University of Virginia Library

LETTER XIX.

To Mr. Thompson:—Dear Sir—I tuck my leave of
you, in my last letter, jest as I was gwine to bed in the
Pavilion Hotel. Well, you may depend I dreamed all
sorts of terrible dreams that night. I went to sleep with
the roar of the cataract in my ears, and it seemed to me
that the bed-posts trembled with the jar. The roarin in
my ears kep growin louder and louder, til it seemed to
me like heaven and yeath was cumin together, and the
fust thing I knowed somehow or other, I was standin
on the edge of Table Rock agin, and a mounting of
water, that reached to the sky, was cumin rollin rite onto
me, to sweep me down into the bilin basin below,
what seemed to be 'bout five miles deep, and filled with
all the devils in the infernal regions. I tried to run, but
for the soul of me I couldn't move a peg—on and over
it cum rite on top of me, and down I went—down,
down, with my mouth chock full of water, so I couldn't
even say my prayers,—but jest as I got to the bottom
and was 'bout pitchin hed fust into the mouth of a water
devil that was as big as a meetin house, I fotched one
all-fired yell—and the next minit I found myself on the
floor, with the bed-clothes on top of me.

Hooper sed it was the night-mare, and if I hadn't
hollered jest as I did, I'd been a gone Jona, shore enuff.
Night-mare or no night-mare, I don't blieve I'd felt
much worse if I'd gone over the Falls in downright
yearnest.

I was afraid to go sound to sleep agin, and so I jest
tuck a turn round the bed-post with one arm, and slep
with one eye open the balance of the night.

In the mornin before breckfust we tuck another look
at the falls from the Table Rock. This time we had
a better view of the Fall itself, as well as the surroundin
scenery. But notwithstandin it was light, and we could
see for miles around, the objects we looked at was on
sich a different scale of proportion from any thing we
was used to, that ther was no sich thing as formin any
idees 'bout hights and distances, or any thing else.
The more I looked the more I couldn't tell how big a
thing was. Sometimes a rock would look like a mounting,
and sometimes it was no bigger than a goose's egg
—sometimes the islands would look big as my plantation,
and then agin they wouldn't look no bigger than so
many tater-hills—and I begun to wonder how they could
hold ther holts, thar rite in the middle of sich a racin
river, 'thout gettin washed up by the roots and swept
over the precipice-below.

The magnitude of things at Niagary depends altogether
on how a body contrasts 'em. When my eye
tuck in nothing but the mighty river, the everlastin
battlements of rock, and the terrific cateract, why then
they didn't seem to have no partickeler dimensions;
but when I happened to see the houses on the American
side, or a ferry boat crossin below the Fall, or a company
of men clamberin about among the loose rocks, down
by the water's edge, lookin no bigger than so many ants,
then I was able to comprehend the stupendous wonders
of Niagary, and to feel myself no bigger, standing thar
on that rock, than a seed-tick in Scriven county. Some
peeple ses Niagary is a great place to elevate a body's
idees, but with me it had exactly the contrary effect,
and I do blieve if I was to use about thar long, I'd git
sich an insignificant opinion of myself, that I wouldn't
dare to say my soul was my own. I know some peeple
that it would do a monstrous sight of good to go to
Niagary, if for nothin else but to git a correct measurement
of ther own importance in the scale of bein—if

they didn't git ther notions tuck down a peg or two,
then I'm terribly mistaken.

The stickin in the mud the night before had laid up
our English frend, and when we got back to breckfust
he was jest gittin out of bed, but he was too sick to go
with us to the Falls. After eatin a good breckfust we
went down to the museum kep by Mr. Barnet, whar
we seed all sorts of varmints, and Ingin curiosities, and
minerals and sich likes, and then bought sum tickets to
go down under the Fall to Termination Rock, as they
call it.

I didn't have much notion of foolin about quite so
familiar with sich terrors as the great water-fall itself;
but they all sed ther was no danger, and that evrybody
went thar, and nothin would do Hooper but we must
go. So we went to the house at the top of the stair-way,
whar a old nigger feller tuck us into a room and
told us we must strip off all our clothes, and put on
sum sailor riggins what he would give us, to go under
the falls with.

“But whar shall we leave our money and our
watches?” ses Mr. More.

“You needn't be 'tall fear'd, gemmen,” ses the old
nigger, “jest leave evry thing here, and when you cum
back you'll find 'em all safe, and ef you never cums
back you know, you won't want 'em.”

“We won't!” thinks I, and I begun to feel a little
jubous 'bout gwine in any sich a place.

“I say, uncle—beg pardon,” ses I. “Mister, is thar
any danger in gwine to Termination Rock?”

“Not a bit,” ses he, as he handed me a red flannel
shirt, big enuff for Col. Bill Skimer, and a pair of coarse
duck trowses, without no buttens on 'em. “Not a bit,
if you don't fall into the casum below, and then thar
aint no tellin what would becum of you.”

I stopped strippin and sot down on a bench, and
begun to consider.

“Stop,” ses the nigger to Mr. More, who was pullin

a par of trowses on over his boots; “you must take
your boots off too—evry thing—and I'll give you a par
of shoes for your feet.”

Thunder!—thinks I—the feller wants to save all he
can, if one of us was to cum up missin.

“Cum, Majer,” ses Hooper, as he was pullin his
shirt over his hed, “no backin out from old Georgy.”

“But,” ses I, “is you certain thar aint no danger in
this bisness?”

“Not a bit, sir,” ses the nigger, “though evrybody
is a little skeered at fust—ladies go under evry day,
and no accident has never happened yet. I was jest
jokin you a little.”

In a few minits more we was all dressed in our yaller
trowses, red shirts, oil-cloth caps, and cowhide shoes,
reddy for the adventure. We follered the lead of the
guide to the stair-way, what went round and round til
we got almost out of breth before we reached the
bottom, whar we stepped out into the path what runs
along on the side of the almost perpendickeler rock
bank, 'bout half-way from the top, gittin narrower and
slipryer as we git nearer to the sheet of water. The
mist from the river was raw and cold, but I blieve I
could shivered in a warm bath jest to look at the place
whar we was gwine.

The Table Rock above perjected out far over our heds,
and the loose rocks what lay in our narrow path rolled
from under our feet down into the foamin basin below.
The old nigger led the way—Hooper follered close to
him, and the rest of us strung along in Injin file behind.
Jest before we got to the edge of the fall we all got a
terrible shower-bath from a spring of water what falls
in the path from the rock above. And now we enter
behind the sheet—the path is hardly wide enuff for
our feet, and slippry with runnin water—the white
spray cums howlin up from the dark pit on our left, and
drives in surgin torrents agin the slimy rocks on our
right—in the darkness we can jest see the black, shelvin

rock to which we cling on one side, and the curtain of
mad waters that is rushin down within arms-length of
us on the other—the deep thunder of the water stops
our ears to all other sounds, and the spray is so heavy
that we gasp for breth as we shrink close to the tremblin
rocks, agin which it drives til it falls in rain upon its
slipry side. Now the gide turns back, we have reached
Termination Rock, and, filled with a terrible awe that
can find no words to express it, we face about, and
grope our dangerous way back from a scene of terrific
grandure and sublimity, which no pen can describe,
and which is worth the riskin of one's life to know!

When we got out from behind the sheet, and had
got to a place whar the footin was sure, you may depend
I felt monstrous comfortable, and when Mr. More proposed
“three cheers for Old Niagary,” I jin'd in most
hartily, and didn't stop til I had gin it at least half a
dozen of 'em. I spose I felt very much like a man
does after he's been made a Free Mason or a Odd
Feller—the skeer was over, I had found out the
mistery, and I felt that whenever I met any one hereafter
who had put his foot on Termination Rock, I
would be able to participate with him in a sentiment
what nobody who had never been thar couldn't understand.

I wonder that among all the ways they have of making
money here, out of strangers, they never have hit
upon a order of brotherhood, the initiation ceremony
of which to take place on Termination Rock. A order
founded on sich a rock—a rock what the mighty Niagary
itself can't move—certainly would stand, in spite of all
the Billy Morgans in the world.

Before gwine up to change our clothes, the gide tuck
us down to the water's edge, whar a little rock 'bout
the size of Parson Stor's church in Pineville, lies a
little ways out in the edge of the water. To git a good
view of the Fall from the bottom, we clum up the ladder
onto the top of this rock and tuck a seat and looked

right up agin the great Horse-Shoe Fall, what looked
like as if it cum pourin out of the heavens, it was so
grand and high. Some ladys was standin upon the
Table Rock lookin at us. They seemed to us about
as big as my finger, and I spose we looked 'bout the
same size to them. They waved ther little parasols to
us, and we tuck off our oil-cloth caps and waved 'em
at them.

After takin a good look from the top of the rock we
went down and paddled about awhile in the water that
runs through the broken rocks between the big rock
and the bank, til one of us cum monstrous near gettin
washed out into the rapids. After that we went back
to the room, whar we found our clothes all right.

We hadn't more'n got out of the place before ther
was 'bout a dozen hackmen after us to take us all over
Canada if we wanted to go. One red-headed feller,
what sed he was a patriot in the rebellion, and was put
in prison to keep him from takin the country from the
British, was so pressin that four of us chartered him
to go to the Burnin Spring and Lundy's Lane.

At the Burnin Spring, whar the water blazes up
when you touch it off with a Lucifer match, and burns
like a fat light-wood knot, we lit our segars, and Mr.
More, who is a little hard to blieve, burnt his finger to
be certain it was no take in, and then we druv to the
battle-ground whar our brave sogers in the last war
giv the British sich a delightful evenin's entertainment.
A old chap, what ses he fit in the battle in the British
army, has got what he calls a observatory bilt on the
spot, and tells-peeple all sorts of a cock and bull story
'bout how the thing tuck place, for a quarter of a
dollar, and always has got a few musket-balls left, that
was picked up on the ground. He told us a dollar's
worth of his experience, and we bought sum bullets
of him, and then druv back to the ferry to go over on
the American side.

On this side of the river ther is a pretty considerable

of a town, and the Yankee character is strikingly illustrated
by the way that they have sot the Niagary itself
to work for 'em, makin it turn saw-mills, grist-mills,
and other machinery. I wouldn't be surprised much
if they was to set the whole American Fall to drivin
cotton-looms and spinnin-ginnies before long.

We went to the old Curiosity Shop, as they call it,
whar a feller has got a Niagary Falls in operation by
machinery. The thing would do very well out in
Pineville, but what upon yeath could possess a man to
try to run opposition to sich a wonder, rite in hearin
and in sight of the real cateract itself, is what stumps
me. Nobody but a jennewine Yankee would ever undertake
sich a thing. He don't charge nothin to see his
Niagary, but makes a heap of money by selling Yankee
made Ingin fixins, sich as moccasins, bead-bags, card-cases,
and a heap of fancy articles, such as the Ingins
themselves never dreamed of makin.

Then we crossed the bridge to Iris Island. After
visitin the Biddle Staircase and the Cave of the Winds,
and seein the American Fall in all its best views, we
went to the Tarrapin Bridge and the Tower, whar ther
was lots of ladys and gentlemen venturin about in
places whar a cat-squirrel wouldn't be safe. 'Tween
climbin rocks and wadin in the water and travelin
about, I was beginnin to be pretty tired; and after
takin a view from the tower, we tuck a hack for the
ferry, and by sun-down was at our hotel agin on the
Canady side, whar our clever landlord had a fust rate
supper reddy for us.

The next mornin our red-headed coachman tuck us
down to Queenston, by way of the Great Whirlpool,
which is the next greatest curiosity to the Falls. The
river gits very narrow before it enters the whirlpool,
whar it runs in and out at right-angles, and whirls
round and round, and boils over and over in its grate
rock basin, what is sed to be more'n five hundred feet
deep.

After takin a good look at the Whirlpool, we passed
on to the Devil's Hole, and then to the Little Devil's
Hole, and from thar to Queenston Hights, whar we
stopped to take a look-at Brock's Monument, what sum
mean rascal tried to blow up durin the late rebellion.
This was a butiful monument, standin in a butiful place,
and it makes one sorry to see it busted and ruined as it
is. The scoundrel what could be gilty of sich a mean
act as the destruction of a monument to a brave man
who shed his blood for his country, ain't fit to live
among honorable men, and would be a disgrace to a
nation of heathens.

We walked from the monument down to Queenston,
while our Jehu tuck our baggage to the bote that was
to start in half a ower for Montreal. Queenston is a
wondrous dull, dirty-lookin little place, what stands
rite at the termination of the Highlands, through which
the Niagary runs on its way from Lake Ery to Lake
Ontario. The effect is strikin, after follerin the river
from the Rapids above the Falls to this place, with the
roar of its tumultuous waters constantly in one's ears,
and the leapin, angry current constantly before one's
eyes, to see it suddenly spread out its broad, smooth
bosom in the quiet vale, as placid and calm as if
its flow had been unobstructed from its source. Ther
is indeed a “change cum over the sperit of its dream”
at Queenston, and the traveller is monstrous apt to discover
that his thoughts is not wholly without sympathy
with the stream.

But I have tuck up a whole letter in tryin to hurry
over 'bout seven miles. I'll try to travel further in my
next. So no more from