of the
world in a week than they could in five years—if we
can harness up fire and water, and make 'em pull more
cars in a train than Faryo had chariots in his hoste—
if we can make the lightnin carry our mails from one
eend of the yeath to the other in the twinklin of a eye
—if we can print more books in a day than they could
rite in a century—if we can do all these things and
twenty thousand times more than was never dreamed
of in ther filosofy—then what's the use of our livin as
long as they did?
I blieve Providence regulates these things jest about
as well as Congress could if it had the management
of 'em. This world is only a state of preparation for
another kind of existence—a sort of human cabbage-patch,
whar plants is raised from the seed to be sot out
in the gardin of immortality—and the higher the state
of cultivation the sooner we cum to the proper degree
of human development, and of course the sooner we is
reddy for transplantin. But a ralerode car ain't no
with my journey.
We got to Syracuse early in the evenin, and as we
wasn't in no grate hurry, we concluded to stop thar all
night, and take the train the next day. Ther is salt
enuff made in this place, you know, to keep all creation
from spilin, and I wanted to see how they biled it.
We druv up to the salt-pumps, and seed 'em pumpin
the water, and I couldn't help but think, when I seed
the everlastin vats of salt water and the piles of salt in
evry direction, that Mrs. Lott must been near this
place when she looked back at Gomorrow. It's a
monstrous nice town, with a heap of butiful private
houses and high board fences, all as white as table-salt.
We tuck a walk round it by moonlight, and
then went to our hotel and went to bed. The next
mornin, 'bout 'leven o'clock, we tuck the cars agin,
and, passin through one of the butifulest countries in
the world, arrived at Rochester, a handsum city 'bout
as big as Savannah and Augusty both together, a little
after dark. Here we tuck another rest til mornin, when
we tuck the cars what set us down in Buffalow before
dinner time.
After dinner we tuck a walk through the town,
which is a fresh-water sea-port, you know, and a
pretty considerable of a place. In the afternoon we
went aboard of a little steambote what was gwine
down the Niagary River to the Falls. While Hooper
and me was smokin our segars on the deck, and
the passengers was cumin on board, one of the big
lake steamers started off with a rigment of sogers,
what had been ordered from Buffalow to sum other
place up the lake, makin a mighty grand show with
her flags flyin and a band of music playin “Hail
Columby.”
Our bell rung, and in a few minits we was off.
But jest as we got out of the mouth of the creek
and a lady, and a little fat man what was wavin his
handkerchief to us like he was in grate distress. Our
captain stopped his bote til the sailors rowed alongside
and put the lady and the little fat man aboard.
He wanted us to give chase to the big bote what
was gwine up the lake with the sogers, to put the
lady on it, who was the wife of the Curnel, and was
left by mistake. Ther bote was tied behind ours,
and away we went after the big bote, as hard as we
could crack it. But it was no use. The big steamer
was leavin us fast, and all the signals we could make
wouldn't stop her. The lady sot on the seat and
cried like her hart would brake, and the little fat
man cussed and stamped about like he would kick
our smoke-pipe down if he was only big enuff.
The lady, who was a young wife, jest married a few
months, was left in his charge by the Curnel to see
her to the bote while he tended to his sogers; but
the fussy old feller didn't git her thar in time, and
the bote was gone with the Curnel, leavin the pore
gall to cry her pretty eyes out at the idee of bein
parted from her husband until sum other bote could
take her to him.
It was a mighty hard case, and made me feel
monstrous bad, but ther was no help for it; and after
tryin his best to catch the big bote, our captain had to
put her and the old man in ther battow agin; and the
last I seed of 'em the sailors was pullin in to the shore,
what was about five miles off—the old man tryin to
console the pore wife, and she wipin her eyes with her
handkerchef, and gazin after the bote that was fast
gettin smaller and smaller as it bore her husband
from her.
As we was runnin back to the outlet of the Niagary
River, I noticed that our flag didn't have no stars, and
the stripes on it run cross-ways. Think's I that's
of a gigamaree he had got up thar for a flag?
“That?” ses he; “That's Saint George's Cross!”
“Who's Saint George?” ses I; “does he live about
these parts?”
“Oh, no!” ses the captain, “that's the English
colors.”
“The English colors!” ses I. “Why, captain, what
upon yeath is you doin with the British flag on your
bote?”
“This is a British bote,” ses he.
“The thunder it is!” ses I.
And shore enuff, thar we was, abord of a British
bote, with a English captain, and the British flag flyin
over our heds. Hooper sed it was all right; but I
couldn't help but feel sort o' queer with that flag over
me, and I thought of the time when the gallant Perry
made 'em pull it down on that very lake.
The captain was a monstrous clever little man, and
tuck a grate deal of pains to oblige his passengers.
And if all the British was like him, I don't think we'd
have any more rumpus with 'em.
Ther wasn't many passengers, and as we passed
down the river, and all engaged in conversation about
the interestin scenery on its banks, and the grate wonder
we was gwine to see, we got pretty well acquainted.
Among 'em was a tall, thin, pale-lookin Englishman,
what wore a grass-linen cote and trouses, with a high-crowned,
speckled straw hat. He was runnin about all
the time with his gide-book and pencil in his hand,
axin evrybody questions, and gabblin and talkin on
'bout evry thing, like he was half out of his senses.
He was as nervous as a woman; and when he first
seed the colum of spray risin from the catarack—
which we saw several miles before we got to Navy
Island, where the patriots kicked up such a rumpus,
you know, a few years ago—he rubbed his
We was soon at Chipawa, near the old battle-ground,
whar we tuck a horse railrode for the Falls.
The moon was up high and bright as the horses trotted
us along over the rode, and we could hear the thunder
of the mighty torrent above the noise of the car.
We was all bound for the Clifton House; but when
we got within about a mile of it, a man met us, to tell
us that ther was no room thar, and all except a old
gentleman and two or three ladys what had rooms
engaged, went back to the Pavilion Hotel what stands
upon the hill jest above the Falls. And I was rite
glad we didn't git in the crowd below, for we found
plenty of room at the Pavilion—a good supper, a
obligin landlord, and excellent accommodations, in
evry respect.
With the roar of Niagary in our ears, it was impossible
to go to sleep without first satisfyin our curiosity,
by takin a view of the Fall by moonlight; so as soon
as supper was over, our party, consistin of Hooper, the
Englishman and me, and two other gentlemen from
Filadelfy, started to find what we thought ther wouldn't
be no danger of missin.
We soon cum to a path what had a gide-board to it
and led down in the direction of the falls, and follered
it down the almost perpendickeler steep, holdin on to
the bushes by the way. We didn't go far before the
top of the precipice which we was descendin, shut out
the light of the moon so we couldn't see a sign of the
path. One straggled off one way and one another,
each feelin his way and holdin on to the roots and
bushes, and callin to the others to foller, until we found
ourselves scattered in evry direction, unable to git to
one another, and afraid to go any further down the
slippery, miery bank. We could hardly hear each
other's voices for the heavy thunder of the flood below,
which we clung, as it rolled its gray mists up among
the dark tree-tops below.
“I say, gentlemen,” sed our English frend, “let's
commisshun the one nearest to the top of the 'ill to go
back to the 'ouse for a gide, and we'll 'old on 'ere
where we are, till 'e cums.”
“I vote for the gide,” ses Mr. Kee, from Filadelfy;
“but I couldn't let go this bush for all creation, myself.”
Them was jest exactly my sentiments: for I begun
to feel monstrous ticklish thar in the dark, so close to
sich a terrible place. But I didn't say nothin, waitin
to see if sum one wouldn't volunteer. Mr. More was
nee deep in the mud, 'bout twenty feet from me, and
Hooper was on his hands and nees crawlin up the
bank. Hooper was 'termined to see the falls by
moonlight, so back he went, and in a few minits cum
with a gide, who, after collectin us together and gettin
us in the path which led rite the different way from
what we was gwine, tuck us down to the second bank,
and then led us out to the Table Rock. And thar was
the mighty Niagary, pourin its eternal flood in thunder
down into the dark abyss, from which cum rollin up
grate colums of snow-white mist, supportin a pale
rainbow arch, at once presentin the most butiful and
the most terrible pair of spectacles I ever had before
my eyes.
We stood on the bald Table Rock, what juts out
over the bilin flood below, whar the white foam,
though we can see it dimly through the mist in the
moonlight, gives you no fixed idee of heights or
distances, but rather helps the imagination to extend
the scene upon a scale suited to its awful sublimity.
Not a word was spoke for several minits—each one
held his breth in silent awe—afraid to breathe in sich a
mighty presence. And the fust words uttered was
our mouths 'thout our knowin it, as if the very soul
within us was amazed, and was givin utterance to its
emotions, while our fisical naters was overwhelmed
and paralyzed by the terrific display of the majesty and
power of the Being that made the Heavens and the
yeath.
I went close on the edge of the rock, whar the water
dashed over a few inches from my feet, and looked,
fust upon the waves of the wide river, as they cum
leapin and shimmerin in the moonlight, like mountains
of silver, to the verge of the precipice, whar they
suddenly melted into a flood of liquid emerald, frosted
over with flakes of snow, as they dashed down into the
deep, eternal torment of waters below—then upon the
misty cavern that yawned at my feet, whar the waves
that my eyes had follered in ther descent, in the foam
of ther rath, was howlin, and chafin, and surgin like
troubled spirits within ther rocky confines—and then
upon the pale bow that spanned the dismal vortex,
sheddin a calm halo of ethereal buty over the stupendious
scene of terrific horrors.
No one was anxious to leave the spot, or to disturb
the meditations of the others. After a while we
gradually fell into conversation. Our English frend,
who we had by this time found out to be a perfect
gentleman, and a man of excellent good sense, sed
he had travelled the best part of his life, and that
he had seed the grate waterfalls of Switzerland and
South America, but this was the waterfall of the
world—it was the grate feature of America. He had
never seed any thing capable of producin such sublime
emotions, and ses he—“If I was to dy to-night, it
would be a grate source of consolation to know that I
had lived long enuff in the world to see its greatest
wonder.”
After spendin a couple of hours on the Table Rock,
beds, to dream of Niagary, and to awake in the
mornin to explore its magnificent wonders. I will tell
you how it looks by daylight in my next. So no more
from
| Major Jones's sketches of travel | |