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Project Gutenberg's Old Trails on the Niagara Frontier, by Frank H. Severance
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Title: Old Trails on the Niagara Frontier
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<div class="figcenter" style="width: 670px;">
<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="670" height="1024" alt="" title="" />
<h2><span class="smcap">Old Trails
on the
Niagara Frontier</span></h2>
<h4><span class="smcap">Frank H. Severance</span></h4>
</div>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 710px;">
<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="710" height="1010" alt="THE VISION OF BRÉBEUF." title="" />
<span class="caption">THE VISION OF BRÉBEUF.</span>
<p class="center"><i>Drawn by H. H. Green.</i> <i>See Page 15.</i></p>
</div>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<div class="bbox">
<h1><span class="smcap">Old Trails<br />
on the<br />
Niagara Frontier</span></h1>
<hr style="width: 100%;" />
<h3><span class="smcap">By Frank H. Severance</span></h3>
<hr style="width: 100%;" />
<h4>BUFFALO N Y</h4>
<h5>MDCCCXCIX</h5>
</div>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<h5><span class="smcap">Copyright 1899</span><br />
<span class="smcap">By Frank H. Severance</span></h5>
<hr style="width: 5%;" />
<p class="center"><small>THE MATTHEWS-NORTHRUP CO.,</small><br />
COMPLETE ART-PRINTING WORKS,<br />
BUFFALO, N. Y.</p>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p>
<h4>TO THE</h4>
<h2><span class="smcap">Young People of the Schools</span></h2>
<h4>OF BUFFALO,</h4>
<div class="pblockquot">
<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">Many of whom, on sundry pleasant
occasions, have accompanied me, in
school-room talks, over some of the
Old Trails which run in and out
of our home region, these studies
of Niagara Frontier History are
cordially inscribed.</span></p>
<p class="ralign">F. H. S.</p>
</div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span></p>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p>
<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="">
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Dedication,</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_v">v</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Preface</span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_ix">ix</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Cross Bearers</span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Paschal of the Great Pinch</span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">With Bolton at Fort Niagara</span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">What Befel David Ogden</span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Fort Niagara Centennial</span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Journals and Journeys of an Early Buffalo Merchant</span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Misadventures of Robert Marsh</span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Underground Trails</span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Niagara and The Poets</span>,</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td></tr>
</table></div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span></p>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p>
<h2>PREFACE.</h2>
<p>The essays herein contained have been written at "odd
moments," and for divers purposes. Their chief value lies
in the fact that they illustrate, several of them by means of individual
experiences, certain typical and well-defined periods in the
history of the Niagara region. By "Niagara region," a phrase
which no doubt occurs pretty often in the following pages, I
mean to designate in a historic, not a scenic, sense the frontier
territory of the Niagara from Lake Erie to Lake Ontario. It is a
region which has a concrete but as yet for the most part unwritten
history of its own. The value of its past to the student, as is ever
the case with "local history" in its worthy aspect, depends upon
the importance of its relation to the general history of our country.
That the Niagara region has played an important part in that
history, is an assurance wholly superfluous for even the most
casual student of American development. All that the following
studies undertake is to give a glimpse, with such fidelity as may be,
of events and conditions hereabouts existing, at periods which may
fairly be termed typical.</p>
<p>"The Cross Bearers," a paper originally prepared as a lecture
for a class that was studying the history of the Catholic Church in
America, is, so far as I am aware, the first attempt to review in a
single narrative all of the French missions in this immediate
vicinity, and the work of the English-speaking missionary priests
who said mass in the Niagara region prior to its full organization
under ecclesiastical jurisdiction. The data are drawn from the
original sources—the Jesuit Relations, Champlain, Le Clercq,
Hennepin, Charlevoix, Crespel and other early writers whose
works, in any edition, are often inaccessible to the student. For
data relating to Bishop Burke, and for other valuable assistance,
I am indebted to my friend the Very Rev. Wm. R. Harris, Dean
of St. Catharines.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span></p>
<p>"The Paschal of the Great Pinch" is an attempt to picture,
in narrative form, conditions conceived to exist at Fort Niagara in
1687-'8, when the Marquis de Denonville made his abortive
attempt to occupy that point. Lest any reader shall be in doubt
as to the genuineness of the memoirs of the Chevalier De Tregay, I
beg to assure him that Lieut. De Tregay is no myth. His name,
and practically all the facts on which my sketch is based, will be
found in the Paris Documents (IV.), "Documentary History of
the State of New York," Vol. I. This paper stands for the
French period on the Niagara; the two next following, for the
British period.</p>
<p>"With Bolton at Fort Niagara" is almost wholly drawn from
unpublished records, chiefly the Haldimand Papers, the originals
of which are in the British Museum, but certified copies of which
are readily accessible to the student in the Archives at Ottawa. I
have made but a slight study of the great mass of material from
which practically the history of the Niagara region during the
Revolution is to be written; yet it is probable that this slight
study makes known for the first time, to students of our home
history, such facts as the employment of Hessians on the Niagara
during the Revolution, the first bringing hither of the American
flag, possibly even the work and fate of Lieut. Col. Bolton
himself.</p>
<p>The next paper, "What Befel David Ogden," is drawn from
a widely different, though scarcely less known source. The personal
narrative is based on an obscure pamphlet by Josiah Priest,
published at Lansingburgh, N. Y., in 1840. I am aware that
Priest is not altogether trustworthy as a historian. Dr. Thos. W.
Field calls him a "prolific, needy and unscrupulous author"
[<i>See</i> "An Essay Toward an Indian Bibliography"]; yet he concedes
to his works "a large amount of historic material obtained
at some pains from sources more or less authentic." My judgment
is, that Priest is least trustworthy in his more ambitious
work; whereas his unpretentious pamphlets, wretchedly printed at
a country press sixty years ago, contain true narratives of individual
undertakings in the Revolution, Indian captivities and other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span>
pioneer experiences, gathered by the writer direct from the hero
whose adventures he wrote down, without literary skill it is true,
but also without apparent perversion or exaggeration. The very
circumstantiality with which David Ogden's experiences are
narrated is evidence of their genuineness. Corroborative evidence
is also furnished by the lately-published muster-rolls of New York
regiments during the Revolution. In the Third Regiment of
Tryon County militia, among the enlisted men, appears the name
of David Ogden ["New York in the Revolution," 2d ed., p. 181],
and there was but one David Ogden, not merely in the Tryon
County militia, but so far as these records show, in the entire
soldiery of New York State. In the same regiment there was also
a "Daniel" Ogden, Sr., possibly David's father. The name
Daniel Ogden also occurs in the list of Tryon County Rangers
["New York in the Revolution," 2d ed., p. 186], a service in
which we would naturally expect to find one whom the Indian
Brant called "the beaver hunter, that old scouter." In short, I
think we may accept David as altogether genuine, and in his
adventures—never told before, I believe, as a part of Niagara
history—may find an example of patriotic suffering and endurance
wholly typical of what many another underwent at that time and
in this region.</p>
<p>The "Fort Niagara Centennial Address" is here included
because its most important part relates to that period in our history
immediately following the Revolution, the "hold-over period,"
during which, for thirteen years after the Treaty of 1783, the
British continued to occupy Fort Niagara and other lake posts.
What I say on the negotiations leading to the final relinquishment
of Fort Niagara is based on information gleaned from the manuscript
records in London and Ottawa.</p>
<p>"The Journals and Journeys of an Early Buffalo Merchant" is
also a contribution to local annals from an unpublished source,
being drawn from the MS. journals of John Lay, very kindly
placed in my hands by members of his family. They afford a
picture of conditions hereabouts and elsewhere, during the years
1810-'23, which I have thought worthy of preservation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span></p>
<p>In the "Misadventures of Robert Marsh" I have endeavored
by means of a personal narrative to illustrate another period
in our history. The misguided Marsh fairly stands for many of
the so-called Patriots whose uprising on this border is known as
Mackenzie's Rebellion of 1837-'8. The considerable literature on
this subject includes a number of personal narratives, for the most
part published in small editions and now hard to find; but the
scarcest of all, so far as my experience has discovered, is that
from which I have drawn the story of Robert Marsh: "Seven
Years of My Life, or Narrative of a Patriot Exile, who together
with eighty-two American Citizens were illegally tried for
rebellion in Upper Canada and transported to Van Dieman's
Land," etc., etc. It is an exceedingly prolix and pretentious title,
after the fashion of the time, prefacing a badly-written, poorly-printed
volume of 207 pages, turned out by the press of Faxon &
Stevens, Buffalo, 1848. In view of the fact that neither in Sabin
nor any other bibliography have I found any mention of this book,
and the further fact that in fifteen years of somewhat diligent book-hunting
I have discovered but one copy, it is no exaggeration to
call Marsh's "Narrative" "scarce," if not "rare."</p>
<p>The incidents related in "Underground Trails" are illustrative
of many an episode at the eastern end of Lake Erie in the
days preceding the Civil War. I had the facts of the principal
adventures some years ago from the late Mr. Frank Henry of Erie,
Pa., who had himself been a participant in more than one worthy
enterprise of the Underground Railroad. Sketches based on
information supplied by Mr. Henry, and originally written out for
the Erie Gazette, are the latter part of the paper as it now stands.</p>
<p>The last essay, "Niagara and the Poets," is a following of "Old
Trails" chiefly in a literary sense, but it is thought its inclusion
here will not be found inappropriate to the general character of
the collection.</p>
<p>I must add a word of grateful acknowledgment for help received
from Douglas Brymner, Dominion Archivist, at Ottawa; from the
Hon. Peter A. Porter of Niagara Falls, N. Y., Charles W. Dobbins
of New York City, and John Miller, Erie, Pa. F. H. S.</p>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h1>The Cross Bearers.</h1>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE CROSS BEARERS.</h2>
<p>I invite you to consider briefly with me the
beginnings of known history in our home region.
Of the general character of that history, as a part
of the exploration and settlement of the lake region,
you are already familiar. What I undertake is to
direct special attention to a few of the individuals
who made that history—for history, in the ultimate
analysis, is merely the record of the result of personal
character and influence; and it is striking to note how
relatively few and individual are the dominating minds.</p>
<p>Remembering this, when we turn to trace the story
of the Niagara, we find the initial impulses strikingly
different from those which lie at the base of history in
many places. Often the first chapter in the story is a
record of war for war's sake—the aim being conquest,
acquisition of territory, or the search for gold. Not so
here. The first invasion of white men in this mid-lake
region was a mission of peace and good will. Our
history begins in a sweet and heroic obedience to commands
passed down direct from the Founder of Christianity
Himself. Into these wilds, long before the
banner of any earthly kingdom was planted here, was
borne the cross of Christ. Here the crucifix preceded
the sword; the altar was built before the hearth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p>
<p>Now, I care not what the faith of the student be, he
cannot escape the facts. The cross is stamped upon
the first page of our home history—of this Buffalo and
the banks of the Niagara; and whoever would know
something of that history must follow the footsteps of
those who first brought the cross to these shores. It
is, therefore, a brief following of the personal experiences
of these early cross bearers that we undertake;
but first, a word may be permitted by way of reminder
as to the conditions here existing when our
recorded history begins.</p>
<p>From remote days unrecorded, the territory bordering
the Niagara, between Lakes Erie and Ontario, was
occupied by a nation of Indians called the Neuters. A
few of their villages were on the east side of the river,
the easternmost being supposed to have stood near the
present site of Lockport. The greater part of the
Niagara peninsula of Ontario and the north shore of
Lake Erie was their territory. To the east of them, in
the Genesee valley and beyond, dwelt the Senecas, the
westernmost of the Iroquois tribes. To the north of
them, on Lake Huron and the Georgian Bay, dwelt
the Hurons. About 1650 the Iroquois overran the
Neuter territory, destroyed the nation and made the
region east of the Niagara a part of their own territory;
though more than a century elapsed, after their
conquest of the Neuters, before the Senecas made permanent
villages on Buffalo Creek and near the Niagara.
It is necessary to bear this fact in mind, in considering
the visits of white men to this region during that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>
period; it had become territory of the Senecas, but
they only occupied it at intervals, on hunting or fishing
expeditions.</p>
<p>During the latter years of Neuter possession of our
region, missionaries began to approach the Niagara
from two directions; but long before any brave soul
had neared it through what is now New York State,—then
the heart of the fierce Iroquois country,—others,
more successful, had come down from the early-established
missions among the Hurons, had sojourned
among the Neuters and had offered Christian prayers
among the savages east of the Niagara.</p>
<p>Note, therefore, that the first white man known to
have visited the Niagara region was a Catholic priest.
Moreover, so far as is ascertained, he was the first man,
coming from what is now Canada, to bring the Christian
faith into the present territory of the United
States. This man was Joseph de la Roche Dallion.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>
The date of his visit is 1626.</p>
<p>Father Dallion was a Franciscan of the Recollect
reform, who had been for a time at the mission among
the Hurons, then carried on jointly by priests and lay
brothers of the Recollects and also by Fathers of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>
Society of Jesus. On October 18th of this year
(1626), he left his companions, resolved to carry the
cross among the people of the Neuter nation. An interpreter,
Bruslé, had "told wonders" of these people.
Bruslé, it would seem, therefore, had been among them;
and although, as I have said, Father Dallion was the
first white man known to have reached the Niagara, yet
it is just to consider the probabilities in the case of
this all but unknown interpreter. There are plausible
grounds for belief, but no proof, that Étienne Bruslé
was the first white man who ever saw Niagara Falls.
No adventurer in our region had a more remarkable
career than his, yet but little of it is known to us. He
was with Champlain on his journey to the Huron
country. He left that explorer in September, 1615,
at the outlet of Lake Simcoe, and went on a most
perilous mission into the country of the Andastes, allies
of the Hurons, to enlist them against the Iroquois.
The Andastes lived on the head-waters of the Susquehanna,
and along the south shore of Lake Erie, the
present site of Buffalo being generally included within
the bounds of their territory. Champlain saw nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>
more of Bruslé for three years, but in the summer of
1618 met him at Saut St. Louis. Bruslé had had
wonderful adventures, had even been bound to the
stake and burned so severely that he must have been
frightfully scarred. The name by which we know him
may have been given him on this account. He was
saved from death by what the Indians regarded as an
exhibition of wrath on the part of the Great Spirit. I
find no trace of him between 1618 and 1626, when
Father Dallion appears to have taken counsel of him
regarding the Neuters. Bruslé was murdered by the
Hurons near Penetanguishene in 1632. What is
known of him is learned from Champlain's narrative of
the voyage of 1618 (edition of 1627). Sagard also
speaks of him, and says he made an exploration of the
upper lakes—a claim not generally credited. Parkman,
drawing from these sources and the "Relations," tells his
story in "The Pioneers of France in the New World,"
admiringly calls him "That Pioneer of Pioneers," and
says that he seems to have visited the Eries in 1615.</p>
<p>The interesting thing about him in connection with
our present study is the fact that he appears to have
been the forerunner of Dallion among the savages of
the Niagara. There is no white man named in history
who may be even conjectured, with any plausibility, to
have visited the Niagara earlier than Bruslé.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p>
<p>Stimulated by this interpreter's reports, by the
encouragement of his companions and the promptings
of his own zeal, Father Dallion set out for the unknown
regions. Two Frenchmen, Grenole and Lavallée,
accompanied him. They tramped the trail for six days
through the woods, apparently rounding the western
end of Lake Ontario, and coming eastward through
the Niagara Peninsula. They were well received at
the villages, given venison, squashes and parched corn
to eat, and were shown no sign of hostility. "All
were astonished to see me dressed as I was," writes
the father, "and to see that I desired nothing of theirs,
except that I invited them by signs to lift their eyes
to heaven, make the sign of the cross and receive the
faith of Jesus Christ." The good priest, however,
had another object, somewhat unusual to the men of his
calling. At the sixth village, where he had been
advised to remain, a council was held. "There I
told them, as well as I could, that I came on behalf of
the French to contract alliance and friendship with
them, and to invite them to come to trade. I also
begged them to allow me to remain in their country,
to be able to instruct them in the law of our God,
which is the only means of going to paradise." The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>
Neuters accepted the priest's offers, and the first recorded
trade in the Niagara region was made when
he presented them "little knives and other trifles."
They adopted him into the tribe, and gave him a
father, the chief Souharissen.</p>
<p>After this cordial welcome, Grenole and Lavallée
returned to the Hurons, leaving Father Joseph "the
happiest man in the world, hoping to do something
there to advance God's glory, or at least to discover
the means, which would be no small thing, and to endeavor
to discover the mouth of the river of Hiroquois,
in order to bring them to trade." After speaking of
the people and his efforts to teach them, he continues:
"I have always seen them constant in their resolution
to go with at least four canoes to the trade, if I would
guide them, the whole difficulty being that we did not
know the way. Yroquet, an Indian known in those
countries, who had come there with twenty of his men
hunting for beaver, and who took fully 500, would
never give us any mark to know the mouth of the
river. He and several Hurons assured us that it was
only ten days' journey to the trading place; but we
were afraid of taking one river for another, and losing
our way or dying of hunger on the land." So excellent
an authority as Dr. John Gilmary Shea says:
"This was evidently the Niagara River, and the route
through Lake Ontario. He (Dallion) apparently
crossed the river, as he was on the Iroquois frontier."
The great conquest of the Neuters by the Iroquois was
not until 1648 or 1650. Just what the "Iroquois<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
frontier" was in 1627 is uncertain. It appears to have
been about midway between the Niagara and the Genesee,
the easternmost Neuter village being some thirty
miles east of the Niagara. The Recollect appears therefore
as the first man to write of the Niagara, from personal
knowledge, and of its mouth as a place of trade.
The above quotations are from the letter Father Dallion
wrote to one of his friends in France July 18, 1627,
he having then returned to Toanchain, a Huron village.
I have followed the text as given by Sagard. It is
significant that Le Clercq, in his "Premier Établissement
de la Foy," etc., gives a portion of Dallion's
account of his visit to the Neuters, but omits nearly
everything he says about trade.</p>
<p>Father Dallion sojourned three winter months with
the Neuters, but the latter part of the stay was far
from agreeable. The Hurons, he says, having discovered
that he talked of leading the Neuters to trade,
at once spread false and evil reports of him. They
said he was a great magician; that he was a poisoner,
that he tainted the air of the country where he tarried,
and that if the Neuters did not kill him, he
would burn their villages and kill their children. The
priest was at a disadvantage in not having much command
of the Neuter dialect, and it is not strange, after
the evil report had once been started, that he should
have seemed to engage in some devilish incantation
whenever he held the cross before them or sought to
baptize the children. When one reflects upon the
dense wall of ignorance and superstition against which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
his every effort at moral or spiritual teaching was impotent,
the admiration for the martyr spirit which
animated the effort is tempered by amazement that an
acute and sagacious man should have thought it well
to "labor" in such an obviously ineffective way. But
history is full of instances of ardent devotion to aims
which the "practical" man would denounce at once
as unattainable. That Father Dallion was animated
by the spirit of the martyrs is attested in his own
account of what befel him. A treacherous band of
ten came to him and tried to pick a quarrel. "One
knocked me down with a blow of his fist, another took
an ax and tried to split my head. God averted his
hand; the blow fell on a post near me. I also
received much other ill-treatment; but that is what
we came to seek in this country." His assailants
robbed him of many of his possessions, including his
breviary and compass. These precious things, which
were no doubt "big medicine" in the eyes of his ungracious
hosts, were afterwards returned. The news
of his maltreatment reached the ears of Fathers Brébeuf
and De la Nouë at the Huron mission. They sent the
messenger, Grenole, to bring him back, if found alive.
Father Dallion returned with Grenole early in the year
1627; and so ended the first recorded visit of white
man to the Niagara region.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>For fourteen years succeeding, I find no allusion to
our district. Then comes an episode which is so
adventurous and so heroic, so endowed with beauty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
and devotion, that it should be familiar to all who give
any heed to what has happened in the vicinity of the
Niagara.</p>
<p>Jean de Brébeuf was a missionary priest of the
Jesuits. That implies much; but in his case even
such a general imputation of exalted qualities falls
short of justice. His is a superb figure, a splendid
acquisition to the line of heroic figures that pass in
shadowy procession along the horizon of our home
history. Trace the narrative of his life as sedulously
as we may, examine his character and conduct in whatever
critical light we may choose to study them, and
still the noble figure of Father Brébeuf is seen without
a flaw. There were those of his order whose acts were
at times open to two constructions. Some of them
were charged, by men of other faith and hostile allegiance,
with using their priestly privileges as a cloak
for worldly objects. No such charge was ever brought
against Father Brébeuf. The guilelessness and heroism
of his life are unassailable.</p>
<p>He was of a noble Normandy family, and when he
comes upon the scene, on the banks of the Niagara, he
was forty-seven years old. He had come out to
Quebec fifteen years before and had been assigned to
the Huron mission. In 1628 he was called back to
Quebec, but five years later he was allowed to return
to his charge in the remote wilderness. The record of
his work and sufferings there is not a part of our present
story. Those who seek a marvelous exemplification
of human endurance and devotion, may find it in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
the ancient Relations of the order. He lived amid
threats and plots against his life, he endured what
seems unendurable, and his zeal throve on the experience.
In November, 1640, he and a companion, the
priest Joseph Chaumonot, resolved to carry the cross
to the Neuter nation. They no doubt knew of Father
Dallion's dismal experience; and were spurred on
thereby. Like him, they sought martyrdom. Their
route from the Huron country to the Niagara has been
traced with skill and probable accuracy by the Very
Rev. Wm. R. Harris, Dean of St. Catharines. At
this time the Neuter nation lived to the north of Lake
Erie throughout what we know as the Niagara Peninsula,
and on both sides of the Niagara, their most eastern
village being near the present site of Lockport.
From an uncertain boundary, thereabouts, they confronted
the possessions of the Senecas, who a few years
later were to wipe them off the face of the earth and
occupy all their territory east of the lake and river.</p>
<p>Fathers Brébeuf and Chaumonot set out on their
hazardous mission November 2d, in the year named,
from a Huron town in the present township of
Medonte, Ontario. (Near Penetanguishene, on Georgian
Bay.) Their probable path was through the present
towns of Beeton, Orangeville, Georgetown, Hamilton
and St. Catharines. They came out upon the Niagara
just north of the Queenston escarpment. The journey
thus far had been a succession of hardships. The
interpreters whom they had engaged to act as guides
deserted them at the outset. Ahead of them went the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>
reputation which the Hurons spread abroad, that they
were magicians and carried all manner of evils with
them. Father Brébeuf was a man of extraordinary
physical strength. Many a time, in years gone by, he
had astonished the Indians by his endurance at the
paddle, and in carrying great loads over the portages.
His companion, Chaumonot, was smaller and weaker,
but was equally sustained by faith in Divine guidance.
On their way through the forests, Father Brébeuf
was cheered by a vision of angels, beckoning him
on; but when he and his companion finally stood on
the banks of the Niagara, under the leaden sky of late
November, there was little of the beatific in the
prospect. They crossed the swirling stream—by
what means must be left to conjecture, the probability
being in favor of a light bark canoe—and on the
eastern bank found themselves in the hostile village of
Onguiara—the first-mentioned settlement on the banks
of our river.</p>
<p>Here the half-famished priests were charged with
having come to ruin the people. They were refused
shelter and food, but finally found opportunity to step
into a wigwam, where Indian custom, augmented by
fear, permitted them to remain. The braves gathered
around, and proposed to put them to death. "I am
tired," cried one, "eating the dark flesh of our
enemies, and I want to taste the white flesh of the
Frenchman." So at least is the record in the Relation.
Another drew bow to pierce the heart of Chaumonot;
but all fell back in awe when the stalwart Bré<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>beuf
stepped forth into their midst, without weapon
and without fear, and raising his hand exclaimed:
"We have not come here for any other purpose than
to do you a friendly service. We wish to teach you
to worship the Master of Life, so that you may be
happy in this world and in the other."</p>
<p>Whether or not any of the spiritual import of his
speech was comprehended cannot be said; but the
temper of the crowd changed, so that, instead of
threatening immediate death, they began to take a
curious, childish interest in the two "black-gowns";
examining the priests' clothes, and appropriating their
hats and other loose articles. The travelers completely
mystified them by reading a written message, and thus
getting at another's thoughts without a spoken word.
The Relation is rich in details of this sort, and of the
wretchedness of the life which the missionaries led.
They visited other "towns," as the collections of bark
wigwams are called; but everywhere they were looked
upon as necromancers, and their lives were spared only
through fear.</p>
<p>Far into the winter the priests endured all manner
of hardship. Food was sometimes thrown to them as
to a worthless dog, sometimes denied altogether, and
then they had to make shift with such roots and barks
or chance game as their poor woodcraft enabled them
to procure, or the meager winter woods afforded. On
one occasion, when a chief frankly told them that his
people would have killed them long before, but for
fear that the spirits of the priests would in vengeance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
destroy them, Brébeuf began to assure him that his
mission was only to do good; whereupon the savage
replied by spitting in the priest's face; and the priest
thanked God that he was worthy of the same indignity
which had been put upon Jesus Christ. When one
faces his foes in such a spirit, there is absolutely
nothing to fear. And yet, after four months of these
experiences, there seems not to have been the slightest
sign of any good result. The savages were as invulnerable
to any moral or spiritual teachings as the chill
earth itself. Dumb brutes would have shown more
return for kindness than they. The saying of Chateaubriand,
that man without religion is the most dangerous
animal that walks the earth, found full justification
in these savages. Finally, Brébeuf and his
associate determined to withdraw from the absolutely
fruitless field, and began to retrace their steps towards
Huronia.</p>
<p>It was near the middle of February, 1641, when they
began their retreat from the land of the Neuters. The
story of that retreat, as indeed of the whole mission,
has been most beautifully told, with a sympathetic fervency
impossible for one not richly endowed with faith
to simulate, by Dean Harris. Let his account of what
happened stand here:</p>
<p>"The snow was falling when they left the village
Onguiara, crossed the Niagara River near Queenston,
ascended its banks and disappeared in the shadowy
forest. The path, which led through an unbroken
wilderness, lay buried in snow. The cold pierced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>
them through and through. The cords on Fr. Chaumonot's
snow-shoe broke, and his stiffened fingers
could scarcely tie the knot. Innumerable flakes of
snow were falling from innumerable branches. Their
only food was a pittance of Indian corn mixed with
melted snow; their only guide, a compass. Worn and
spent with hardships, these saintly men, carrying in
sacks their portable altar, were returning to announce
to their priestly companions on the Wye the dismal
news of their melancholy failure and defeat. There
was not a hungry wolf that passed them but looked
back and half forgave their being human. There was
not a tree but looked down upon them with pity and
commiseration. Night was closing in when, spent with
fatigue, they saw smoke rising at a distance. Soon
they reached a clearing and descried before them a
cluster of bark lodges. Here these Christian soldiers
of the cross bivouacked for the night.</p>
<p>"Early that evening while Chaumonot, worn with
traveling and overcome with sleep, threw himself to
rest on a bed that was not made up since the creation
of the world, Father Brébeuf, to escape for a time the
acrid and pungent smoke that filled the cabin, went
out to commune with God alone in prayer....
He moved toward the margin of the woods, when
presently he stopped as if transfixed. Far away to the
southeast, high in the air and boldly outlined, a huge
cross floated suspended in mid-heaven. Was it stationary?
No, it moved toward him from the land of
the Iroquois. The saintly face lighted with unwonted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
splendor, for he saw in the vision the presage of the
martyr's crown. Tree and hillside, lodge and village,
faded away, and while the cross was still slowly
approaching, the soul of the great priest went out in
ecstasy, in loving adoration to his Lord and his God.... Overcome
with emotion, he exclaimed, 'Who
will separate me from the love of my Lord? Shall
tribulation, nakedness, peril, distress, or famine, or the
sword?' Emparadised in ecstatic vision, he again cries
out with enthusiastic loyalty, '<i>Sentio me vehementer
impelli ad moriendum pro Christo</i>'—'I feel within me
a mighty impulse to die for Christ'—and flinging himself
upon his knees as a victim for the sacrifice or a
holocaust for sin, he registered his wondrous vow to
meet martyrdom, when it came to him, with the joy
and resignation befitting a disciple of his Lord.</p>
<p>"When he returned to himself the cross had faded
away, innumerable stars were brightly shining, the cold
was wrapping him in icy mantle, and he retraced his
footsteps to the smoky cabin. He flung himself beside
his weary brother and laid him down to rest. When
morning broke they began anew their toilsome journey,
holding friendly converse.</p>
<p>"'Was the cross large?' asked Father Chaumonot.</p>
<p>"'Large,' spoke back the other, 'yes, large enough
to crucify us all.'"</p>
<p>It is idle to insist on judgments by the ordinary
standards in a case like this. As Parkman says, it
belongs not to history, but to psychology. Brébeuf
saw the luminous cross in the heavens above the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
Niagara; not the material, out-reaching arms of
Niagara's spray, rising columnar from the chasm, then
resting, with crosslike extensions on the quiet air,
white and pallid under the winter moon. Such phenomena
are not unusual above the cataract, but may
not be offered in explanation of the priest's vision.
He was in the neighborhood of Grimsby, full twenty
miles from the falls, when he saw the cross; much too
far away to catch the gleam of frosted spray. Nor is
it a gracious spirit which seeks a material explanation
for his vision. The cross truly presaged his martyrdom;
and although the feet of Father Brébeuf never
again sought the ungrateful land of the Neuters, yet
his visit and his vision were not wholly without fruit.
They endow local history with an example of pure
devotion to the betterment of others, unsurpassed in
all the annals of the holy orders. To Brébeuf the
miraculous cross foretold martyrdom, and thereby was
it a sign of conquest and of victory to this heroic
Constantine of the Niagara.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>After Brébeuf and Chaumonot had turned their backs
on the Neuters, the Niagara region was apparently
unvisited by white men for more than a quarter of a
century. These were not, however, years of peaceful
hunting and still more placid corn and pumpkin-growing,
such as some romantic writers have been fond of ascribing
to the red men when they were unmolested by the
whites. As a matter of fact, and as Fathers Dallion,
Brébeuf and Chaumonot had discovered, the people<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
who claimed the banks of the lower reaches of the
Niagara as within their territory, were the embodiment
of all that was vile and barbarous. There is no record
that they had a village at the angle of lake and river,
where now stands old Fort Niagara. It would have
been strange, however, if they did not occasionally
occupy that sightly plateau with their wigwams or
huts, while they were laying in a supply of fish. If
trees ever covered the spot they were killed by early
camp-fires, probably long before the coming of the
whites. Among the earliest allusions to the point is
one which speaks of the difficulty of getting wood
there; and such a treeless tract, in this part of the
country, could usually be attributed to the denudation
consequent on Indian occupancy.</p>
<p>A decade or so after the retreat of the missionaries
came that fierce Indian strife which annihilated the
Neuters and gave Niagara's banks into the keeping of
the fiercer but somewhat nobler Iroquois. The story
of this Indian war has been told with all possible
illumination from the few meager records that are
known; and it only concerns the present chronicle to
note that about 1650 the site of Fort Niagara passed
under Seneca domination. The Senecas had no permanent
town in the vicinity, but undoubtedly made it
a rendezvous for war parties, and for hunting and fishing
expeditions.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, the Jesuits in their Relations, and after
them the cartographers in Europe, were making hearsay
allusions to the Niagara or locating it, with much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>
inaccuracy, on their now grotesque maps. In 1648
the Jesuit Ragueneau, writing to the Superior at Paris,
mentions Niagara, which he had never seen or approached,
as "a cataract of frightful height." L'Allemant
in the Relation published in 1642, had alluded
to the river, but not to the fall. Sanson, in 1656, put
"Ongiara" on his famous map; and four years later the
map of Creuxius, published with his great "Historiæ
Canadensis," gave our river and fall the Latin dignity
of "Ongiara Catarractes." One map-maker copied
from another, so that even by the middle of the seventeenth
century, the reading and student world—small
and ecclesiastical as it mostly was—began to have
some inkling of the main features and continental
position of the mid-lake region for the possession of
which, a little later, several Forts Niagara were to be
projected. It is not, however, until 1669 that we
come to another definite episode in the history of the
region.</p>
<p>In that year came hither the Sulpitian missionaries,
François Dollier de Casson and René de Bréhant<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> de
Galinée. They were bent on carrying the cross to
nations hitherto unreached, on Western rivers. With
them was the young Robert Cavelier, known as La Salle,
who was less interested in carrying the cross than in
exploring the country. Their expedition left Montreal
July 6th, nine canoes in all. They made their way
up the St. Lawrence, skirted the south shore of Lake
Ontario, and on Aug. 10th were at Irondequoit Bay.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>
They made a most eventful visit to the Seneca villages
south of the bay. Thence they continued westward,
apparently by Indian trails overland, and not by canoe.
De Galinée, who was the historian of the expedition,
says that they came to a river "one eighth of a league
broad and extremely rapid, forming the outlet or
communication from Lake Erie to Lake Ontario," and
he continues with a somewhat detailed account of Niagara
Falls, which, although he passed near them, he did
not turn aside to see. The Sulpitians and La Salle
crossed the river, apparently below Lewiston. They
may indeed have come to the river at its mouth,
skirting the lake shore. One may infer either course
from the narrative of de Galinée, which goes on to say
that five days after passing the river they "arrived at the
extremity of Lake Ontario, where there is a fine, large
sandy bay ... and where we unloaded our canoes."</p>
<p>Pushing on westward, late in September, on the trail
between Burlington Bay and the Grand River, they met
Joliet, returning from his expedition in search of copper
mines on Lake Superior. This meeting in the wilderness
is a suggestive and picturesque subject, but we
may not dwell on it here. Joliet, though he had thus
preceded LaSalle and the Sulpitians in the exploration
of the lakes, had gone west by the old northern route
along the Ottawa, Lake Nipissing and the French River.
He was never on the Niagara, for after his meeting
with LaSalle, he continued eastward by way of the
Grand River valley and Lake Ontario. Fear of the
savages deterred him from coming by way of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
Niagara, and thereby, it is not unlikely, becoming
the white discoverer of Niagara Falls.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> He was the
first white man, so far as records relate, to come eastward
through the Detroit River and Lake Erie. Our
lake was therefore "discovered" from the west—a fact
perhaps without parallel in the history of American
exploration.</p>
<p>After the meeting with Joliet, La Salle left the missionaries,
who, taking advantage of information had from
Joliet, followed the Grand River down to Lake Erie.
Subsequently they passed through Lake Erie to the westward,
the first of white men to explore the lake in that
direction. De Galinée's map (1669) is the first that
gives us the north shore of Lake Erie with approximate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
accuracy. On October 15th this devout man and his
companion reached Lake Erie, which they described
as "a vast sea, tossed by tempestuous winds." Deterred
by the lateness of the season from attempting further
travel by this course, they determined to winter where
they were, and built a cabin for their shelter.</p>
<p>Occasionally they were visited in their hut by
Iroquois beaver hunters. For five months and eleven
days they remained in their winter quarters and on the
23d of March, 1670, being Passion Sunday, they
erected a cross as a memorial of their long sojourn.
The official record of the act is as follows:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>"We the undersigned certify that we have seen affixed on the
lands of the lake called Erié the arms of the King of France with
this inscription: 'The year of salvation 1669, Clement IX. being
seated in St. Peter's chair, Louis XIV. reigning in France, M. de
Courcelle being Governor of New France, and M. Talon being
intendant therein for the King, there arrived in this place two
missionaries from Montreal accompanied by seven other Frenchmen,
who, the first of all European peoples, have wintered on this
lake, of which, as of a territory not occupied, they have taken
possession in the name of their King by the apposition of his
arms, which they have attached to the foot of this cross. In witness
whereof we have signed the present certificate.'</p>
<p class="ralign">
<span style="margin-right: 8em;">"FRANCOIS DOLLIER,</span><br />
"Priest of the Diocese of Nantes in Brittany. <br />
<span style="margin-right: 11.5em;">"DE GALINÉE,</span><br />
"Deacon of the Diocese of Rennes in Brittany."
</p>
</div>
<p>The winter was exceedingly mild, but the stream<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a>
was still frozen on the 26th of March, when they portaged
their canoes and goods to the lake to resume<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
their westward journey. Unfortunately losing one of
their canoes in a gale they were obliged to divide their
party, four men with the luggage going in the two
remaining canoes; while the rest, including the missionaries,
undertook the wearisome journey on foot all
the way from Long Point to the mouth of the Kettle
Creek. De Galinée grows enthusiastic in his admiration
for the immense quantities of game and fruits opposite
Long Point and calls the country the terrestrial Paradise
of Canada. "The grapes were as large and as
sweet as the finest in France. The wine made from
them was as good as <i>vin de Grave</i>." He admires the
profusion of walnuts, chestnuts, wild apples and plums.
Bears were fatter and better to the palate than
the most "savory" pigs in France. Deer wandered
in herds of fifty to an hundred. Sometimes even two
hundred would be seen feeding together. Before arriving
at the sand beach which then connected Long Point
with the mainland they had to cross two streams. To
cross the first stream they were forced to walk four
leagues inland before they found a satisfactory place
to cross. One whole day was spent in constructing a
raft to cross Big Creek, and after another delay caused
by a severe snow-storm, they successfully effected a
crossing and found on the west side a marshy meadow
two hundred paces wide into which they sank to their
girdles in mud and slush. Beset by dangers and retarded
by inclement weather, they at last arrived at
Kettle Creek, where they expected to find the canoe
in which Joliet had come down Lake Huron and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
Detroit and which he had told them was hidden there.
Great was their disappointment to find that the Indians
had taken it. However, later in the day, while gathering
some wood for a fire, they found the canoe between
two logs and joyfully bore it to the lake. In
the vicinity of their encampment the hunters failed to
secure any game, and for four or five days the party
subsisted on boiled maize. The whole party then
paddled up the lake to a place where game was plentiful
and the hunters saw more than two hundred deer
in one herd, but missed their aim. Disheartened
at their failure and craving meat, they shot and
skinned a miserable wolf and had it ready for the kettle
when one of the men saw some thirty deer on the
other side of the small lake they were on. The party
succeeded in surrounding the deer and, forcing them
into the water, killed ten of them. Now well supplied
with both fresh and smoked meat, they continued their
journey, traveled nearly fifty miles in one day and
came to a beautiful sand beach (Point Pelée), where
they drew up their canoes and camped for the night.
During the night a terrific gale came up from the
northeast. Awakened by the storm they made all
shift to save their canoes and cargoes. Dollier's and
de Galinée's canoes were saved, but the other one was
swept away with its contents of provisions, goods for
barter, ammunition, and, worst of all, the altar service,
with which they intended establishing their mission
among the Pottawatamies.</p>
<p>The loss of their altar service caused them to aban<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>don
the mission and they set out to return to Montreal,
but strangely enough chose the long, roundabout
journey by way of the Detroit, Lake Huron and the
French River, in preference to the route by which they
had come, or by the outlet of Lake Erie, which they had
crossed the autumn before. Thus de Galinée and Dollier
de Casson, like Joliet,—not to revert to Champlain
half a century earlier,—missed the opportunity, which
seemed to wait for them, of exploring the eastern end
of Lake Erie, of correctly mapping the Niagara and
observing and describing its incomparable cataract.
Obviously the Niagara region was shunned less on
account of its real difficulties, which were not then
known, than through terror of the Iroquois. Our two
Sulpitians reached Montreal June 18, 1670, which
date marks the close of the third missionary visitation
in the history of the Niagara.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>And now I approach the point at which many writers
of our local history have chosen to begin their story—the
famous expedition of La Salle and his companions
in 1678-'79. For the purpose of the present study we
may omit the more familiar aspects of that adventure,
and limit our regard to the acts of the holy men who
continue the interrupted chain of missionary work on the
Niagara. On December 6th, St. Nicholas Day, 1678,
with an advance party under La Motte de Lussiére,
came the Flemish Recollect, Louis Hennepin. As the
bark in which they had crossed stormy Lake Ontario
at length entered the Niagara, they chanted the Am<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>brosian
hymn, "Te Deum Laudamus," and there is
no gainsaying the sincerity of that thank-offering for
perils escaped. Five days later, being encamped on
the present site of Niagara, Ont., Father Hennepin
celebrated the first mass ever said in the vicinity. A
few days later, on the site of Lewiston, he had completed
a bark chapel, in which was held the first Christian
service which had been held on the eastern side of
the Niagara since the visit of Brébeuf thirty-eight years
before. Father Hennepin has left abundant chronicles
of his activities on the Niagara. As soon as the construction
of the Griffon was begun above the falls a
chapel was established there, near the mouth of Cayuga
Creek. Having blessed this pioneer vessel of the
upper lakes, when she was launched, he set out for
Fort Frontenac in the interests of the enterprise, and
was accompanied to the Niagara, on his return, by the
Superior of the mission, Father Gabriel de la Ribourde,
and Fathers Zénobius Membré and Melithon Watteaux.
All through that summer these devoted priests shared
the varied labors of the camp. Hennepin tells us how
he and his companions toiled back and forth over the
portage around the falls, sometimes with their portable
altar, sometimes with provisions, rigging or other
equipment for the ship. "Father Gabriel," he says,
"though of sixty-five years of age, bore with great
vigor the fatigue of that journey, and went thrice up
and down those three mountains, which are pretty high
and steep." This glimpse of the saintly old priest is
a reminiscence to cherish in our local annals. He was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
the last of a noble family in Burgundy who gave up
worldly wealth and station to enter the Order of St.
Francis. He came to Canada in 1670, and was the
first Superior of the restored Recollect mission in that
country. There is a discrepancy between Hennepin
and Le Clercq as to his age; the former says he was
sixty-five years old in 1679, when he was on the Niagara;
the later speaks of him as being in his seventieth
year in 1680. Of the three missionaries who with
La Salle sailed up the Niagara in August, 1679, and
with prayers and hymns boldly faced the dangers of
the unknown lake, the venerable Father Gabriel was
first of all to receive the martyr's crown. A year
later, September 9, 1680, while engaged at his devotions,
he was basely murdered by three Indians. To
Father Membré there were allotted five years of missionary
labor before he, too, was to fall a victim to
the savage. Father Hennepin lived many years, and
his chronicles stand to-day as in some respects the
foundation of our local history. But cherish as we may
the memory of this trio of missionaries, the imagination
turns with a yet fonder regard back to the
devoted priest who was not permitted to voyage westward
from the Niagara with the gallant La Salle.
When the Griffon sailed, Father Melithon Watteaux
was left behind in the little palisaded house at Niagara
as chaplain. He takes his place in our history as the
first Catholic priest appointed to minister to whites in
New York State. On May 27, 1679, La Salle had made
a grant of land at Niagara to these Recollect Fathers,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
for a residence and cemetery, and this was the first
property in the present State of New York to which
the Catholic Church held title. Who can say what
were the experiences of the priest during the succeeding
winter in the loneliness and dangers of the savage-infested
wilderness? Nowhere have I as yet found
any detailed account of his sojourn. We know, however,
that it was not long. During the succeeding
years there was some passing to and fro. In 1680 La
Salle, returning east, passed the site of his ruined and
abandoned fort. He was again on the Niagara in 1681
with a considerable party bound for the Miami.
Father Membré, who was with him, returned east in
October, 1682, by the Niagara route; and La Salle himself
passed down the river again in 1683—his last visit to
the Niagara. His blockhouse, within which was Father
Melithon's chapel, had been burned by the Senecas.</p>
<p>From this time on for over half a century the
missionary work in our region centered at Fort Niagara,
which still stands, a manifold reminder of the
romantic past, at the mouth of the river. Four years
after La Salle's last passage through the Niagara—in
1687—the Marquis de Denonville led his famous
expedition against the Senecas. With him in this campaign
was a band of Western Indians, who were attended
by the Jesuit Father Enjalran. He was wounded
in the battle with the Senecas near Boughton Hill, but
appears to have accompanied de Denonville to his
rendezvous on the site of Fort Niagara. Here he undoubtedly
exercised his sacred office; and since the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
construction of Fort Niagara began at this time his
name may head the list of priests officiating at that
stronghold. He was soon after dispatched on a peace
mission to the West, which was the special scene of
his labors. His part, for some years to come, was to
be an important one as Superior of the Jesuit Mission
at Michillimackinac.</p>
<p>As soon as Fort Niagara was garrisoned, Father Jean
de Lamberville was sent thither as chaplain. For
the student, it would be profitable to dwell at length
upon the ministrations of this devoted priest. He was
of the Society of Jesus, had come out to Canada in
1668, and labored in the Onondaga mission from 1671
to 1687. His work is indelibly written on the history
of missions in our State. He was the innocent cause
of a party of Iroquois falling into the hands of the
French, who sent them to France, where they toiled
in the king's galleys. When de Denonville, in 1687,
left at Fort Niagara a garrison of one hundred men under
the Chevalier de la Mothe, Father Lamberville came to
minister to them. The hostile Iroquois had been dealt
a heavy blow, but a more insidious and dreadful enemy
soon appeared within the gates. The provisions which
had been left for the men proved utterly unfit for food,
so that disease, with astounding swiftness, swept away
most of the garrison, including the commander. Father
Lamberville, himself, was soon stricken down with the
scurvy. Every man in the fort would no doubt have
perished but for the timely arrival of a party of friendly
Miami Indians, through whose good offices the few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
survivors, Father Lamberville among them, were enabled
to make their way to Catarouquoi—now Kingston,
Ont. There he recovered; and he continued in
the Canadian missions until 1698, when he returned to
France.</p>
<p>Not willing to see his ambitious fort on the Niagara
so soon abandoned, de Denonville sent out a new garrison
and with them came Father Pierre Milet. He
had labored, with rich results, among the Onondagas
and Oneidas. No sooner was he among his countrymen,
in this remote and forlorn corner of the earth,
than he took up his spiritual work with characteristic
zeal. On Good Friday of that year, 1688, in the
center of the square within the palisades, he caused to
be erected a great cross. It was of wood, eighteen
feet high, hewn from the forest trees and neatly framed.
On the arms of it was carved in abbreviated words the
sacred legend, "<i>Regnat, Vincit, Imperat Christus</i>," and
in the midst of it was engraven the Sacred Heart.
Surrounded by the officers of the garrison,—gallant
men of France, with shining records, some of them
were,—by the soldiers, laborers and friendly Indians,
Father Milet solemnly blessed it. Can you not see
the little band, kneeling about that symbol of conquest?
Around them were the humble cabins and
quarters of the soldiers. One of them, holding the
altar, was consecrated to worship. Beyond ran the
palisades and earthworks—feeble fortifications between
the feeble garrison and the limitless, foe-infested
wilderness. On one hand smiled the blue Ontario,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
and at their feet ran the gleaming Niagara, already a
synonym of hardship and suffering in the annals of
three of the religious orders. What wonder that the
sense of isolation and feebleness was borne in upon
the little band, or that they devoutly bowed before the
cross which was the visible emblem of their strength
and consolation in the wilderness. Where is the artist
who shall paint us this scene, unique in the annals of
any people?</p>
<p>And yet, but a few months later—September 15th
of that year—the garrison was recalled, the post
abandoned, the palisades broken down, the cabins left
rifled and empty; and when priest and soldiers had
sailed away, and only the prowling wolf or the stealthy
Indian ventured near the spot, Father Milet's great
cross still loomed amid the solitude, a silent witness of
the faith which knows no vanquishing.</p>
<p>There followed an interim in the occupancy of the
Niagara when neither sword nor altar held sway here;
nor was the altar reëstablished in our region until the
permanent rebuilding of Fort Niagara in 1726. True,
Father Charlevoix passed up the river in 1721, and has
left an interesting account of his journey, his view of
the falls, and his brief tarrying at the carrying-place—now
Lewiston. This spot was the principal rendezvous
of the region for many years; and here, at the cabin
of the interpreter Joncaire, where Father Charlevoix
was received, we may be sure that spiritual ministrations
were not omitted. A somewhat similar incident,
twenty-eight years later, was the coming to these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
shores of the Jesuit Father Bonnecamps. He was not
only the spiritual leader but appears to have acted as
pilot and guide to De Céloron's expedition—an
abortive attempt on the part of Louis XV. to reësablish
the claims of France to the inland regions of
America. The expedition came up the St. Lawrence
and through Lake Ontario, reaching Fort Niagara on
July 6, 1749. It passed up the river, across to the south
shore of Lake Erie and by way of Chautauqua Lake
and the Allegheny down the Ohio. Returning from
its utterly futile adventure, we find the party resting
at Fort Niagara for three days, October 19-21. Who
the resident chaplain was at the post at that date I
have not been able to ascertain; but we may be sure
that he had a glad greeting for Father Bonnecamps.
From 1726, when, as already mentioned, the fort was
rebuilt, until its surrender to Sir Wm. Johnson in
1759, a garrison was continually maintained, and without
doubt was constantly attended by a chaplain.
The register of the post during these years has never
been found—the presumption being that it was
destroyed by the English—so that the complete list
of priests who ministered there is not known.</p>
<p>Only here and there from other sources do we glean
a name by which to continue the succession. Father
Crespel was stationed at Fort Niagara for about three
years from 1729, interrupting his ministrations there
with a journey to Detroit, where his order—the
Society of Jesus—had established a mission. Of Fort
Niagara at this time he says: "I found the place<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
very agreeable; hunting and fishing were very productive;
the woods in their greatest beauty, and full of
walnut and chestnut trees, oaks, elms and some others,
far superior to any we see in France." But not even the
banks of the Niagara were to prove an earthly paradise.
"The fever," he continues, "soon destroyed the
pleasures we began to find, and much incommoded us,
until the beginning of autumn, which season dispelled
the unwholesome air. We passed the winter very quietly,
and would have passed it very agreeably, if the vessel
which was to have brought us refreshments had not
encountered a storm on the lake, and been obliged to
put back to Frontenac, which laid us under the necessity
of drinking nothing but water. As the winter advanced,
she dared not proceed, and we did not receive our
stores till May."</p>
<p>Remember the utter isolation of this post and mission
at the period we are considering. To be sure, it
was a link in the chain of French posts, which included
Quebec, Montreal, Kingston, Niagara, Detroit, Michillimackinac;
but in winter the water route for transport
was closed, and Niagara, like the upper posts, was
thrown on its own resources for existence. There is
no place in our domain to-day which fairly may be
compared to it for isolation and remoteness. The
upper reaches of Alaskan rivers are scarcely less known
to the world than was the Niagara at the beginning of
the last century. A little fringe of settlement—hostile
settlement at that—stretched up the Hudson from
New York. Even the Mohawk Valley was still unset<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>tled.
From the Hudson to the remotest West the
wilderness stretched as a sea, and Fort Niagara was
buried in its midst. Although a full century had gone
by since Father Dallion first reached its shores, there
was now no trace of white men on the banks of the Niagara
save at the fort at its mouth, where Father Crespel
ministered, and at the carrying-place, where Joncaire
the interpreter lived with the Indians. Not even the
first Indian villages on Buffalo Creek were to be established
for half a century to come.</p>
<p>After Father Crespel's return from Detroit, he remained
two years longer at Fort Niagara, caring for
the spiritual life of the little garrison, and learning the
Iroquois and Ottawah languages well enough to converse
with the Indians. "This enabled me," he
writes, "to enjoy their company when I took a walk
in the environs of our post." The ability to converse
with the Indians afterwards saved his life. When his
three years of residence at Niagara expired he was
relieved, according to the custom of his order, and he
passed a season in the convent at Quebec. While he
was undoubtedly immediately succeeded at Niagara by
another chaplain, I have been unable to learn his name
or aught of his ministrations. Indeed, there are but
few glimpses of the post to be had from 1733 to 1759,
when it fell into the hands of the English. One of the
most interesting of these is of the visit of the Sulpitian
missionary, the Abbé Piquet, who in 1751 came to Fort
Niagara from his successful mission at La Présentation—now
Ogdensburg. It is recorded of him that while here<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
he exhorted the Senecas to beware of the white man's
brandy; his name may perhaps stand as that of the first
avowed temperance worker in the Niagara region.</p>
<p>But the end of the French <i>régime</i> was at hand. For
more than a century our home region had been claimed
by France; for the last thirty-three years the lily-strewn
standard of Louis had flaunted defiance to the
English from the banks of the Niagara. Now on a
scorching July day the little fort found itself surrounded,
with Sir Wm. Johnson's cannon roaring from the
wilderness. There was a gallant defense, a baptism of
fire and blood, an honorable capitulation. But in that
fierce conflict at least one of the consecrated soldiers
of the cross—Father Claude Virot—fell before British
bullets; and when the triple cross of Britain floated over
Fort Niagara, the last altar raised by the French on the
east bank of the Niagara river had been overthrown.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>On this eventful day in 1759, when seemingly the
opportunities for the Catholic Church to continue its
work on the Niagara were at an end, there was, in the
poor parish of Maryborough, county Kildare, Ireland,
a little lad of six whose mission it was to be to bring
hither again the blessed offices of his faith. This was
Edmund Burke, afterwards Bishop of Zion, and first
Vicar-Apostolic of Nova Scotia, but whose name shines
not less in the annals of his church because of his zeal
as missionary in Upper Canada. Having come to
Quebec in 1786, he was, in 1794, commissioned Vicar-General
for the whole of Upper Canada—the province<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
having then been established two years. In that year
we find him at Niagara, where he was the first English-speaking
priest to hold Catholic service. True, there
was at the post that year a French missionary named
Le Dru, who could speak English; but he had been
ordered out of the province for cause. The field was
ripe for a man of Father Burke's character and energy.
His early mission was near Detroit; he was the first
English-speaking priest in Ohio, and it is worthy of
note that he was at Niagara on his way east, July 22,
1796—only three weeks before the British finally
evacuated Fort Niagara and the Americans took possession.
Through his efforts in that year, the Church
procured a large lot at Niagara, Ont., where he proposed
a missionary establishment. There had probably
never been a time, since the English conquest, when
there had not been Catholics among the troops quartered
on the Niagara; but under a British and Protestant
commandant no suitable provision for their worship had
been made. In 1798—two years after the British had
relinquished the fort on the east side of the river to the
Americans—Father Burke, being at the British garrison
on the Canadian side, wrote to Monseigneur Plessis:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>Here I am at Niagara, instead of having carried out my original
design of going on to Detroit, thence returning to Kingston to
pass the winter. The commander of the garrison, annoyed by
the continual complaints of the civic officials against the Catholic
soldiers, who used to frequent the taverns during the hours of
service on Sunday, gave orders that officers and men should attend
the Protestant service. They had attended for three consecutive
Sundays when I represented to the commander the iniquity of this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
order. He replied that he would send them to mass if the chaplain
was there, and he thought it very extraordinary that whilst a
chaplain was paid by the king for the battalion, instead of attending
to his duty he should be in charge of a mission, his men were
without religious services, and his sick were dying without the
sacraments. You see, therefore, that I have reason for stopping
short at Niagara; for we must not permit four companies, of
whom three fourths both of officers and men are Catholics, to
frequent the Protestant church.</p></div>
<p>The name of the priest against whom the charge
of neglect appears to lie, was Duval; but it is not
clear that he had ever attended the troops to the
Niagara station. But after Father Burke came Father
Désjardines and an unbroken succession, with the district
fully organized in ecclesiastical jurisdiction.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>And now, although our story of mission work in the
Niagara region has been long—has reviewed the visitations
of two centuries—the reader may have remarked
the striking fact that every priest who came
into our territory, up to the opening of the nineteenth
century, came from Canada. This fact is the more
remarkable when we recall the long-continued and vigorous
missions of the Jesuits in what is now New York
State, extending west nearly to the Genesee River. But
the fact stands that no priest from those early establishments
made his way westward to the present site of
Buffalo. Fathers Lamberville and Milet had been stationed
among the Onondagas and Oneidas before coming
into our region at Fort Niagara; but they came
thither from Canada, by way of Lake Ontario, and not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
through the wilderness of Western New York. The
westernmost mission among the Iroquois was that of
Fathers Carheil and Garnier at Cayuga, where they
were at work ten years before La Salle built the Griffon
on the Niagara. It is interesting to note that this
mission, which was established nearest to our own
region, was "dedicated to God under the invocation
of St. Joseph," and that, two hundred years after, the
first Bishop of Buffalo obtained from his Holiness,
Pope Pius IX., permission that St. Joseph should be
the principal patron saint of this diocese.</p>
<p>The earliest episcopal jurisdiction of the territory
now embraced in the city of Buffalo, dating from the
first visit of Dallion to the land of the Neuters, was
directly vested in the diocese of Rouen—for it was
the rule that regions new-visited belonged to the government
of the bishop from a port in whose diocese
the expedition bearing the missionary had sailed; and
this stood until a local ecclesiastical government was
formed; the first ecclesiastical association of our region,
on the New York side, therefore, is with that
grand old city, Rouen, the home of La Salle, scene of
the martyrdom of the Maid of Orleans, and the center,
through many centuries, of mighty impulses affecting
the New World. From 1657 to 1670 our region was
embraced in the jurisdiction of the Vicar Apostolic of
New France; and from 1670 to the Conquest in the
diocese of Quebec. There are involved here, of
course, all the questions which grew out of the strife
for possession of the Niagara region by the French,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
English and Dutch. Into these questions we may not
enter now further than to note that from 1684 the English
claimed jurisdiction of all the region on the east
bank of the Niagara and the present site of Buffalo.
This claim was in part based on the Treaty of Albany
at which the Senecas had signified their allegiance to
King Charles; and by that acquiescence nominally put
the east side of the Niagara under British rule. The
next year, when the Duke of York came to the throne,
he decreed that the Archbishop of Canterbury should
hold ecclesiastical jurisdiction over the whole Colony
of New York. It is very doubtful, however, if the
Archbishop of Canterbury had ever heard of the Niagara—the
first English translation of Hennepin did not
appear for fourteen years after this date; and nothing
is more unlikely than that the Senecas who visited the
Niagara at this period, or even the Dutch and English
traders who gave them rum for beaver-skins, had ever
heard of the Archbishop of Canterbury, or cared a
copper for his ecclesiastical jurisdiction, either on the
Niagara or even in the settlements on the Hudson. In
the New York Colony, and afterward State, the legal
discrimination against Catholics continued down to
1784, when the law which condemned Catholic priests
to imprisonment or even death was repealed. At the
date of its repeal there was not a Catholic congregation
in the State. Those Catholics who were among
the pioneer settlers of Western New York had to go as
far east as Albany to perform their religious duties or
get their children baptized. Four years later—in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>
1788—our region was included in the newly-formed
diocese of Baltimore. In 1808 we came into the new
diocese of New York. Not until 1821 do we find
record of the visit of a priest to Buffalo. In 1829 the
Church acquired its first property here—through its
benefactor whose name and memory are preserved by
one of our noblest institutions—Louis Le Couteulx—and
the first Buffalo parish was established under the
Rev. Nicholas Mertz.</p>
<p>We are coming very close to the present; and yet
still later, in 1847, when the diocese of Buffalo was
formed, there were but sixteen priests in the sixteen
great counties which constituted it. It is superfluous
to contrast that time with the present. There is nothing
more striking, to the student of the history and
development of our region during the last half century,
than the increase of the Catholic Church—in parishes
and schools, in means of propaganda, in material wealth
with its vast resources and power for good, and especially
in that personal zeal and unflagging devotion
which know no limit and no exhaustion, and are drawn
from the same source of strength that inspired and sustained
Brébeuf and Chaumonot and their fellow-heroes
of the cross on the banks of the Niagara.</p>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h1>The Paschal of the Great Pinch.</h1>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE PASCHAL OF THE GREAT PINCH.</h2>
<div class="blockquot"><p><i>An Episode in the History of Fort Niagara; being an Extract
from the hitherto unknown Memoirs of the Chevalier De Tregay,
Lieutenant under the Sieur de Troyes, commanding at
Fort Denonville (now called Niagara), in the Year of Starvation
1687; with Captain Désbergeres at that remote fortress
from the joyfull Easter of 1688 till its abandonment; Soldier
of His Excellency the Sr. de Brissay, Marquis de Denonville,
Governor and Lieutenant General in New France; and humble
Servitor of His Serene Majesty Louis XIV.</i></p></div>
<p>It has been my lot to suffer in many far parts of
the earth; to bleed a little and go hungry for the
King; to lie freezing for fame and France—and
gain nothing thereby but a distemper; but so it is to
be a soldier.</p>
<p>And I have seen trouble in my day. I have fought
in Flanders on an empty stomach, and have burned my
brain among the Spaniards so that I could neither fight
nor run away; but of all the heavy employment I ever
knew, naught can compare with what befel in the
remote parts of New France, where I was with the
troops that the Marquis de Denonville took through
the wilderness into the cantons of the Iroquois, and
afterwards employed to build a stockade and cabins at
the mouth of the Strait of Niagara, on the east side,
in the way where they go a beaver-hunting. "Fort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>
Denonville," the Sieur de Brissay decreed it should be
called, for he held great hopes of the service which it
should do him against both the Iroquois and the English;
but now that he has fallen into the disfavor that
has ever been the reward of faithful service in this
accursed land, his name is no more given even to that
unhappy spot, but rather it is called Fort Niagara.</p>
<p>There were some hundreds of us all told that reached
that fair plateau, after we left the river of the Senecas.
It was mid-summer of the year of grace 1687, and we
made at first a pleasant camp, somewhat overlooking
the great lake, while to the west side of the point the
great river made good haven for our batteaux and
canoes. There was fine stir of air at night, so that we
slept wholesomely, and the wounded began to mend at
a great rate. And of a truth, tho' I have adventured
in many lands, I have seen no spot which in all its
demesne offered a fairer prospect to a man of taste.
On the north of us, like the great sea itself, lay the
Lake Ontario, which on a summer morning, when
touched by a little wind, with the sun aslant, was like
the lapis lazuli I have seen in the King's palace—very
blue, yet all bright with white and gold. The
river behind the camp ran mightily strong, yet for the
most part glassy and green like the precious green-stone
the lapidaries call verd-antique. Behind us to the south
lay the forest, and four leagues away rose the triple
mountains wherein is the great fall; but these are not
such mountains as we have in Italy and Spain, being
more of the nature of a great table-land, making an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
exceeding hard portage to reach the Strait of Erie
above the great fall.</p>
<p>It was truly a most fit place for a fort, and the Marquis
de Denonville let none in his command rest day
or night until we had made a fortification, in part of
earth, surmounted by palisades which the soldiers cut
in the woods. There was much of hazard and fatigue
in this work, for the whole plain about the fort had no
trees; so that some of us went into the forest along
the shore to the eastward and some cut their sticks on
the west side of the river. It was hard work, getting
them up the high bank; but so pressed were we, somewhat
by fear of an attack, and even more by the zeal
of our commander, that in three days we had built
there a pretty good fort with four bastions, where we
put two great guns and some pattareras; and we had
begun to build some cabins on the four sides of the
square in the middle of it. And as we worked, our
number was constantly diminished; for the Sieurs Du
Luth and Durantaye, with that one-handed Chevalier
de Tonty of whom they tell so much, and our allies
the savages who had come from the Illinois to join the
Governor in his assault upon the Iroquois, as soon as
their wounded were able to be moved, took themselves
off up the Niagara and over the mountain portage I
have spoken of; for they kept a post and place of trade
at the Detroit, and at Michillimackinac. And then
presently the Marquis himself and all whom he would
let go sailed away around the great lake for Montreal.
But he ordered that an hundred, officers and men, stay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>
behind to hold this new Fort Denonville. He
had placed in command over us the Sieur de
Troyes, of whom it would not become me to speak in
any wise ill.</p>
<p>There were sour looks and sad, as the main force
marched to the batteaux. But the Marquis did not
choose to heed anything of that. We were put on
parade for the embarkation—though we made a sorry
show of it, for there were even then more rags than
lace or good leather—and His Excellency spoke a
farewell word in the hearing of us all.</p>
<p>"You are to complete your quarters with all convenient
expediency," he said to De Troyes, who stood
attentive, before us. "There will be no lack of provision
sent. You have here in these waters the finest
fish in the world. There is naught to fear from these
Iroquois wasps—have we not just torn to pieces their
nests?"</p>
<p>He said this with a fine bravado, though methought
he lacked somewhat of sincerity; for surely scattered
wasps might prove troublesome enough to those of us
who stayed behind. But De Troyes made no reply,
and saluted gravely. And so, with a jaunty word about
the pleasant spot where we were to abide, and a light
promise to send fresh troops in the spring, the General
took himself off, and we were left behind to look out
for the wasps. As the boats passed the sandbar and
turned to skirt the lake shore to the westward, we gave
them a salvo of musketry; but De Troyes raised his
hand—although the great Marquis was yet in sight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
and almost in hailing distance—and forbade another
discharge.</p>
<p>"Save your powder," was all he said; and the very
brevity of it seemed to mean more than many words,
and put us into a low mood for that whole day.</p>
<p>Now for a time that followed there was work enough
to keep each man busy, which is best for all who are in
this trade of war, especially in the wilderness. It was
on the third of August that M. de Brissay left us, he
having sent off some of the militia ahead of him; and
he bade M. de Vaudreuil stay behind for a space, to
help the Sieur de Troyes complete the fort and cabins,
and this he did right ably, for as all Canada and the
King himself know, M. de Vaudreuil was a man of
exceeding great energy and resources in these matters.
There was a vast deal of fetching and carrying, of hewing
and sawing and framing. And notwithstanding
that the sun of that climate was desperately hot the men
worked with good hearts, so that there was soon finished
an excellent lodgment for the commandant; with a
chimney of sticks and clay, and boards arranged into a
sort of bedstead; and this M. de Troyes shared with M.
de Vaudreuil, until such time as the latter gentleman
quit us. There were three other cabins built, with chimneys,
doors and little windows. We also constructed
a baking-house with a large oven and chimney, partly
covered with boards and the remainder with hurdles
and clay. We also built an extensive framed building
without chimney, and a large store-house with pillars
eight feet high, and made from time to time yet other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
constructions for the men and goods—though, <i>Dieu
défend</i>! we had spare room for both, soon enough. In
the square in the midst of the buildings we digged a
well; and although the water was sweet enough, yet
from the first, for lack of proper curbing and protection,
it was ever much roiled and impure when we drew
it, a detriment alike to health and cookery.</p>
<p>M. de Vaudreuil seeing us at last well roofed, and
having directed for a little the getting of a store of
firewood, made his adieux. Even then, in those fine
August days, a spirit of discontent was among us, and
more than one spark of a soldier, who at the first camp
had been hot upon staying on the Niagara, sought now
to be taken in M. de Vaudreuil's escort. But that
gentleman replied, that he wished to make a good report
of us all to the Governor, and that, for his part,
he hoped he might come to us early in the spring,
with the promised detachment of troops. And so we
parted.</p>
<p>Now the spring before, when we had all followed
the Marquis de Denonville across Lake Ontario to
harass the cantons of the Iroquois, this establishment
of a post on the Niagara was assuredly a part of that
gentleman's plan. It is not for me, who am but a
mere lieutenant of marines, to show how a great commander
should conduct his expeditions; yet I do declare
that while there was no lack of provision made
for killing such of the savages as would permit it, there
was next to none for maintaining troops who were to
be left penned up in the savages' country. We who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
were left at Fort Denonville had but few mattocks or
even axes. Of ammunition there was none too much.
In the Senecas' country we had destroyed thousands of
minots<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> of corn, but had brought along scarce a week's
rations of it to this corner. We had none of us gone
a-soldiering with our pockets full of seed, and even if
we had brought ample store of corn and pumpkin seed,
of lentils and salad plants, the season was too late to
have done much in gardening. We made some feeble
attempts at it; but no rain fell, the earth baked under
the sun so hard that great cracks came in it; and what
few shoots of corn and pumpkin thrust upward through
this parched soil, withered away before any strengthening
juices came in them. To hunt far from the fort
we durst not, save in considerable parties; so that if
we made ourselves safe from the savages, we also made
every other living thing safe against us. To fish was
well nigh our only recourse; but although many of our
men labored diligently at it, they met with but indifferent
return.</p>
<p>Thus it was that our most ardent hopes, our very life
itself, hung upon the coming of the promised supplies.
There was joy at the fort when at length the sail of the
little bark was seen; even De Troyes, who had grown
exceeding grave and melancholy, took on again something
of his wonted spirit. But we were not quite yet
to be succored, for it was the season of the most light
and trifling airs, so that the bark for two days hung
idly on the shining lake, some leagues away from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
mouth of the river, while we idled and fretted like
children, impatient for her coming. When once we
had her within the bar, there was no time lost in unlading.
It was a poor soldier indeed who could not
work to secure the comfort of his own belly; and the
store was so ample that we felt secure for the winter,
come what might. The bark that fetched these things
had been so delayed by the calms, that she weighed
and sailed with the first favoring breeze; and it was
not until her sail had fall'n below the horizon that
we fairly had sight or smell of what she had brought.</p>
<p>From the first the stores proved bad; still, we made
shift to use the best, eked out with what the near-by
forest and river afforded. For many weeks we saw no
foes. There was little work to do, and the men idled
through the days, with no word on their lips but to complain
of the food and wish for spring. When the frosts
began to fall we had a more vigorous spell of it; but
now for the first time appeared the Iroquois wasps.
One of our parties, which had gone toward the great
fall of the Niagara, lost two men; those who returned
reported that their comrades were taken all unawares
by the savages. Another party, seeking game to the
eastward where a stream cuts through the high bank on
its way to the lake,<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> never came back at all. Here we
found their bodies and buried them; but their scalps,
after the manner of these people, had been taken.</p>
<p>Christmas drew on, but never was a sorrier season
kept by soldiers of France. De Troyes had fallen ill.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>
Naught ailed him that we could see save low spirits and
a thinning of the blood, which made him too weak to
walk. The Father Jean de Lamberville, who had
stayed with us, and who would have been our hope
and consolation in those days, very early fell desperate
ill of a distemper, so that the men had not the help of
his ministrations and holy example. Others there were
who either from feebleness or lack of discipline openly
refused their daily duty and went unpunished. We
had fair store of brandy; and on Christmas eve those
of us who still held some soul for sport essayed to
lighten the hour. We brewed a comfortable draught,
built the blaze high, for the frosts were getting exceeding
sharp, gathered as many as could be had of officers
and worthy men into our cabin, and made brave to
sing the songs of France. And now here was a strange
thing: that while the hardiest and soundest amongst
us had made good show of cheer, had eaten the vile
food and tried to speak lightly of our ills, no sooner
did we hear our own voices in the songs that carried us
back to the pleasantries of our native land, than we
fell a-sobbing and weeping like children; which weakness
I attribute to the distemper that was already in
our blood.</p>
<p>For the days that followed I have no heart to set
down much. We never went without the palisades
except well guarded to fetch firewood. This duty
indeed made the burden of every day. A prodigious
store of wood was needed, for the cold surpassed anything
I had ever known. The snow fell heavily, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
there were storms when for days the gale drave straight
across our bleak plateau. There was no blood in us
to withstand the icy blasts. Do what we would the chill
of the tomb was in the cabins where the men lay.
The wood-choppers one day, facing such a storm, fell
in the deep drifts just outside the gate. None durst go
out to them. The second day the wolves found them—and
we saw it all!</p>
<p>There was not a charge of powder left in the fort.
There was not a mouthful of fit food. The biscuits
had from the first been full of worms and weevils.
The salted meat, either from the admixture of sea-water
through leaky casks, or from other cause, was rotten
beyond the power even of a starving man to hold.</p>
<p><i>Le scorbut</i> broke out. I had seen it on shipboard,
and knew the signs. De Troyes now seldom left his
cabin; and when, in the way of duty, I made my devoirs,
and he asked after the men, I made shift to hide
the truth. But it could not be for long.</p>
<p>"My poor fellows," he sighed one day, as he turned
feebly on his couch of planks, "it must be with all as
it is with me—see, look here, De Tregay, do you
know the sign?" and he bared his shrunken arm and
side.</p>
<p>Indeed I knew the signs—the dry, pallid skin, with
the purple blotches and indurations. He saw I was at
a loss for words.</p>
<p>"<i>Sang de Dieu!</i>" he cried, "Is this what soldiers
of France must come to, for the glory of"——. He
stopped short, as if lacking spirit to go on. "Now I be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>think
me," he added, in a melancholy voice, "it <i>is</i> what
soldiers must come to." Then, after a while he asked:</p>
<p>"How many dead today, De Tregay?"</p>
<p>How many dead! From a garrison of gallant men-at-arms
we had become a charnel-house. In six weeks
we had lost sixty men. From a hundred at the beginning
of autumn, we were now scarce forty, and February
was not gone. A few of us, perhaps with stouter
stomachs than the rest, did all the duty of the post.
We brought the firewood and we buried the dead—picking
the frozen clods with infinite toil, that we
might lay the bones of our comrades beyond the reach
of wolves. Sometimes it was the scurvy, sometimes it
was the cold, sometimes, methinks, it was naught but a
weak will—or as we say, the broken heart; but it
mattered not, the end was the same. More than twenty
died in March; and although we were now but a handful
of skeletons and accustomed to death, I had no
thought of sorrow or of grief, so dulled had my spirit
become, until one morning I found the brave De Troyes
drawing with frightful pains his dying breath. With the
name of a maid he loved upon his lips, the light went
out; and with heavy heart I buried him in that crowded
ground, and fain would have lain down with him.</p>
<p>And now with our commander under the snow, what
little spirit still burned in the best of us seemed to die
down. I too bore the signs of the distemper, yet to
no great extent, for of all the garrison I had labored
by exercise to keep myself wholesome, and in the
woods I had tasted of barks and buds and roots of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
little herbs, hoping to find something akin in its juices
to the <i>herbe de scorbut</i><a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> which I have known to cure
sick sailors. But now I gave over these last efforts for
life; for, thought I, spring is tardy in these latitudes.
Many weeks must yet pass before the noble Marquis at
Montreal (where comforts are) will care to send the
promised troop. And the Western savages, our allies
the Illinois, the Ottawais, the Miamis, were they not
coming to succor us here and to raid the Iroquois cantons?
But of what account is the savage's word!</p>
<p>So I thought, and I turned myself on my pallet. I
listened. There was no sound in all the place save the
beating of a sleet. "It is appointed," I said within
me. "Let the end come." And presently, being
numb with the cold, I thought I was on a sunny hillside
in Anjou. It was the time of the grape-harvest,
and the smell of the vines, laughter and sunshine filled
the air. Young lads and maids, playmates of my boyhood
days, came and took me by the hand....</p>
<p>A twinge of pain made the vision pass. I opened
my eyes upon a huge savage, painted and bedaubed,
after their fashion. It was the grip of his vast fist that
had brought me back from Anjou.</p>
<p>"The Iroquois, then," I thought, "have learned of
our extremity, and have broken in, to finish all. So
much the better," and I was for sinking back upon the
boards, when the savage took from a little pouch a
handful of the parched corn which they carry on their
expeditions. "Eat," he said, in the language of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>
Miamis. And then I knew that relief had come—and
I knew no more for a space.</p>
<p>Now this was Michitonka himself, who had led his
war party from beyond Lake Erie, where the Chevalier
de Tonty and Du Luth were, to see how we fared at
Fort Denonville, and to make an expedition against
the Senecas—of whom we saw no more, from the
time the Miamis arrived. There were of all our garrison
but twelve not dead, and among those who threw
off the distemper was the Father de Lamberville. His
recovery gave us the greatest joy. He lay for many
weeks at the very verge of the grave, and it was marvelous
to all to see his skin, which had been so empurpled
and full of malignant humors, come wholesome
and fair again. I have often remarked, in this hard
country, that of all Europeans the Fathers of the Holy
Orders may be brought nearest to death, and yet regain
their wonted health. They have the same prejudice
for life that the wildest savage has. But as for the rest
of us, who are neither savage nor holy, it is by a slim
chance that we live at all.</p>
<p>Now the Father, and two or three of the others who
had the strength to risk it, set out with a part of Michitonka's
people to Cataracouy<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> and Montreal, to carry
the news of our extremity. And on a soft April day as
we looked over lake, we saw a sail; and we knew that
we had kept the fort until the relief company was sent as
had been commanded. But it had been a great pinch.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p>
<p>Now I am come to that which after all I chiefly set
out to write down; for I have ever held that great
woes should be passed over with few words, but it is
meet to dwell upon the hour of gladness. And this
hour was now arrived, when we saw approach the new
commandant, the Sieur Désbergeres, captain of one of
the companies of the Detachment of the Marine, and
with him the Father Milet, of the Society of Jesus.
There was a goodly company, whose names are well
writ on the history of this New France: the Sieurs De
la Mothe, La Rabelle, Demuratre de Clerin and de
Gemerais, and others, besides a host of fine fellows of
the common rank; with fresh food that meant life to us.</p>
<p>Of all who came that April day, it was the Father
Milet who did the most. The very morning that he
landed, we knelt about him at mass; and scarce had
he rested in his cabin than he marked a spot in the
midst of the square, where a cross should stand, and
bade as many as could, get about the hewing of it;
and although I was yet feeble and might rest as I liked,
I chose to share in the work, for so I found my
pleasure. A fair straight oak was felled and well hewn,
and with infinite toil the timber was taken within the
palisades and further dressed; and while the carpenters
toiled to mortise the cross-piece and fasten it with pins,
Father Milet himself traced upon the arms the symbols
for the legend:</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 295px;">
<img src="images/symbol.png" width="295" height="25" alt="Regnat, Vincit, Imperat Christus." title="Regnat, Vincit, Imperat Christus." />
</div>
<p>And these letters were well cut into the wood, in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>
midst of them being the sign of the Sacred Heart.
We had it well made, and a place dug for it, on a
Thursday; and on the next morning, which was Good
Friday, the reverend Father placed his little portable
altar in the midst of the square, where we all, officers
and men, and even some of the Miamis who were yet
with us, assembled for the mass. Then we raised the
great cross and planted it firmly in the midst of the
little square. The service of the blessing of it lay
hold of my mind mightily, for my fancy was that this
great sign of victory had sprung from the midst of the
graves where De Troyes and four score of my comrades
lay; and being in this tender mood (for I was still
weak in body) the words which the Father read from his
breviary seemed to rest the more clearly in my mind.</p>
<p>"<i>Adjutorium nostrum in nomine Domini.</i>" Father
Milet had a good voice, with a sort of tenderness in
it, so that we were every one disposed to such silence
and attention, that I could even hear the little waves
lapping the shore below the fort. And when he began
with the "<i>Oramus</i>"—"<i>Rogamus te Domine sancte
Pater omnipotens</i>,"—I was that moved, by the joy of
it, and my own memories, that I wept—and I a
soldier!</p>
<p>It may be believed that the Sunday which followed,
which was the Paschal, was kept by us with such worship
and rejoicing as had never yet been known in
those remote parts. Holy men had been on that
river before, it is true; but none had abode there for
long, nor had any set up so great a cross, nor had there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>
ever such new life come to men as we knew at Fort
Denonville that Easter.</p>
<p>For a space, all things went well. What with the
season (for spring ever inspires men to new undertakings)
and the bitter lessons learned in the great pinch
of the past winter, we were no more an idle set, but
kept all at work, and well. Yet the Iroquois pestered
us vastly, being set on thereto by the English, who
claimed this spot. And in September there came that
pilot Maheut, bringing his bark La General over the
shoal at the river's mouth all unexpected; and she was
scarce anchored in the little roadstead than Désbergeres
knew he was to abandon all. It was cause of chagrin
to the great Marquis, I make no doubt, thus to drop
the prize he had so tried to hold; but some of us in
the fort had no stomach for another winter on the
Niagara, and we made haste to execute the orders
which the Marquis de Denonville had sent. We put
the guns on board La General. We set the gate open,
and tore down the rows of pales on the south and east
sides of the square. Indeed the wind had long ago
begun this work, so that towards the lake the pales
(being but little set in the earth) had fallen or leaned
over, so they could readily have been scaled, or broken
through. But as the order was, we left the cabins and
quarters standing, with doors ajar, to welcome who
might come, Iroquois or wolf, for there was naught
within. But Father Milet took down from above the
door of his cabin the little sun dial. "The shadow of
the great cross falls divers ways," was his saying.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
<p>Early the next morning, being the 15th of September,
of the year 1688, being ready for the embarkation,
Father Milet summoned us to the last mass he
might say in the place. It was a sad morning, for the
clouds hung heavy; the lake was of a somber and forbidding
cast, and the very touch in the air forebode
autumnal gales. As we knelt around the cross for the
last time, the ensign brought the standards which Désbergeres
had kept, and holding the staves, knelt also.
Certain Miamis, too, who were about to make the
Niagara portage, stayed to see what the priest might
do. And at the end of the office Father Milet did an
uncommon thing, for he was mightily moved. He
turned from us toward the cross, and throwing wide his
arms spoke the last word—"Amen."</p>
<p>There were both gladness and sorrow in our hearts as
we embarked. Lake and sky took on the hue of lead,
foreboding storm. We durst carry but little sail, and at
the sunset hour were scarce a league off shore. As it
chanced, Father Milet and I stood together on the
deck and gazed through the gloom toward that dark
coast. While we thus stood, there came a rift betwixt
the banked clouds to the west, so that the sun, just as
it slipped from sight, lighted those Niagara shores,
and we saw but for an instant, above the blackness and
the desolation, the great cross as in fire or blood
gleam red.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h1>With Bolton at Fort Niagara.</h1>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p>
<h2>WITH BOLTON AT FORT NIAGARA.</h2>
<p>One pleasant September day in 1897 it was
my good fortune, under expert guidance, to follow
for a little the one solitary trail made by the
American patriots in Western New York during the Revolutionary
War, the one expedition of our colonial forces
approaching this region during that period. This was
the famous "raid" led by Gen. John Sullivan in the
summer of 1779. Our quest took us up the long hill
slope west of Conesus Lake, in what is now the town
of Groveland, Livingston Co., to a spot—among the
most memorable in the annals of Western New York,
yet unmarked and known to but a few—where a detachment
of Sullivan's army, under Lieut. Boyd, were
waylaid and massacred by the Indians. It was on the
13th of September that this tragedy occurred. Two
days later Gen. Sullivan, having accomplished the
main purpose of his raid—the destruction of Indian
villages and crops—turned back towards Pennsylvania,
returning to Easton, whence the expedition had started.
He had come within about eighty miles of the Niagara.
"Though I had it not in command," wrote Gen.
Sullivan in his report to the Secretary of War, "I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
should have ventured to have paid [Fort] Niagara a
visit, had I been supplied with fifteen days' provisions
in addition to what I had, which I am persuaded from
the bravery and ardor of our troops would have fallen
into our hands."<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> This was the nearest approach to
any attempt made by the Americans to enter this region
during that war.</p>
<p>The events of Sullivan's expedition are well known.
Few episodes of the Revolution are more fully recorded.
But what is the reverse of the picture? What
lay at the other side of this Western New York wilderness
which Sullivan failed to penetrate? What was
going on, up and down the Niagara, and on Buffalo
Creek, during those momentous years? We know that
the region was British, that old Fort Niagara was its
garrison, the principal rendezvous of the Indians and
the base from which scalping parties set out to harry
the frontier settlements. The most dreadful frontier
tragedies of the war—Wyoming, Cherry Valley, and
others—were planned here and carried out with
British coöperation. But who were the men and what
were the incidents of the time, upon our Niagara
frontier? So far as I am aware, that period is for the
most part a blank in our histories. One may search
the books in vain for any adequate narrative—indeed
for any but the most meager data—of the history of
the Niagara region during the Revolution. The
materials are not lacking, they are in fact abundant.
In this paper I undertake only to give an inkling of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>
the character of events in this region during that grave
period in our nation's history.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></p>
<p>In 1778, Colonel Haldimand, afterward Sir Frederick,
succeeded Gen. Guy Carleton in the command of the
British forces in Canada. He was Commander in
Chief, and Governor of Canada, until his recall in 1784.
Lord North was England's Prime Minister, Lord
George Germaine in charge of American affairs in the
Cabinet. Haldimand took up his residence at Quebec,
and therefrom, for a decade, administered the affairs of
the Canadian frontier with zeal and adroitness. He
was a thorough soldier, as his letters show. He was
also an adept in the treatment of matters which, like
the retention by the British of the frontier posts for
thirteen years after they had been ceded to the Americans
by treaty, called for dogged determination, veiled
behind diplomatic courtesies. The troops which he
commanded were scattered from the mouth of the St.
Lawrence to Lake Michigan; but to no part of this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>
long line of wilderness defense—a line which was substantially
the enemy's frontier—did he pay more
constant attention than to Fort Niagara. There were
good reasons for this. Fort Niagara was not only
the key to the upper lakes, the base of supplies for
Detroit, Michillimackinac and minor posts, but it
had long been an important trading post and the
principal rendezvous of the Six Nations, upon whose
peculiarly efficient services against the American
frontiers Sir Frederick relied scarcely less than he did
upon the British troops themselves. It was, therefore,
with no ordinary solicitude that he made his appointments
for Niagara.</p>
<p>I cannot state positively the names of all officers in
command at Fort Niagara from the time war was begun,
down to 1777. Lieut. Lernault, afterwards at Detroit,
was here for a time; but about the spring of '77
we find Fort Niagara put under the command of Lieut.
Col. Mason Bolton, of the 34th Royal Artillery. He
had then seen some years of service in America; had
campaigned in Florida and the West Indies; had been
sent to Mackinac and as far west as the Illinois; and it
was no slight tribute to his ability and fidelity, when Haldimand
put the Niagara frontier into his hands. Here,
for over three years, he was the chief in command.
In military rank, even if in nothing else, he was the
principal man in this region during the crucial period
of the Revolution. He commanded the garrison at
Fort Niagara, and its dependencies at Schlosser and
Fort Erie. Buffalo was then unthought of—it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>
merely Te-hos-e-ro-ron, the place of the basswoods;
but at the Indian villages farther up Buffalo Creek,
which came into existence in 1780, the name of Col.
Bolton stood for the highest military authority of the
region. And yet, incredible as it may seem, after all
these years in which—to adapt Carlyle's phrase—the
Torch of History has been so assiduously brandished
about, I do not know of any printed book which offers
any information about Col. Mason Bolton or the life he
led here. Indeed, with one or two exceptions, in
which he is barely alluded to, I think all printed
literature may be searched in vain for so much as a
mention of his name.</p>
<p>Other chief men of this frontier, at the period we
are considering, were Col. Guy Johnson, Superintendent
of Indian Affairs; Sir John Johnson, son of the
Sir William who captured Fort Niagara from the
French in 1759; Col. John Butler, of the Queen's
Rangers; his son Walter; Sayenqueraghta, the King
of the Senecas; Rowland Montour, his half-breed son-in-law;
and Brant, the Mohawk hero, who, equipped
with a New England schooling and enlightened by a
trip to England, here returned to lead out scalping
parties in the British interests.</p>
<p>Col. Bolton had been for some time without authentic
news of the enemy, when on the morning of
December 14, 1777, the little garrison was thrown
into unwonted activity by the arrival of Capt. La
Mothe, who reported that Gen. Howe had taken Philadelphia,
and that the rebels had "sustained an incred<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>ible
loss." By a forced march of Howe, La Mothe
averred, Gen. Washington had been defeated, "with
11,000 rebels killed, wounded and prisoners." Two
days later the excitement was increased by the arrival
at the fort of some Delaware Indians, who brought the
great news that Washington was killed and his army
totally routed. "I had a meeting of the chiefs of the
Six Nations," wrote Bolton to Gen. Carleton, "about
an hour after the express arrived and told them the
news. They seemed extremely pleased and have been
in good temper ever since their arrival." Oddly
enough, this news was confirmed by a soldier of the
7th Regiment, who had been taken prisoner by the
Americans, but had escaped and made his way to Niagara.
He further embellished the report by declaring
that 9,000 men under Lord Percy defeated 13,000
rebels at Bear's Hill on December 20th, under Washington,
that Gates was sent for to take the command when
Washington was killed, and that 7,000 volunteers from
Ireland had joined Howe's army. Washington at this
time, the reader will remember, had gone into winter
quarters with his army at Valley Forge.</p>
<p>There were 2,300 Indians at Fort Niagara at this
period, all making perpetual demands for beef, flour
and rum. The license of the jubilee over Washington's
death probably was limited only by the scantiness
of provisions and the impossibility of adding to the
store. Cold weather shut down on the establishment,
the vessels were laid up, and all winter long Col.
Bolton and his men had no word contradicting the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
report of Washington's death. As late as April 8th,
the following spring, he wrote to Gen. Carleton that
"all accounts confirm Washington being killed and his
army defeated in December last, and that Gates was
sent for to take the command."</p>
<p>The British early were apprised of Sullivan's intended
raid, and although powerless to prevent it, kept well
posted as to its progress. The various parties which
Sullivan encountered, were directed from Fort Niagara.
"Since the rebels visit the Indian country," wrote
Gen. Haldimand to Sir John Johnson, September 14,
1779, "I am happy they are advancing so far. They
can never reach Niagara and their difficulties and
danger of retreat will, in proportion as they advance,
increase." Again he wrote twelve days later: "You
will be able to make your way to Niagara, and if the
rebels should be encouraged to advance as far as that
place, I am convinced that few of them will escape
from famine or the sword. All in my power to do for
you is to push up provisions, which shall be done with
the utmost vigor, while the river and lake remain navigable,
although it may throw me into great distress in
this part of the province, should anything happen to
prevent the arrival of the fall victuallers." There was
however genuine alarm at Fort Niagara, and even Sir
Frederick himself, though he wrote so confidently to
Bolton, in his letters to the Ministry expressed grave
apprehensions of what might happen.</p>
<p>What did happen was bad enough for British interests,
for though the Americans turned back, the raid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>
had driven in upon Bolton a horde of frightened,
hungry and irresponsible Indians, who had to be fed at
the King's expense and were a source of unmeasured
concern to the overworked commandant, notwithstanding
the independent organization of the Indian Department
which was effected.</p>
<p>To arrive at a just idea of conditions hereabouts
at this period, we must keep in mind the relation of
the fluctuating population, Indians and whites, to the
uncertain and often inadequate food supply.</p>
<p>Fort Niagara at this time—the fall of '78—was a
fortification 1,100 yards in circumference, with five
bastions and two blockhouses. Capt. John Johnson
thought 1,000 men were needed to defend it; "the
present strength," he wrote, "amounting to no more
than 200 rank and file, including fifteen men of the
Royal Artillery and the sick, a number barely sufficient
to defend the outworks (if they were in a state of
defense) and return the necessary sentries, should the
place be infested by a considerable force....
With a garrison of 500 or a less number, it is impregnable
against all the savages in America, but if a
strong body of troops with artillery should move this
way, I believe no engineer who has ever seen these
works will say it can hold out any considerable time."</p>
<p>On May 1st, 1778, there had been in the garrison at
Fort Niagara 311 men. Half a dozen more were stationed
at Fort Schlosser, and thirty-two at Fort Erie, a
total of 349, of whom 255 were reported as fit for duty.
At this time Maj. Butler's Rangers, numbering 106,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>
had gone on "an expedition with the Indians towards
the settlements of Pennsylvania or New York, whichever
he finds most practicable and advantageous to the
King's service." These raids from Fort Niagara were
far more frequent than one would infer from the histories—even
from the American histories whose authors
are not to be suspected of purposely minimizing either
their number or effect. But it appears from the records
that not infrequently the expeditions accomplished
nothing of more consequence than to steal stock.
Horses, cattle and sheep were in more than one instance
driven away from settlements far down on the
Mohawk or Susquehanna, and brought back alive or
dead along the old trails, to Fort Niagara.</p>
<p>To illustrate the methods of the time: In a report to
Brig. Gen. Powell, Maj. Butler wrote: "In the spring
of 1778 I found it absolutely requisite for the good of
His Majesty's service, with the consent and approbation
of Lt. Col. Bolton, and on the application of the
chiefs and warriors of the five united nations ...,
to proceed to the frontiers of the colonies in rebellion,
with as many officers and men of my corps as were
then raised, in order to protect the Indian settlements
and to annoy the enemy." At this time many of his
men were new recruits from the colonies, sons or
heads of Loyalist—or as we used to say, on this side
the border, of Tory—families. As they approached
American frontier settlements, the loyalty to King
George of some of his men became suspicious, so that
Butler issued a proclamation that all deserters, if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>
apprehended, were to be shot. In the letter just quoted
from he reports that this order had a good effect.
Many curious circumstances arose at the time, due to
the British or American allegiance of men who before
the war had been friendly neighbors, but who now
met as hostiles, as captor and captive, sometimes as
victor and victim. There was a constant flight, by
one route and another, of Loyalist refugees to Fort
Niagara. Thus, by a return of Feb. 12, 1779, 1,346
people were drawing rations from the stores of that
place, of whom sixty-four were "distressed families,"
that is, Tories who had fled from the colonies (mostly
from the Mohawk Valley); and 445 Indians. The war
parties left early in the spring, and during the summer
the supply boats could get up from the lower stations.
Then came that march of destruction up the Genesee
Valley; winter shut down on lake and river communication,
and the most distressed period the frontier had
known under British rule set in. In October, immediately
after the invasion, Col. Bolton wrote (I quote
briefly from a very full report): "Joseph Brant ...
assures me that if 500 men had joined the Rangers in
time, there is no doubt that instead of 300, at least
1,000 warriors would have turned out, and with that
force he is convinced that Mr. Sullivan would have had
some reason to repent of his expedition; but the
Indians not being supported as they expected, thought
of nothing more than carrying off their families, and
we had at this Post the 21st of last month 5,036 to
supply with provisions, and notwithstanding a number<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>
of parties have been sent out since, we have still on
the ground 3,678 to maintain. I am convinced your
Excellency will not be surprised, if I am extremely
alarmed, for to support such a multitude I think will be
absolutely impossible. I have requested of Major Butler
to try his utmost to prevail on the Indians whose
villages have been destroyed to go down to Montreal
for the winter, where, I have assured him, they would
be well taken care of; and to inform all the rest who
have not suffered by the enemy that they must return
home and take care of their corn."</p>
<p>Neither plan worked as hoped for. It was difficult
to get the Indians to consent to go down the river, or
even to Carleton Island; and as Sullivan had destroyed
every village save two, few of the Senecas could be induced
to return into the Genesee country. Bolton's
urgent appeals for extra provisions were also doomed to
disappointment, owing to the lateness of the season or
the lack of transports.</p>
<p>The winter after Sullivan's raid, Guy Johnson distributed
clothing to more than 3,000 Indians at Fort Niagara.
But the cost of clothing them was trifling compared
with the cost of feeding them. Expeditions against the
distant American settlements were planned, not more
through the desire for retaliation, than from the necessity
of reducing the number of dependents on Fort
Niagara. When the inroads on provisions grew serious,
the Indians were encouraged to go on the war-path.
But so exceedingly severe was the winter, so deep was
the snow on the trails, that not until the middle of Feb<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>ruary
could any parties be induced to set out. The
number camped around the fort, consuming the King's
pork, beef, flour and rum, rose as we have seen, to
more than 5,000. Many starved and many froze.</p>
<p>Much could be said regarding the British policy of
dealing with the Indians at Fort Niagara, but I may
only touch upon the subject at this time. Haldimand,
and behind him the British Ministry, placed great
reliance upon them. The uniform instruction was
that the Indians should be maintained as allies. On
April 10, 1778, Lord George Germaine wrote to Gen.
Haldimand that the designs of the rebels against Niagara
and Detroit were not likely to be successful as
long as the Six Nations continued faithful. Presents,
honors, and the full license of the tomahawk and scalping-knife
were allowed them. With a view to promoting
their fidelity, Joseph Brant was made a colonel.
Significant, too, was the settling of a generous allowance
for life upon Brant's sister, Sir William Johnson's consort;
which act was approved, about this time, by the
august council at Whitehall.</p>
<p>The British watched the state of the Indian mind as
the sailor watches his barometer at the coming of a
storm. And the Indian mind, though always cunning,
was sometimes childlike in the directness and simplicity
of its conclusions. The constant flight to Fort Niagara
of refugee Tories was remarked by the savages,
and in turn noted and reported to Gen. Haldimand.
"The frequent passing of white people to Niagara,"
wrote Capt. John Johnson to Gen. Carleton, October<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>
6, 1778, "is much taken note of by the Indians, who
say they are running away and that they (the Tories)
have begun the quarrel and leave them (the Indians) to
defend it." However, Johnson counted on being able
to change their minds, for he added: "I hope in my
next to inform you of giving the rebels an eternal
thrashing."</p>
<p>The usual British good sense—the national tradesman's
instinct—seems to have been temporarily suspended,
held in abeyance, at the demands of these
Indians. In his report of May 12, '78, Col. Bolton
writes that he has approved bills for nearly £18,000
"for sundries furnished savages which Maj. Butler
thought absolutely necessary, notwithstanding all the
presents sent to their posts last year; 2,700 being
assembled at a time when I little expected such a
number, obliged me to send to Detroit for a supply of
provisions, and to buy up all the cattle, etc., that
could possibly be procured, otherwise this garrison
must have been distressed or the savages offended, and
of course, I suppose, would have joined the rebels.
Even after all that was done for them they scarce
seemed satisfied." In June he writes that only eight
out of twenty puncheons of rum ordered for Fort Niagara
had been received, and that "much wine has been
given to the savages that was intended for this post."</p>
<p>One reads in this old correspondence, with mingled
amusement and amazement, of the marvelous attentions
paid these wily savages. Childlike, whatever they
saw in the cargoes of the merchants, they wanted, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
England humored and pampered them, lest they transfer
their affections. We have Guy Johnson's word for
it, under date of Niagara, July 3, 1780, that "many
of the Indians will no longer wear tinsel lace, and are
become good judges of gold and silver. They frequently
demand and have received wine, tea, coffee,
candles and many such articles, and they are frequently
nice in the choice of the finest black and other cloth
for blankets, and the best linnen and cambrick with
other things needless to enumerate.... The Six
Nations are not so fond of gaudy colors as of good and
substantial things, but they are passionately fond of
silver ornaments and neat arrows." Elsewhere in
these letters a requisition for port wine is explained on
the ground that it was demanded by the chiefs when
they were sick—dainty treatment, truly, for stalwart
savages whose more accustomed diet was cornmeal and
water, and who could feast, when fortune favored, on
the reeking entrails of a dead horse.</p>
<p>Now and then, it is true, advantages were taken of
the Indians in ways which, presumably, it was thought
they would not detect; all, we must grant, in the interest
of economy. One was in the matter of powder.
The Indians were furnished with a grade inferior to
the garrison powder. This was shown by a series of
tests made at Fort Niagara by order of Brig. Gen.
Powell—Col. Bolton's successor—on July 10, 1782.
We may suppose it to have been an agreeable summer
day, that there was leisure at the fort to indulge in
experiments, and that there were no astute Indians on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
hand to be unduly edified by the result. At Gen.
Powell's order an eight-inch mortar was elevated to
forty-five degrees, and six rounds fired, to find out how
far one half a pound of powder would throw a forty-six
pound shell. The first trial, with the garrison powder,
sent the shell 239 yards. For rounds two and three Indian
Department powder was used; the fine-glazed kind
sent the shell eighty-two yards, the coarser grain carried
it but seventy-nine yards. Once more the garrison
powder was used; the shell flew 243 yards, while
a second trial of the two sorts of Indian Department
powder sent it but eighty-four and seventy-six yards,
or about three to one in favor of the white man. With
the garrison powder, a musket and carbine ball went
through a two and one-quarter-inch oak plank, at the
distance of fifty yards, and lodged in one six inches
behind it; but with the Indian powder these balls
would not go through the first plank.</p>
<p>This seems like taking a base advantage of the trustful
Indian ally, especially since he was to use his powder
against the common foe, the American rebel; in
reality, however, the Indians were wasteful and irresponsible,
and squandered their ammunition on the little
birds of the forest and even in harmless but expensive
salvos into the empty air.</p>
<p>Another economy was practiced in the Indian Department:
when the stock ran low the rum was watered.
Sometimes the precious contents of the casks
were augmented one third, sometimes even two thirds,
with the more abundant beverage from Niagara River, so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
that the garrison rum, like the garrison powder, "carried"
two or three times as well as did that of the
Indian Department; but whether this had a salutary
effect upon the thirsty recipients is a problem the solution
of which lies outside the range of the exact historian.</p>
<p>Difficult as it was to hold the allegiance of the savage,
it was harder yet—nay, it was impossible—to
make him fight according to the rules of civilized warfare.
The British Government from the Ministry down
stand in history in an equivocal position in this matter.
Over and over again in the correspondence which I
have examined, one finds vigorous condemnation of
the Indian method of slaughter of women and children,
and the torture of captives. Over and over again
the officers are urged not to allow it; and over and
over again they report, after a raid, that they deplore
the acts of wantonness which were committed, and
which they were unable to prevent. But nowhere do I
find any suggestion that the services of the Indians be
dispensed with. Throughout the Revolution, the Senecas,
Cayugas, Onondagas and Delawares—for the
last, also, were often at Fort Niagara—were sent
against the Americans, by the British. The Oneidas,
as is well known, were divided and vacillating in their
allegiance. In August, 1780, 132 of them who hitherto
had been ostensibly friendly to the Americans,
were induced to go to Niagara and give their pledges
to the British. When they arrived Guy Johnson put
on a severe front and censured them for their lack of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>
steadfastness to the King. According to him, some
500 Oneidas in all came to the fort that year and
declared themselves ready to fight the Americans.
The last party that arrived delivered up to the Superintendent
a commission which, he says, "the Rebels
had issued with a view to form the Oneidas into a
corps, ... they also delivered up to me the
Rebel flag."</p>
<p>So far as I am aware this is the first mention of the
Stars and Stripes on the banks of the Niagara. By
resolution of June 14, 1777, the American Congress
had decreed "That the flag of the thirteen United
States be thirteen stripes alternate red and white; that
the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing
a new constellation." A little over three
years had passed since John Paul Jones had first flung
to the breeze, at the mast of his ship Ranger, this
bright banner of the new nation. It was not to appear
in a British port for two and a half years to come;
sixteen years were to pass before it could fly triumphant
over the old walls of Fort Niagara; but France had
saluted it, Americans were fighting for it, and although
it is first found here in hostile hands, yet I like to reckon
from that August day in 1780, the beginning, if in
prophecy only, of the reign of that new constellation
over the Niagara region.</p>
<p>Col. Bolton's life at Fort Niagara was one of infinite
care. Besides the routine of the garrison, he was constantly
harrassed by the demands of the Indians, whom
the British did not wish to feed, but whom they dared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>
not offend. The old fort, which now sleeps so quietly
at the mouth of the river, was a busy place in those
days. There was constant coming and going. Schooners,
snows<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> and batteaux with provisions from Quebec,
or with munitions of war or detachments of troops
for Detroit or Michillimackinac, were constantly arriving.
I question if the lower Niagara were not busier
in that period than it is now. The transfer of supplies
around the falls—the "great portage"—was hard
and tedious work. Not Quebec, but Great Britain, was
the real base of supplies. There were many detentions,
and constant interruption in shipment, at every
stage of the way. Sometimes a cargo of salt pork
from Ireland or flour from London would reach Quebec
too late in the summer to admit of transfer to the
posts until spring. Sometimes, in crossing Lake Ontario,
the provisions would be damaged so as to be unfit
for use; sometimes they would be lost. Then not
only the garrison at Niagara had to face starvation, but
Col. Bolton soon had his ears ringing with messages
and maledictions from Detroit and Mackinac, buried
still farther in the wilderness, and all looking to Niagara
for food and clothing. At such times of distress
the upper posts questioned whether goods intended for
them were not irregularly held at Niagara; the meanwhile,
Col. Bolton would be straining every effort to get
provisions enough to keep his own command from star<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>vation.
Indian supplies and traders' goods, too, were
liable to loss and detention; and on very slight provocation,
the demands of the Indians grew insolent.</p>
<p>There were constant desertions, too, among the
troops. Indeed, there seems never to have been a time
at Fort Niagara when desertions were not frequent, and,
more than once, so numerous as to threaten the very
existence of the garrison. This, however, not in Bolton's
time. As the correspondence shows, he enjoyed
the utmost confidence of his superiors, and there is
nothing to indicate that his men were not as devoted
to him as any officer could expect at a frontier post
where service meant hard work and possible starvation.</p>
<p>Frequent as had been the raids against the settlements
before the expedition of Sullivan, they became
thereafter even more frequent; and, if less disastrous,
they were so merely because the American frontier
settlements had already paid their utmost tribute to Butler
and Brant. The expeditions, along certain much-worn
trails, had to go farther and farther in order to
find foes to attack or cattle to steal. This was especially
so in the valleys of the Mohawk and Susquehanna;
yet in one quarter and another this border warfare
went on, and there is no lack of evidence, in the
official correspondence, of its effectiveness. Thus,
writing from Fort Niagara, August 24, 1780, Guy
Johnson reports: "I have the pleasure to inform your
excellency that the partys who subdivided after Capt.
Brant's success at the Cleysburg"—an expedition
which he had previously reported—"have all been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
successful; that Capt. Brant has destroyed twenty
houses in Schoharie and taken and killed twelve persons,
besides releasing several women and children. Among
the prisoners is Lieut. Vrooman, the settlement of that
name being that which was destroyed. The other
divisions of that party have been also successful, particularly
Capt. David's party, and the number of killed
and taken by them within that time, so far as it has
come to my hands, is, killed, thirty-five, taken, forty-six,
released, forty.... The remaining inhabitants
on the frontiers are drawing in so as to deprive
the rebels of any useful resources from them. I have
at present on service, several partys that set out within
one and the same week, and I apprehend that falling
on the frontiers in different places at the same time will
have a good effect." September 18th he writes, telling
of the destruction of "Kleysberg," "containing a
church, 100 houses and as many barnes, besides mills
and 500 cattle and horses." In the same letter he
wrote: "I have now 405 warriors out in different
parties and quarters, exclusive of some marched from
Kadaragawas.... The greater part of the rest
are at their planting grounds, and many sick here, as
fevers and fluxes have for some time prevailed at this
Post." October 1st he reports the number of men in
the war parties sent out from Fort Niagara as 892. A
return, dated June 30, 1781, shows that the war parties
"have killed and taken during the season already 150
persons." September 30th he reports an expedition
under Walter Johnson and Montour, in which about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>
"twenty rebels" were killed; and on that day Capt.
Nelles arrived with eleven prisoners taken in Pennsylvania.
A postscript to this letter says: "Since writing,
I have received the disagreeable news of the death
of the gallant Montour, who died of the wounds he
received in the action before related. He was a chief
of the greatest spirit and readiness, and his death is a
loss." We can well believe that; for Montour, who,
from the American view-point, had the reputation of
being a fiend incarnate, had indeed shown "spirit and
readiness" in stealing cattle, burning log cabins, killing
and scalping their occupants or bringing them
captive to Fort Niagara.</p>
<p>In another paper<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> I have stated that I have traced out
the individual experiences in captivity of thirty-two of
these Americans, who were taken by the Indians and
British and brought as prisoners to Fort Niagara. How
much might be done on this line may be judged from a
review of Col. Johnson's transactions, furnished by that
officer at Montreal, March 24, 1782, in which it is
stated that the number of Americans killed and taken
captive by parties from Fort Niagara, amounted at that
time to near 900. The time was rife with like experiences.
For instance, there was the famous raid on
Cherry Valley, from which Mrs. Jane Campbell and
her four children, after a long detention among the
Indians, were brought to Fort Niagara. There was
Jane Moore, who was also taken at Cherry Valley, and
who subsequently was married to Capt. Powell of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
Niagara garrison in the winter of 1779—the ceremony,
by the Church of England service, so impressing
Joseph Brant that he immediately led up to the
minister the squaw with whom he had been living for a
long time, and insisted on being married over again,
white man's fashion. There was Lieut. Col. Stacia,
another prisoner from Cherry Valley, whose head
Molly Brant wanted for a football. Some of the stories
of these captives, like that of Alexander Harper, who
ran the gauntlet at Fort Niagara (the ordeal apparently
being made light in his case), are familiar to readers
of our history; others, I venture to say, are unknown.
For instance, there were John and Robert Brice, two
little boys, who were taken in 1779 near Rensselaerville
by a scouting party, and brought, with other prisoners
and eight scalps, to Fort Niagara. But they did not
come together. Robert, who was but eleven years old,
was taken to Fort Erie and sold to a lake sailor for the
sum of £3. This little Son of the Revolution was kept
on the upper lakes until 1783, when he was summoned
to Fort Niagara where he met his brother John, from
whom he had parted near the mouth of the Unadilla
River some four years before. They were sent to
Montreal with nearly 200 liberated captives, and ultimately
the boys reached Albany and their friends.
Then there is the story of Nancy Bundy, who, her husband
and children being killed, was brought to Fort
Niagara and sold into servitude for $8. There was the
famous Indian fighter, Moses Van Campen, whose adventures
and captivity in our region are the subject<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>
of a whole book. There were Horatio Jones and
Jasper Parrish, who passed from Indian captives into
the useful role of interpreters for the whites.</p>
<p>Thus I might go on, naming by the score the heroes
and heroines of Indian captivities whose sufferings
and whose adventures make up the most romantic
chapter in our home annals, as yet for the most part
unwritten. But I take time now to dwell, briefly as
possible, upon but one of these captivities—one of
the notable incidents during Col. Bolton's time at Fort
Niagara. This was the capture of the Gilbert family.
It made so great a stir, even in those days accustomed
to war and Indian raids, that in 1784 a little book
was published in Philadelphia giving the history of it.
The original edition<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> has long since been one of the
scarcest of Americana. But in the unpublished correspondence
between Gen. Haldimand and the officers at
Fort Niagara, I find sundry allusions to "the Quaker's
family," and statements which go to show that the
British at least were disposed to treat them well, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>
to effect their exchange as soon as possible. Notwithstanding,
it was a long and cruel captivity, and presents
some features of peculiar significance in our local
history.</p>
<p>About sunrise on the morning of April 25, 1780,
a party of eleven painted Indians suddenly issued from
the woods bordering Mahoning Creek, in Northampton
County, Penn. They had come from Fort Niagara, and
were one of those scalping parties for the success of
which so many encouraging messages had passed from
Whitehall to Quebec, and from Quebec to the frontier,
and to stimulate which Guy Johnson had been so lavish
with the fine linen, silver ornaments and port wine.
The party was commanded by Rowland Montour, John
Montour being second in command. Undiscovered,
they surrounded the log house of the old Quaker
miller, Benjamin Gilbert. With tomahawk raised and
flint-locks cocked they suddenly appeared at door and
windows. The old Quaker offered his hand as a
brother. It was refused. Partly from the Quaker
habit of non-resistance, partly from the obvious certainty
that to attempt to escape meant death, the whole
household submitted to be bound, while their home
was plundered and burned. Loading three of Gilbert's
horses with booty, and placing heavy packs on
the back of each prisoner old enough to bear them, the
expedition took the trail for Fort Niagara, more than
200 miles away. This was "war" in "the good old
days."</p>
<p>There were twelve prisoners in the party, of whom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
but five were men. The patriarch of the household,
Benjamin, was sixty-nine years old; Elizabeth, his wife,
was fifty-five; Joseph, Benjamin's son by a former wife,
aged forty-one; another son, Jesse, aged nineteen,
and his wife Sarah, the same age. There were three
younger children, Rebecca, Abner and Elizabeth,
respectively sixteen, fourteen and twelve; Thomas
Peart, son to Benjamin Gilbert's wife by a former
husband, aged twenty-three; a nephew, Benjamin Gilbert,
aged eleven; a hired man, Andrew Harrigar,
twenty-six; and Abigail Dodson, the fourteen-year-old
daughter of a neighbor; she had had the ill-luck to
come to Gilbert's mill that morning for grist, and was
taken with the rest. Half a mile distant lived Mrs.
Gilbert's oldest son, Benjamin Peart, aged twenty-seven,
his wife Elizabeth, who was but twenty, and
their nine-months-old child. Montour added these to
his party, making fifteen prisoners in all, burned their
house and urged all along the trail, their first stop being
near "Mochunk." (Mauch Chunk.)</p>
<p>I must omit most of the details of their march northward.
On the evening of the first day Benjamin Peart
fainted from fatigue and Rowland Montour was with
difficulty restrained from tomahawking him. At night
the men prisoners were secured in a way which was
usual on these raids, throughout Western New York and
Pennsylvania, during those dismal years. The Indians
cut down a sapling five or six inches in diameter, and
cut notches in it large enough to receive the ankles of
the prisoners. After fixing their legs in these notches,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>
they placed another pole over the first, and thus secured
them as in stocks. This upper pole was then crossed
at each end by stakes driven into the ground. The
prisoners thus lay on the ground, on their backs.
Straps or ropes around their necks were made fast to
near-by trees. Sometimes a blanket was granted them
for covering, sometimes not. What rest might be had,
preparatory to another day's forced march, I leave to
the imagination.</p>
<p>During the early stages of this march the old couple
were constantly threatened with death, because unable
to keep up. On the fourth day four negroes who
claimed that they were loyal to the King, that they
had escaped from the Americans and had set out for
Fort Niagara, were taken up by Montour from a camp
where he had left them on his way down the valley.
These negroes frequently whipped and tortured the
prisoners for sport, Montour making no objection.
On the 4th of May, the Indians separated into two
companies; one taking the westward path, and with
this party went Thomas Peart, Joseph Gilbert, Benjamin
Gilbert—the little boy of eleven—and Sarah,
wife of Jesse. The others kept on the northerly
course. Andrew Harrigar, terrified by the Indian
boast that those who had gone with the other party
"were killed and scalped, and you may expect the same
fate tonight," took a kettle, under pretence of bringing
water, but ran away under cover of darkness. After incredible
hardships he regained the settlements. His
escape so angered Rowland Montour that he threw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>
Jesse Gilbert down, and lifted his tomahawk for the
fatal blow; Elizabeth, Jesse's mother, knelt over him,
pressed her head to her son's brow and begged the
captain to spare his life. Montour kicked her over and
tied them both by their necks to a tree; after a time,
his passion cooling, he loosed them, bade them pack
up and take the trail. This is but a sample incident.
I pass over many.</p>
<p>None suffered more on the march than Elizabeth
Peart, the girl mother. The Indians would not let her
husband relieve her by carrying her child, and she was
ever the victim of the whimsical moods of her captors.
At one time they would let her ride one of the horses;
at another, would compel her to walk, carrying the
child, and would beat her if she lagged behind. By
the 14th of May Elizabeth Gilbert had become so
weak that she could only keep the trail when led and
supported by her children. On this day the main
party was rejoined by a portion of the party that had
branched off to westward; with them were two of the
four captives, Benjamin Gilbert, Jr., and Sarah, wife of
Jesse. On this day old Benjamin was painted black,
the custom of the Indians with prisoners whom they
intended to kill. Later on they were joined by British
soldiers, who took away the four negroes and did
something to alleviate the sufferings of the white
prisoners. The expedition had exhausted its provisions
and all that had been taken from the Gilberts.
A chance hedgehog, and roots dug in the woods, sustained
them for some days. May the 17th they ferried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>
across the Genesee River on a log raft. Provisions
were brought from Fort Niagara, an Indian having been
sent ahead, on the best horse; and on the morning of
the 21st of May they heard, faintly booming beyond
the intervening forest, the morning gun at Fort Niagara.
An incident of that day's march was a meeting
with Montour's wife. She was the daughter of the
great Seneca Sayenqueraghta, the man who led the Indians
at Wyoming,<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> and whose influence was greater
in this region, at the time we are studying, than even
that of Brant himself. He was the Old King of the
Senecas, called Old Smoke by the whites. Smoke's
Creek, the well-known stream which empties into
Lake Erie just beyond the southwest limit of Buffalo,
between South Park and Woodlawn Beach, preserves
his name to our day. It was there that he lived in
his last years; and somewhere on its margin, in a
now unknown grave, he was buried. His daughter
the "Princess," was, next to Molly Brant, the grandest
Indian woman of the time on the Niagara. As she
met the wretched Gilberts, "she was dressed altogether
in the Indian costume, and was shining with gold lace
and silver baubles." To her Rowland Montour presented
the girl Rebecca, as a daughter. The princess
took a silver ring from her finger and put it on Rebecca's,
which act completed the adoption of this little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
Quaker maid of sixteen into one of the most famous—possibly
the most infamous—family of the Niagara
region during the Revolutionary period.</p>
<p>At a village not far from Fort Niagara, apparently
near the present Tuscarora village on the heights east
of Lewiston, Montour painted Jesse, Abner, Rebecca
and Elizabeth Gilbert, Jr., as Indians are painted, and
gave each a belt of wampum; but while these marks of
favor were shown to the young people, the mother, because
of her feebleness, was continually the victim of
the displeasure and the blows of the Indians. On May
23d, being at the Landing—what is now Lewiston—they
were visited by Captains Powell and Dace
from the fort, and the next day, just one month
from the time of their capture, they trudged down
the trail which is now the pleasant river road, towards
the old fort, protected with difficulty from the blows of
the Indians along the way.</p>
<p>Now followed the dispersion of this unhappy family.
After the Indian custom, the young and active prisoners
were sought by the Indians for adoption. Many brave
American boys went out to live, in the most menial
servitude, among the Senecas and other tribes who
during the later years of the Revolution lived on the
Genesee, the Tonawanda, Buffalo, Cazenove, Smoke's,
and Cattaraugus creeks. The old man and his wife
and their son Jesse were surrendered to Col. Johnson.
Benjamin Peart, Mrs. Gilbert's son, was carried off to
the Genesee. The other members of the party were
held in captivity in various places; but I may only stay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
now to note what befel the little Rebecca and her
sister-in-law, Elizabeth Peart.</p>
<p>As already stated, Rebecca had been adopted by
Rowland Montour's wife. In the general allotment of
prisoners, her cousin, Benjamin Gilbert, the lad of
eleven, also fell to this daughter of Sayenqueraghta.
She took the children to a cabin where her father's
family, eleven in number, were assembled. After the
usual grand lamentation for the dead, whose places
were supposed now to be filled by the white prisoners,
this royal household departed by easy stages for their
summer's corn-planting. They tarried at the Landing,
while clothing was had from the fort. The little
Quaker girl was dressed after the Indian fashion,
"with short-clothes, leggins and a gold-laced hat";
while Benjamin, "as a badge of his dignity, wore a
silver medal hanging from his neck." They moved
up to Fort Schlosser (just above the falls, near where
the present power-house stands), thence by canoe to
Fort Erie; then "four miles further, up Buffalo Creek,
where they pitched their tent for a settlement." Here
the women planted corn; but the little Rebecca, not
being strong, was allowed to look after the cooking.
The whole household, queen, princess and slave, had
to work. The men of course were exempt; but the
chief advantage of Sayenqueraghta's high rank was
that he could procure more provisions from the King's
stores at Fort Niagara than could the humbler members
of the tribe. The boy Ben had an easy time of
it. He roamed at will with the Indian boys over the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>
territory that is now Buffalo; fished in the lake,
hunted or idled without constraint, and it is recorded
that he was so pleased with the Indian mode of life,
that but for his sister's constant admonition he would
have dropped all thought of return to civilization, and
cheerfully have become as good an Indian as the best of
them. At eleven years of age savagery takes easy hold.</p>
<p>These children lived with Montour's Indian relatives
for over two years; sharing in the feasts when
there was plenty, going pinched with hunger on the
frequent occasions when improvidence had exhausted
the supply. There were numerous expeditions, afoot
and by canoe, to Fort Niagara. On one occasion
Rebecca, with her Indian family, were entertained by
British officers at Fort Erie, when Old Smoke drank so
much wine that when he came to paddle his canoe
homeward, across the river, he narrowly escaped an
upset on the rocky reef, just outside the entrance to
Buffalo Creek. On every visit to Fort Niagara Rebecca
would look for release; but although the officers
were kind to her, they did not choose to interfere with
so powerful a family as Montour's. It was shortly
after one of these disappointments that she heard of
her father's death. For some months she was sick;
then came news of the death of her Indian father,
Rowland Montour, who succumbed to wounds received
in the attack already noted. There was great mourning
in the lodge on Buffalo Creek, and Rebecca had to
make a feint of sorrow, weeping aloud with the rest.</p>
<p>In the winter of '81-'82 a scheme was devised by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>
friends at the fort for abducting her from the Indians,
but it was not undertaken. In the spring of '82 peremptory
orders came from Gen. Haldimand that all the
remaining members of the Gilbert family who were still
in captivity should be taken from the Indians; but after
a council fire had been lighted, Old Smoke, Montour's
widow, and the rest of the family, Rebecca and Ben
included, moved six miles up the lake shore—apparently
to Smoke's Creek—where they stayed several
weeks making maple sugar. Then, a great pigeon
roost being reported, men and boys went off to it,
some fifty miles, and the delighted young Ben went
too. Of all the Gilbert captives he alone seems to
have had experiences too full of wholesome adventure
and easy living to warrant the expenditure of the least
bit of sympathy upon him. But sooner or later the
wily Indians had to heed Sir Frederick's command,
and on the 1st of June, 1782, after upwards of two
years of captivity, Rebecca and her cousin were released
at Fort Niagara, and two days later, with others,
embarked for Montreal.</p>
<p>Far more cheerless were the experiences of Elizabeth
Peart. She was parted from her husband, adopted
by a Seneca family, and was also brought to raise corn
on Buffalo Creek. Early in her servitude among the
Indians her babe was taken from her and carried across
to Canada. She was but twenty years old herself; the
family that had taken her came by canoe to Buffalo
Creek, where they settled for the corn-planting. This
was in the spring of 1780. All manner of drudgery<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>
and burdens were put upon her. Her work was to
cultivate the corn. Falling sick, the Indians built a
hut for her by the side of the cornfield, and then
utterly neglected her. Here she remained through the
summer, regaining strength enough to care for and
gather the corn; when this was done, her Indian
father permitted her to come and live again in the
family lodge. At one time a drunken Indian attacked
her, knocked her down, and dragged her about, beating
her. At another, all provision failing, she tramped
with others four days through the snow to Fort Niagara.
Here Capt. Powell's wife—who had been a
prisoner herself—interceded in Elizabeth's behalf,
but to no avail. She was however given an opportunity
to see her babe, which was being cared for by
an Indian family on the Canadian side of the river, opposite
Fort Niagara. This privilege was gained for
the poor mother by bribing her Indian father with a
bottle of rum. So far as I am aware, this was the best
use to which a bottle of rum was put during the Revolutionary
War. But back to Buffalo Creek the unhappy
mother had to come. Her release was finally obtained
by artifice. Being allowed to visit Fort Niagara,
where she had some needlework to do for the
white people, she feigned sickness, and by one excuse
and another the Indians were put off until she could be
shipped away to Montreal.</p>
<p>Of the Gilbert family and those taken with them by
Montour, only the old man died in captivity. The
adventures of each one would make a long story, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
may not be entered upon here. By the close of '82
they were all released from the Indians, and after a
detention at Montreal, reached their friends in Pennsylvania
and set about the reëstablishment of homes.</p>
<p>Beyond question, Elizabeth Peart and Rebecca Gilbert
were the first white women ever on the site of the
present city of Buffalo. They were brave, patient,
patriotic girls; no truer Daughters of the American
Revolution are known to history. It would seem
fitting that their memory should be preserved and their
story known—much fuller than I have here sketched
it—by the patriotic Daughters of the Revolution of
our own day, who give heed to American beginnings
in this region.</p>
<p>I have dwelt at length on the Gilbert captivity, not
more because of its own importance than to illustrate
the responsibilities which constantly rested on the commandant
at Niagara, at this period. We now turn to
other phases of the service which engaged the attention
and taxed the endurance of Col. Bolton.</p>
<p>From the time of the conquest of Canada in 1760
down to the opening of the Revolution, there had been
a slow but steady growth of shipping on the lakes,
especially on Lake Ontario. On this lake, as early as
1767, there were four brigs of from forty to seventy
tons, and sixteen armed deck-cutters. Besides the
"King's ships" there were still much travel and traffic
by means of canoes and batteaux. One of the first
effects of the war with the American colonies was to
beget active ship-building operations by the British;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
for Lake Ontario, at Oswegatchie, Oswego and Niagara;
and for Lake Erie, at Navy Island, Detroit and
Pine River. An official return made in July, 1778,
the summer after Col. Bolton assumed command at
Niagara, enumerates twelve sailing craft built for
Lake Ontario since the British gained control of that
lake in 1759, and sixteen for Lake Erie; seven of the
Lake Ontario boats had been cast away, two were laid
up and decayed; so that at this time—midsummer of
'78—there were still in service only the snow Haldimand,
eighteen guns, built at Oswegatchie in 1771;
the snow Seneca, eighteen guns, built in 1777; and the
sloop Caldwell, two guns, built in 1774. A memorandum
records that Capt. Andrews, in the spring of
1778, sought permission to build another vessel at
Niagara, to take the place of the Haldimand, which, he
was informed, could not last more than another year.
The vessel built, in accordance with this recommendation,
was a schooner; her construction was entrusted to
Capt. Shank, at Niagara, across the river from the fort.
We may be sure that Col. Bolton visited the yard from
time to time to note the progress of the work. There
was discussion over her lines. "Capt. Shank was told
that he was making her too flat-bottomed, and that she
would upset." The builder laughed at his critics and
stuck to his model. She was launched, named the
Ontario, and was hastened forward to completion, for the
King's service had urgent need of her.</p>
<p>Col. Bolton had long been in bad health, wearied
with the cares and perplexities of his position and eager<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>
to get away from Fort Niagara. One source of constant
annoyance to his military mind was the traders'
supplies, which turned the fort into a warehouse and
laid distasteful duties upon its commandant. His letters
contain many allusions to the "incredible plague and
trouble caused by merchants' goods frequently sent
without a single person to care for them." "Last
year," so he wrote in May, '78, "every place in this
fort was lumbered with them, and vessels were obliged
to navigate the lakes until Nov. 30th." The vessels
were primarily for the King's service, but when unemployed
were allowed to be used in transporting
merchants' goods, under certain regulations. The
next statement in the same letter gives some idea of the
magnitude of the transactions involved in the various
departments in this region at the period: "I have
drawn a bill of £14,760-9-5"—nearly $74,000—"on
acct. of sundries furnished Indians by Maj.
Butler, also another on acct. of Naval Dept. at Detroit
for £4,070-18-9. Between us I am heartily sick of
bills and accounts and if the other posts are as expensive
to Government as this has been I think Old
England had done much better in letting the savages
take possession of them than to have put herself to half
the enormous sum she has been at in keeping them.
Neither does the climate agree with my constitution,
which has already suffered by being employed many
years in the West Indies and Florida, for I have been
extremely ill the two winters I have spent here with
rheumatism and a disorder in my breast."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p>
<p>One source of annoyance to Bolton was a detachment
of Hessians which was sent to augment the garrison at
Fort Niagara. Col. Bolton did not find them to his
liking, nor was life at a backwoods post at all congenial
to these mercenaries, fighting England's battles to pay
their monarch's debts. They refused to work on the
fortifications at Niagara; whereupon, in November,
1779, Col. Bolton packed them off down to Carleton
Island. Alexander Fraser, in charge of that post,
wrote to Gen. Haldimand that he had ordered the
"jagers" to be replaced by a company of the 34th.
"Capt. Count Wittgenstein," he added, "fears bad
consequences should the Jagers be ordered to return."
Nowhere in America does the British employment of
Hessian troops appear to have been less satisfactory
than on this frontier. At Carleton Island, as at Niagara,
they refused to work, many of them were accused
of selling their necessaries for rum, and the Count de
Wittgenstein himself was reprimanded.</p>
<p>There were difficulties, too, with the lake service.
Desertion and discontent followed an attempt to shorten
the seamen's rations. In the summer of '78, the
sailors on board the snow Seneca, at Niagara, asked to
be discharged, alleging that their time had expired the
preceding November, and the yet more remarkable
reason that they objected to the service because they
had been brought up on shore and life on the rolling
deep of Lake Ontario afforded "no opportunity of
exercising our Religion, neither does confinement
agree with our healths." Like many lake sailors at this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>
period they were probably French Canadian Catholics,
with loyalty none too strong to the British cause.</p>
<p>Bolton stuck to his post throughout that season, the
year of alarm that followed, and the succeeding period
of distress. The most frequent entries in his letters
record the arrival of war parties, and his anxiety over
the enormous expense incurred for the Indians by Maj.
Butler. "Scalps and prisoners are coming in every
day, which is all the news this place affords," he writes
in June, '78; and again, the same month: "Ninety
savages are just arrived with thirteen scalps and two
prisoners, and forty more with two scalps are expected.
All of these gentry, I am informed, must be clothed."<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a>
While there does not seem ever to have been an open
break between Bolton and Butler, yet the former
looked with dismay, if not disapproval, upon the endless
expenditure incurred for the Indians. In August,
1778, he wrote: "Maj. Butler, chief of the Indian
Department, gives orders to the merchants to supply
the savages with everything to answer their demands,
of which undoubtedly he is the best judge and only
person who can satisfy them or keep them in temper.
He also signs a certificate that the goods and cash
issued and paid by his order were indispensably necessary
for the government of His Majesty's service. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>
commanding officer of this post is thus obliged to draw
bills for the amount of all these accounts, of which it is
impossible he can be a judge or know anything about....
I only mention these things to show Yr
Excellency the disagreeable part that falls to my lot as
commanding officer; besides this is such a complicated
command that even an officer of much superior abilities
than I am master of, would find himself sometimes not
a little embarrassed at this Post."</p>
<p>Bolton was seriously ill during the winter of '79-'80,
as indeed were many of his garrison. In April, 1780, he
reports his wretched health to Gen. Haldimand. All
through the succeeding summer he stuck to his post;
but on September 13th, worn out and discouraged, he
asked to be allowed to retire from the command of the
upper posts and lakes. September 30th he again wrote,
begging for leave of absence. Some weeks later the
desired permission was sent, and Bolton determined to
stay no longer. Late in October the new Ontario,
which Capt. Shank had built across the river from the
fort, was finished and rigged; she carried sixteen guns,
and was declared ready for service. She was ordered
to convey a company of the 34th down to Carleton
Island. It was a notable departure. The season was
so late, no other opportunity for crossing Lake Ontario
might be afforded until spring. Lieut. Royce, with
thirty men of the 34th, embarked, under orders; so
did Lieut. Colleton of the Royal Artillery. Capt. Andrews,
superintendent of naval construction, at whose
solicitations the Ontario had been built, being at Fort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
Niagara at the time, also took passage. There was the
full complement of officers and crew. Several passengers—licensed
Indian traders and fur merchants,
probably—crowded aboard; and among those who
sailed away from Fort Niagara that last October day,
was Col. Bolton. It was the Ontario's first voyage;
and we may be sure that there was no lack of speculation
and wise opinion in the throng of spectators who
watched her round the bar at the mouth of the river
and take her course down the lake. The old criticism
about her flat bottom and lack of draught was sure to
be recalled. But the Ontario, with her notable passenger
list, had sailed, and the only port she ever
reached was the bottom of the lake. It is supposed
she foundered, some forty miles east of Niagara, near
a place called Golden Hill. On the beach there, some
days after, a few articles were found, supposed to have
come ashore; but no other sign, no word of the Ontario
or of any of the throng that sailed in her has been had
from that day to this. In due time news of the loss
reached Quebec. Sincere but short were the expressions
of sorrow in the correspondence that followed.
"The loss of so many good officers and men," wrote
Haldimand, "particularly at this period, and the disappointment
of forwarding provisions for the great consumption
at the upper posts, will be severely felt."<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>
was the fortune of war, and already the thought turned
to those who had depended upon a return cargo of
provisions by the Ontario. And so passes Mason
Bolton out of the history of Fort Niagara.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h1>What Befel David Ogden.</h1>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p>
<h2>WHAT BEFEL DAVID OGDEN.</h2>
<p>It was my privilege, in the summer of 1896, to
share in the exercises which marked the Centennial
of the delivery of Fort Niagara by Great Britain
to the United States. As I stood in that old stronghold
on the bank above the blue lake, strolled across
the ancient parade ground, or passed from one historic
building to another, I found myself constantly forgetting
the actual day and hour, and slipping back a century
or two. There was a great crowd at Fort Niagara
on this August day; thousands of people—citizens,
officials, soldiers and pleasure-seekers; but
with them came and went, to my retrospective vision,
many more thousands yet: missionary priests, French
adventurers, traders, soldiers of the scarlet, and
of the buff and blue. I saw Butler's Rangers
in their green suits; and I saw a horde of savages,
now begging for rations from the King's stores, now
coming in from their forays, famished but exultant,
displaying the scalps they had taken, or leading their
ragged and woebegone captives. It was upon these
captives, whose romantic misfortunes make a long
and dramatic chapter in the history of Fort Niagara,
that my regard was prone to center. Their stories
have nowhere been told, so far as I am aware, as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>
part of the history of the place; many of them never
can be told; but of others some details may be
recorded.</p>
<p>Throughout the whole period of the Revolutionary
War, Fort Niagara was a garrisoned British post, of
varying strength. It was the supply depot for all arms
and provisions which were destined for the upper posts
of Detroit and Michillimackinac; it was the rendezvous
of the Senecas, who worked the Government for
all the blankets and guns, trinkets and provisions which
they could get; it was the headquarters of Col. Guy
Johnson, Indian Superintendent; and it was the resting-place
and base of operations of They-en-dan-e-gey-ah—in
English, Joseph Brant; of Butler and his
rangers, and of numerous other less famous but more
cruel Indians, British and Tory leaders. No American
troops reached Fort Niagara to attack it. Only once
was it even threatened. Yet throughout the whole
period of the war parties sallied forth from Fort Niagara
to plunder, capture or kill the rebel settlers wherever
they could be reached.</p>
<p>Sixty years ago Judge Samuel De Veaux wrote of
this phase of the history of Fort Niagara:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>This old fort is as much noted for enormity and crime, as for
any good ever derived from it by the nation in occupation....
During the American Revolution it was the headquarters of all
that was barbarous, unrelenting and cruel. There, were congregated
the leaders and chiefs of those bands of murderers and miscreants,
that carried death and destruction into the remote American
settlements. There, civilized Europe revelled with savage
America; and ladies of education and refinement mingled in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>
society of those whose only distinction was to wield the bloody
tomahawk and scalping-knife. There, the squaws of the forest
were raised to eminence, and the most unholy unions between
them and officers of the highest rank, smiled upon and countenanced.
There, in their strong hold, like a nest of vultures,
securely, for seven years, they sallied forth and preyed upon the
distant settlements of the Mohawks and Susquehannahs. It was
the depot of their plunder; there they planned their forays, and
there they returned to feast, until the hour of action came again.<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></p></div>
<p>This striking passage, which the worthy author did
not substantiate by a single fact, may stand as the present
text. I have undertaken to trace some of the
flights of the birds of prey from this nest, and to bring
together the details relating to the captives who were
brought hither. From many sources I have traced out
the narratives of thirty-two persons who were brought
to Fort Niagara captive by the Indians, during the
years 1778 to 1783. Among them is my boy hero
Davy Ogden, whose adventures I undertake to tell
with some minuteness. Just how many American
prisoners were brought into Fort Niagara during this
period I am unable to say, though it is possible that
from the official correspondence of the time figures
could be had on which a very close estimate could
be based. My examination of the subject warrants
the assertion that several hundred were brought in by
the war parties under Indian, British and Tory leaders.
In this correspondence, very little of which has ever been
published, one may find such entries as the following:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p>
<p>Guy Johnson wrote from Fort Niagara, June 30, 1781:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>In my last letter of the 24th inst. I had just time to enclose a
copy of Lieut. Nelles's letter with an account of his success,
since which he arrived at this place with more particular information
by which I find that he killed thirteen and took seven (the
Indians not having reckoned two of the persons whom they left
unscalped)....</p></div>
<p>Again:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>I have the honor to transmit to Your Excellency a general
letter containing the state of the garrison and of my Department
to the 1st inst., and a return, at the foot, of the war parties that
have been on service this year, ... by which it will appear
that they have killed and taken during the season already 150
persons, including those last brought in....</p></div>
<p>Again he reports, August 30, 1781:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>The party with Capt. Caldwell and some of the Indians with
Capt. Lottridge are returning, having destroyed several settlements
in Ulster County, and about 100 of the Indians are gone
against other parts of the frontiers, and I have some large parties
under good leaders still on service as well as scouts towards Fort
Pitt....</p></div>
<p>Not only are there many returns of this sort, but
also tabulated statements, giving the number of prisoners
sent down from Fort Niagara to Montreal on given
dates, with their names, ages, names of their captors,
and the places where they were taken. There were
many shipments during the summer of '83, and the
latest return of this sort which I have found in the
archives is dated August 1st of that year, when eleven
prisoners were sent from the fort to Montreal. It was
probably not far from this time that the last American<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>
prisoner of the Revolution was released from Fort
Niagara. But let the reader beware of forming hasty
conclusions as to the cruelty or brutality of the British
at Fort Niagara. In the first place, remember that
harshness or kindness in the treatment of the helpless
depends in good degree—and always has depended—upon
the temperament and mood of the individual
custodian. There were those in command at Fort
Niagara who appear to have been capable of almost
any iniquity. Others gave frequent and conspicuous
proofs of their humanity. Remember, secondly, that
the prisoners primarily belonged to the Indians who
captured them. The Indian custom of adoption—the
taking into the family circle of a prisoner in place
of a son or husband who had been killed by the enemy—was
an Iroquois custom, dating back much further
than their acquaintance with the English. Many of
the Americans who were detained in this fashion by
their Indian captors, probably never were given over
to the British. Some, as we know, like Mary Jemison,
the White Woman of the Genesee, adopted the
Indian mode of life and refused to leave it. Others
died in captivity, some escaped. Horatio Jones and
Jasper Parrish were first prisoners, then utilized as
interpreters, but remained among the Indians.<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>
in many cases, especially of women and children, we
know that they were got away from the Indians by the
British officers at Fort Niagara, only after considerable
trouble and expense. In these cases the British were
the real benefactors of the Americans, and the kindness
in the act cannot always be put aside on the mere
ground of military exchange, prisoner for prisoner.
Gen. Haldimand is quoted to the effect that he "does
not intend to enter into an exchange of prisoners, but
he will not add to the distresses attending the present
war, by detaining helpless women and children from
their families."<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></p>
<p>I have spoken of Mrs. Campbell, who was held some
months at Kanadasaga. The letter just cited further
illustrates the point I would make:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>A former application had been made in behalf of Col. Campbell
to procure the exchange of his family for that of Col. Butler, and
the officer commanding the upper posts collected Mr. Campbell's
and the family of a Mr. Moore, and procured their release from
the Indians upon the above mentioned condition with infinite trouble
and a very heavy expense. They are now at Fort Niagara where
the best care that circumstances will admit of, is taken of them,
and I am to acquaint you that Mrs. Campbell & any other
women or children that shall be specified shall be safely conducted
to Fort Schuyler, or to any other place that shall be
thought most convenient, provided Mrs. Butler & her family
consisting of a like number shall in the same manner have safe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>
conduct to my advance post upon Lake Champlain in order that
she may cross the lake before the ice breaks up.</p></div>
<p>The official correspondence carried on during the
years 1779 to '83, between Gen. Haldimand and the
commanding officers at Fort Niagara shows in more
than one instance that American prisoners were a
burden and a trouble at that post. Sometimes, as in
the case of Mrs. Campbell, who was finally exchanged
for Mrs. Butler and her children, they were detained
as hostages. More often, they were received from the
Indians in exchange for presents, the British being
obliged to humor the Indians and thus retain their
invaluable services. Thus, under date of Oct. 2,
1779, we find Col. Bolton writing from Fort Niagara to
Gen. Haldimand: "I should be glad to know what
to do with the prisoners sent here by Capt. Lernault.
Some of them I forwarded to Carleton Island, and
Maj. Nairne has applied for leave to send them to
Montreal. I have also many here belonging to the
Indians, who have not as yet agreed to deliver them
up."<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a></p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p>
<p>I could multiply at great length these citations from
the official correspondence, but enough has been given
to show that the wholesale condemnation of the British,
into whose hands American prisoners fell, is not warranted
by the facts. But there is no plainer fact in it
all than that the British organized and aided the Indian
raids, and were, therefore, joint culprits in general.</p>
<p>And this brings us to the subject of scalps. For
many years Fort Niagara was called a scalp-market.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>
The statement is frequent in early writers that the British
officers offered about eight dollars for every American's
scalp, and that it was this offer, more than anything
else, which fired the Indians to their most horrible
deeds. Many scalps were brought into Fort Niagara,
but I have failed, as yet, to find any report, or figure,
or allusion, in the British archives pointing to the payment
of anything whatever. Further search may discover
something to settle this not unimportant matter;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>
for we may readily believe that if such payments were
made the matter would be passed over as unobtrusively
as possible, especially in the reports to the Ministry.
The facts appear to be that warriors who brought scalps
into Fort Niagara gave them to the Superintendent of
Indian Affairs, or his deputy, and then received presents
from him. Probably these presents were proportioned
to the success on the warpath.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>
<p>These facts and reflections are offered to assist the
reader's ready understanding and imagination in following
in detail the adventures of one out of the many
prisoners whose paths we have glanced at; for of all
these unfortunate patriots who were thus brought to
the "vultures' nest" none has laid hold of my interest
and my imagination more strongly than has David
Ogden. He was born in a troublous time, and the
hazards of border life were his sole heritage, save alone
a sturdy intrepidity of character which chiefly commends
him to me as the typical hero of all the heroic
souls, men, women, and children, who came through
great bereavements and hardships, into old Fort Niagara
as prisoners of war. Davy was born at Fishkill,
Dutchess Co., New York, in 1764. His parents made
one remove after another, in the restless American
fashion, for some years taking such chances of betterment
as new settlements afforded; first at Waterford,
Saratoga Co.; then in the wilderness on the head-waters
of the Susquehanna near the present village of Huntsville;
then up the river to the settlement known in those
days as Newtown Martin, now Middlefield; and later,
for safety, to Cherry Valley. Here David's mother and
her four boys were at the time of the famous massacre
of November, 1778. When the alarm was given Mrs.
Ogden snatched a blanket, and with her little ones
began a flight through the woods towards the Mohawk.
With them also fled Col. Campbell, of the patriot
militia. Coming to a deserted cabin whose owner had
fled, they did not scruple to help themselves to a loaf<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>
of bread, which Col. Campbell cut up with his sword.
After another flight of some hours through a storm of
mingled snow and rain, they came to the house of one
Lyons, a Tory, who was absent, presumably because
busied in the black work at Cherry Valley. Mrs.
Lyons, who seems to have shared her husband's sentiments,
refused the refugees anything to eat, but finally
let the mother and children spend the night on the
floor. Col. Campbell left the Ogdens here and pushed
on alone towards Canajoharie; while Mrs. Odgen and
her hungry little ones went on by themselves through
the snow. That day they came to a more hospitable
house, where the keen suffering of that adventure
ended; and some days later, on the Mohawk, the father
rejoined the family, he also having escaped the massacre
at Cherry Valley.</p>
<p>This incident may be reckoned the mere prelude of
our Davy's adventures; for the next spring, having
reached the mature age of fourteen, he volunteered in
the service of his country, entered upon the regular
life of a soldier, and began to have adventures on his
own account. The year that followed was spent in
arduous but not particularly romantic service. He
was marched from one point to another on the Mohawk
and the Hudson; saw André hanged at Tappan, and
finally was sent to the frontier again, where at Fort
Stanwix,<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> in the spring of 1781, what we may regard as
the real adventures of Davy Ogden began.</p>
<p>A party of eleven wood-choppers were at work in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>
the heavy timber about two miles from the fort, and
every day an armed guard was sent out from the garrison
to protect them. On March 2d, Corporal Samuel
Betts and six soldiers, Davy among them, were detailed
on this service. I conceive of my hero at this
time as a sturdy, well-seasoned lad, to whom woodcraft
and pioneer soldiering had become second nature.
I would like to see him among city boys of his own
age to-day. Most things that they know, and think
of, would be quite out of his range. But there is a
common ground on which all healthy, high-minded
boys, of whatever time or station in life, stand on a
level. I do not know that he had ever been to school,
or that he could read, though I think his mother must
have looked to that. But I do know that he was well
educated. He was innocent of the bicycle, but I'll
warrant he could skate. I know he could swim like
an otter—as I shall presently record—and when it
came to running, he would have been a champion of
the cinder-path, to-day. He knew the ways of poverty
and of self-denial; knew the signs of the forest, of
wild animal and Indian; and best of all, I am sure he
knew just why he was carrying a heavy flint-lock in
the ragged, hungry ranks of the American "rebels." It
must be admitted, I linger somewhat over my hero;
but I like the lad, and would have the reader come
into sympathy with him. I can see him now as he
followed the corporal out of the fort that March morning.
He wore the three-cornered cocked-up hat of
the prescribed uniform, and his powder-horn was slung<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>
at his side. The whole guard very likely wore snowshoes,
for the snow lay three feet deep in the woods,
and a thaw had weakened the crust.</p>
<p>Late in the afternoon, soldiers and wood-choppers
were startled by the yells of Indians and Tories, who
had gained a hill between them and the fort. Brant
had achieved another of his surprises, and there was
no escape from his party, which seemed to fill the
woods. His evident intent was to make captives and
not to kill, though his men had orders to shoot or
tomahawk any who fired in self-defense. Two of
Davy's companions were wounded by the enemy.
One of them, Timothy Runnels, was shot in the
mouth, "the ball coming through his cheek; and yet
not a tooth was disturbed, a pretty good evidence, in
the opinion of his comrades, that his mouth was wide
open when the ball went in." It fared more seriously
with the other wounded soldier. This man, whose
name was Morfat, had his thigh broken by a bullet.
The Indians rushed upon him as he fell at Davy's side,
tomahawked him, scalped him, stripped him and left
him naked upon the snow, thus visiting a special vengeance
upon one who was said to be a deserter from
the British. It is further chronicled that Morfat did
not immediately die, but lived until he was found,
hours after, by a party from the fort, finally expiring as
his comrades bore him through the gate of Fort Stanwix.</p>
<p>Davy Ogden had seen this dreadful thing, but with
no sign of fear or sickness. He had already mastered
that scorn of suffering and death which always com<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>mended
the brave to their Indian captors. He was
ranged up with the other prisoners, and Brant asked of
each his name. When Davy gave his, the great chief
exclaimed:</p>
<p>"What, a son of Ogden the beaver-hunter, that old
scouter? Ugh! I wish it were he instead of you!
But we will take care of his boy or he may become a
scouter too!"</p>
<p>Thus began David's captivity, as the prisoner, and
perhaps receiving some of the special regard, of Brant
himself. There could have been little doubt in Davy's
mind, from the moment of his capture, that he was to
be carried to Fort Niagara; yet the first move of the
party was characteristic of Indian strategy; for instead
of taking the trail westward, they all marched off to
the eastward, coming upon the Mohawk some miles below
Fort Stanwix. They forded the river twice, the
icy water coming above their waists. On emerging
upon the road between Fort Stanwix and Fort Herkimer,
Brant halted his sixteen prisoners and caused the
buckles to be cut from their shoes. These he placed
in a row in the road, where the first passing American
would be sure to see them. There was something of
a taunt in the act, and a good deal of humor; and we
may be sure that Joseph Brant, who was educated
enough, and of great nature enough, to enjoy a joke,
had many a laugh on his way back to Niagara as he
thought of those thirty-two buckles in a row.</p>
<p>The prisoners tied up their shoes with deerskin
strings, and trudged along through the night until the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>
gleam of fires ahead and a chorus of yells turned their
thoughts towards the stake and an ignominious martyrdom.
But their fate was easier to meet. In a volley
of sixteen distinct yells for the prisoners and one
for the scalp, the party—said to number 100 Indians
and fifty Tories—entered the first camp, where
squaws were boiling huge kettles of samp—pounded
corn—eaten without salt. All fared equally well, and
all slept on the ground in the snow, Davy and his fellows
being guarded by British soldiers.</p>
<p>The next day's march brought them to Oneida Castle,
often the headquarters of Brant in his expeditions.
Here the Indians dug up from the snow a store of unhusked
corn, and shelled and pounded a quantity for
their long march. Here, too, Davy's three-cornered
Revolutionary hat was taken from him, and in its place
was given him a raccoon skin. All of the captives except
the corporal were similarly treated and the Indians
showed them how to tie the head and tail together.
On some the legs stuck up and on others the
legs hung down. I do not know how Davy wore his—with
a touch of taste and an air of gaiety, no
doubt; and we may be sure it made a better head-covering
for a march of 250 miles at that season than would
the stiff hat he had lost. Corporal Betts alone was
permitted to keep his hat, as insignia of rank, and it is
to be hoped he got some comfort out of it.</p>
<p>It would take too long to give all the dismal details
of Davy's dreary tramp across the State. Other
captivities which I have spoken of had incidents of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>
more dire misery and greater horror than befel the
party to which Ogden belonged; and this is one
reason why I have chosen to dwell upon his adventures,
because my aim is, by a personal narrative, to illustrate
the average experience of the time.</p>
<p>There were hundreds of American prisoners brought
to Fort Niagara during the period we are studying, but
it would be far from just to their captors, and would
throw our historical perspective out of focus, to take
the extreme cases as types for the whole.</p>
<p>Yet, put it mildly as we can, the experience persists
in being serious. At Oneida Castle Brant, evidently
fearing pursuit, roused his party in the middle
of the night, and a forced march was begun through
the heavy timber and up and down the long hills to the
westward. When the moon went down they halted,
but at the first streak of daylight they pushed on, not
waiting even to boil their samp. An occasional handful
of parched corn, pounded fine and taken with a
swallow of water, was all the food any of the party had
that day.</p>
<p>The next encampment was on the Onondaga River,
south of the lake; and here occurred an incident as
characteristic of Indian character as was the row of
shoe-buckles in the road. Some Indians found a
small cannon, which had probably been abandoned by
one of the detachments sent out by Sullivan on his
retreat from the Genesee in '79. Brant, who had
plenty of powder, ordered his American prisoners to
load and fire this gun a number of times, the Indians<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>
meanwhile yelling in delight and the Tories and British
enjoying the chagrin of the helpless Americans. Then
the march was resumed; over the watershed to Cayuga
Lake, which they crossed on the ice near the outlet, a
long train, each man far from his fellow, for the ice
was rotten and full of air-holes; then along the old
trail to Seneca River, which they forded; thence the
route was west by north, one camp being somewhere
between the present villages of Waterloo and Lyons.
Brant on this expedition appears to have kept to the
north of Kanadasaga.<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> A day later they came to the
outlet of Canandaigua Lake, where the Indians, finding
a human head which they said was the head of a
Yankee, had an improvised game of football with it,
with taunts and threats for the edification of their prisoners.
The next day they crossed the Genesee River,
at or near the old Genesee Castle. And still, as
throughout all this march, unsalted, often uncooked,
samp was their only food.</p>
<p>On the march Davy and each of his fellows had worn
about their necks a rope of some fourteen or sixteen
feet in length. In the daytime these ropes were wound
about their necks and tied. At night they were
unwound, each prisoner placed between two captors, and
one end of the rope was fastened to each of the double
guard. Under the circumstances it is no reflection upon
our hero's courage that he had not made his escape.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p>
<p>West of the Genesee, and beyond the country which
had been ravaged by Sullivan, signs of Indian occupancy
multiplied; but as yet there was no other food than
corn to be had for their ill-conditioned bodies. As
they filed along the trail, through the snow and mud
of March, they met another large party just setting out
from Niagara on a foray for prisoners and scalps. There
were noisy greetings and many exultant yells; and as
the outbound savages passed the prisoners, they snatched
from each one's head the raccoon-skin cap; so that for
the rest of the journey Davy and his companions met
the weather bare-headed—all save Corporal Betts, to
whom again was still spared the old three-cornered hat.
The incident bespeaks either the lack of control or the
negligent good nature of Brant, for fifteen raccoon-skins
at Fort Niagara would surely have been worth at
least fifteen quarts of rum. Corporal Betts, however,
must have got little comfort out of his hat; for seeing
him look so soldierly in it, the whim seized upon
Brant to compel the unlucky corporal to review his
woebegone troops.</p>
<p>"Drill your men," said the fun-loving chief, "and
let us see if these Yankees can go through the tactics of
Baron Steuben."</p>
<p>And so poor Betts, but with a broken spirit, mustered
his forlorn guard, dressed them in a straight line,
and put them through the manual according to Steuben.
I doubt if the history of Western New York can show
a stranger military function than this reluctant muster
of patriot prisoners under compulsion of a playful tiger<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>
of an Indian, jeered at meanwhile by British soldiers
from Fort Niagara. When these latter went too far in
their ridicule Brant stopped them. "The Yankees,"
he said angrily, "do it a damned sight better than you
can."</p>
<p>This affair took place, as nearly as I can make out,
somewhere between Batavia and Lockport; probably
not far from the old Indian village of Tonawanda.</p>
<p>Being now in the valley of the Tonawanda, Brant
seems to have sent ahead a runner to announce his approach;
for the second or third day after crossing the
Genesee they were met by a party from the fort, bringing
pork and flour, whereupon there was a camp and a
feast; with the not strange result that many of them
had to return to the astringent parched corn as a
corrective.</p>
<p>From this point on Davy and his friends were subjected
to a new experience; for, as they passed through
the Indian villages, the old women and children exercised
their accustomed privilege of beating and abusing
the prisoners. On one occasion, as Davy was
plodding along the path, a squaw ran up to him, and,
all unawares, hit him a terrific blow on the side of the
head, whereupon the boy came near getting into trouble
by making a vigorous effort to kick the lady. At
another time, as David marched near Brant, he saw a
young Indian raise a pole, intending to give the prisoner
a whack over the head. Davy dodged, and the
blow fell on Brant's back. The chief, though undoubtedly
hurt, paid no attention to the Indian lad,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>
but advised Davy to run, and Davy, knowing perfectly
well that to run away meant torture and death, wisely
ran towards the fort, which was but a few miles
distant. A companion named Hawkins, who had
marched with him, ran by his side. And, as they ran,
they came upon still another village of the Senecas,
from which two young savages took after them. Believing
that their pursuers would tomahawk them,
the boys let out a link or two of their speed, and
coming to a creek where logs made a bridge, Hawkins
hid under the bridge, while Davy ran behind a great
buttonwood tree. The young Indians, however, had
seen them, and on coming up, one of them promptly
went under the bridge, and the other around the tree
for Davy. This Indian held out his hand in friendship,
and said: "Brother, stop." And the boys,
seeing that the Indians had no tomahawks and could
do them no harm, were reassured, and they all went on
together toward Fort Niagara.</p>
<p>Soon they met a detail of soldiers from the fort, who
detained them until the rest of the party came up,
when Davy saw that some of his friends had been so
badly wounded by the assaults of these village Indians
that they were now being carried. As the party went
on together, the path was continually lined with Indians,
whose camps were on the open plains about the fort;
and the clubbing and beating of the prisoners became
incessant. This was all a regular part of a triumphal
return to Fort Niagara of a party of British and Indians
with American prisoners, and was the mild pre<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>liminary
of that dread ordeal known as running the
gauntlet.</p>
<p>When Davy, well to the front of the procession, had
been marched some distance farther through the wood,
he looked out upon a clearing, across which extended
a long line of fallen trees, which lay piled
with the butts inward, so that the sharpened points
of the forked branches all pointed outwards, making a
<i>chevaux-de-frise</i> upon which one might impale himself,
but which could scarcely be scaled. Beyond this barrier,
as Davy looked, he saw, first, the wagon road
which ran between this <i>chevaux-de-frise</i> and the palisades
or pickets of the fort beyond. Within the
palisades he could see the outlines of the fortification,
the upper part of the old castle which still stands
there, and other buildings, and over all the red flag of
Great Britain. But while he noted these things, his
chief regard must have fallen upon the great crowd of
Indians who were ranged along on either side of the
road between the outwork of fallen trees and the palisades—two
close ranks of painted savages in front,
and behind them on either side a dense mass of yelling,
gesticulating bucks, squaws, old men and children,
impatient for the passing of the prisoners. Beyond,
the British sentries, officers and other inmates
of the fort, awaited the sport, like spectators at a
play.</p>
<p>Davy knew the gravity and the chances of the situation.
He knew the Indian custom, which does not
seem to have been at all interfered with by the officers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>
in command at Niagara,<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> which allowed the spectator
to assault or wound the prisoner who should run between
the ranks, in any way which his ingenuity could
suggest, except with hatchets and knives; these could
be used only on prisoners whose faces were painted
black, by which sign wretches doomed to death were
known; yet any prisoner, even the black-painted ones,
who lived through the gauntlet and gained the gate of
the fort, was safe from Indian judgment, and could rest
his case upon the mercies of the British.</p>
<p>I do not know whether or not Davy's heart stood
still for a second, but I am bound to say there was not
a drop of craven blood in his veins. He was not
exactly in training, as we would say of a sprinter today—his
diet, the reader will remember, had been somewhat
deficient. But if he hesitated or trembled it was
not for long. We can see him as he stands between
the soldiers from the fort—bareheaded, ragged,
dirty; a blanket pinned about his shoulders and still
with the rope about his neck by which he was secured
at night. And now, as his guards look back to see the
others come up, Davy tightens the leather strap at his
waist, takes a deep breath, bends low, darts forward,
and is half way down the line before the waiting
Indians know he is coming.</p>
<p>How he does run! And how the yells and execrations
follow! There is a flight of stones and clubs, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>
not one touches the boy. One huge savage steps forward,
to throw the runner backward—he clutches only
the blanket, which is left in his hands, and Davy runs
freer than before. The twenty rods of this race for life
are passed, and as the boy dashes upon the bridge by
which the road into the fort crosses the outer ditch, he
is confronted by an evil-looking squaw, who aims a blow
with her fist square at his face. Davy knocks up her arm
with such force that she sprawls heavily to the ground,
striking her head on one of the great spikes that held
the planking. And straight on runs Davy, not down
the road along the wall to the place set for prisoners,
but through the inner gate, under the guard-house; and
so, panting and spent, out upon the old parade-ground.</p>
<p>Thus came the boy-soldier of the Revolution, David
Ogden, to Fort Niagara, 118 years ago.</p>
<p>The sentries hailed him with laughter and jeers, and
asked him what he was doing there. "Go back,"
they said, "under the guard-house and down the road
outside the wall, to the bottom."</p>
<p>This was where Guy Johnson's house stood, and
there the prisoners were to report. But when Davy
looked forth he concluded that discretion was the better
part of valor, for the angry Indians had closed upon
his fellows who followed, and were clubbing them,
knocking them down and kicking them; so that of the
whole party taken prisoners near Fort Stanwix, Davy
Ogden was the only one who reached Fort Niagara
without serious harm. Turning back upon the parade
ground he flatly refused to go out again, whereupon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>
the officer of the guard was called, who questioned
him, took pity on him, and sheltered him in his own
quarters for three days.</p>
<p>Now, if this were a mere story, we would expect,
right here, a happy turn in Davy's fortunes. As matter
of fact, the most dismal days in Davy's life were
just to begin. He had hoped that the worst would be
detention at the fort, and a speedy shipment down the
lake to Montreal, for exchange. But after some days
he was summoned to Guy Johnson's house, where were
many Indians, and here he was handed over to a squaw
to be her son, in place of one she had lost in the war.
David was powerless; and after what, many years later,
he described as a powwow had been held over him, he
was led away by the squaw and her husband. A British
soldier, named Hank Haff, added to his grief by
telling him that he was adopted by the Indians and
would have to live with them forever; and, as he was
led off across the plain, away from his friends and even
from communication with the British, who were at
least of his own blood, it was small consolation to
know that his adopted father's name was Skun-nun-do,
that the hideous old hag, his mother, was Gunna-go-let,
that there was a daughter in the wigwam named
Au-lee-zer-quot, or that his own name was henceforth
to be Chee-chee-le-coo, or "Chipping-bird"—a good
deal, I submit, for a soldier of the Revolution to bear,
even if he were only a boy.<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a></p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p>
<p>David lived with this fine family for over two years,
being virtually their slave, and always under circumstances
which made escape impossible. He dressed in
Indian fashion, and learned their language, their yells
and signal whoops. During the first months of his
adoption, their wigwam was about four miles from the
fort—presumably east or southeast of it; and one of
David's first duties was to go with Gunna-go-let out on
to the treeless plain overlooking Lake Ontario, where
the old squaw had found a prize in the shape of a horse
which had died of starvation. David helped her cut
up the carcass and "tote" it home—and he was glad
to eat of the soup which she made of it. They were
always hungry. Skun-nun-do being a warrior, the burden
of providing for the family fell upon Gunna-go-let.
Her principal recourse was to cut faggots in the
woods and carry them to the fort. Many a time did
she and Davy Ogden carry their loads of firewood
on their backs up to the fort, glad to receive in
exchange cast-off meat, stale bread or rum. So much
of this work did Davy do during the two years that he
was kept with these Indians that his back became sore,
then calloused.</p>
<p>When he had lived with Gunna-go-let three months,
she packed up and moved her wigwam to the carrying-place,
now Lewiston. Here there was cleared land,
and some 200 huts or wigwams were pitched, while
the Indians planted, hoed and gathered a crop of corn.
Davy was kept hard at work in the field, or in carrying
brooms, baskets and other things to the fort for sale.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p>
<p>When he had been at the carrying-place about a
year and a half, he saw a large party of captives
brought in from the settlements. Among them was
a young woman who had been at Fort Stanwix when
Ogden was on duty there. As she sat in the camp,
Davy being present, she began to observe him carefully.
Although our hero was dressed as an Indian—Indian
gaiters, a short frock belted at the waist, and
with his hair cut close to the scalp over the whole head
except a long tuft on the crown—yet this poor girl
saw his real condition and soon learned who he was.
There was no chance for confidences. What little they
said had to be spoken freely, without feeling, as if
casually between strangers indifferent to each other.
She told David that she was gathering cowslip greens in
a field, when an Indian rushed upon her and carried
her away. What she endured while being brought to
the Niagara I leave to the imagination. Davy saw
her carried away by her captors across the river into
Canada; and thus vanishes Hannah Armstrong, for I
find no mention of her except in this reminiscence of
her drawn from Ogden's own lips.</p>
<p>About this time David was taken to the fort, old
Gunna-go-let having heard that the British would give
her a present for the lad. Davy trudged the nine miles
from their hut to the fort with a good heart, for to him
the news meant a chance of exchange. At Guy Johnson's
house he and his mother sat expectant on the
steps. Presently out came Capt. Powell, who had
married Jane Moore—who had herself been brought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
to the fort a captive from Cherry Valley. This fine
couple, from whom the lad had some right to expect
kindness, paraded up and down the "stoop" or
verandah of the house for a while, the wife hanging on
her captain's arm and both ignoring the boy. At
length they paused, and Capt. Powell said:</p>
<p>"You are one of the squaw boys? Do you want to
quit the Indians?"</p>
<p>"Yes," said Davy, heart in mouth.</p>
<p>"What for?" quizzed the captain.</p>
<p>"To be exchanged—to get back home, to my own
country."</p>
<p>"Well," said Powell, "if you really want to get
free from the Indians come up and enlist in Butler's
Rangers. Then we can ransom you from this old
squaw—will you do it?"</p>
<p>"No, I won't!" blazed Davy, fiercely.</p>
<p>Capt. Powell turned on his heel. "Go back with
the Indians again and be damned!" and with that he
vanished into the house; and we have no means of
knowing whether Jane, his wife, had by this time become
so "Tory" that she made no protest; but it is
pleasanter to think of her as remembering her own
captivity, and, still loyal at heart, as interceding for
the boy.<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> But that was the end of it for this time, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
back Davy went, with an angry squaw, to continue his
ignoble servitude until the next spring. Then word
spread all through the region that the prisoners must be
brought into Fort Niagara, and this time Davy was not
disappointed, for with many others he was hurried on
board the schooner Seneca and carried to Oswego.
Obviously the news of the preparations for a peace had
reached Niagara. Although the Treaty of Paris was
not signed until September 3d of that year (1783), yet
the preliminary articles had been agreed upon in January.
The order from the British Ministry to cease
hostilities reached Sir Guy Carleton about the 1st of
April, and a week or so would suffice for its transmission
to Niagara. Captives who had been detained and claimed
by the Indians continued to be brought in during that
summer, but we hear no more of returning war parties
arriving with new prisoners. The War of the Revolution
was over, even at remote Niagara, although for
one pretext and another—and for some good reasons—the
British held on to Fort Niagara and kept up its
garrison for thirteen years more.</p>
<p>With the sailing of the Seneca the connection of
Davy Ogden with Fort Niagara ended; but no one who
has followed his fortunes thus far can wish to drop him,
as it were, in the middle of Lake Ontario. That is
where Davy came near going, for a gale came up which
not only made him and the throng of others who were
fastened below decks desperately sick, but came near
wrecking the schooner. She was compelled to put in
at Buck's Island, and after some days reached Oswego,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
then strongly garrisoned. Here Davy stayed, still a
prisoner, but living with the British Indians, through
the winter. In the spring, with a companion named
Danforth, who stole a loaf of bread for their sustenance,
he made his escape. He ran through the woods,
twenty-four miles in four hours; swam the Oswego
River, and on reaching the far side, and fearing pursuit,
did not stop to dress, but ran on naked through
the woods until he and his companion hoped they had
distanced their pursuers. A party had been sent after
them from the fort, but on reaching the point where
the boys had plunged into the river, gave up the chase.
Ogden and Danforth pressed on, around Oneida Lake—having
an adventure with a bear by the way, and
another with rattlesnakes—and finally, following old
trails, reached Fort Herkimer, having finished their
loaf of bread and run seventy miles on the last day of
their flight. Here Davy was among friends. The officers
promptly clothed him, gave him passports, and in
a few days he found his parents at Warrensburg, in
Schoharie County.</p>
<p>When the War of 1812 broke out, David took his gun
again. He fought at the Battle of Queenston, where
forty men in his own company were killed or wounded.
Two bullets passed through his clothes, but he was unharmed.
We can imagine the interest with which he
viewed the Lewiston plateau where he had lived with
Gunna-go-let more than thirty years before. After the
war he returned East, and in 1840 was living in the
town of Franklin, Delaware Co., being then seventy-six<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
years old. The story of his adventures was gathered
from his own lips, but I do not think it has ever been
told before as a part of the history of the Niagara
frontier.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h1>A Fort Niagara Centennial.</h1>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p>
<h2>A FORT NIAGARA CENTENNIAL.</h2>
<p><i>With Especial Reference to the British Retention of that Post for
Thirteen Years after the Treaty of 1783.</i><a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a></p>
<p>The part assigned to me in these exercises is to
review the history of Fort Niagara; to summon
from the shades and rehabilitate the figures
whose ambitions or whose patriotism are web and woof
of the fabric which Time has woven here. It is a
long procession, led by the disciples of St. Francis and
Loyola—first the Cross, then the scalping-knife, the
sword and musket. These came with adventurers of
France, under sanction of Louis the Magnificent, who
first builded our Fort Niagara and with varying fortunes
kept here a feeble footing for four score years, until,
one July day, Great Britain's wave of continental conquest
passed up the Niagara; and here, as on all the
frontier from Duquesne to Quebec,</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The lilies withered where the Lion trod."<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>The fragile emblem of France vanished from these
shores, and the triple cross waved over Fort Niagara
until, 100 years ago to-day, it gave way to a fairer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>
flag. This is the event we celebrate, this, with the
succeeding years, the period we review: a period embracing
three great wars between three great nations;
covering our Nation's birth, growth, assertion and
maintenance of independence. The story of Fort
Niagara is peculiarly the story of the fur trade and the
strife for commercial monopoly; and it is, too, in considerable
measure, the story of our neighbor, the magnificent
colony of Canada, herself worthy of full
sisterhood among the nations. It is a story replete
with incident of battle and siege, of Indian cruelty,
of patriot captivity, of white man's duplicity, of famine,
disease and death,—of all the varied forms of
misery and wretchedness of a frontier post, which we in
days of ease are wont to call picturesque and romantic.
It is a story without a dull page, and it is two and a
half centuries long.</p>
<p>Obviously something must be here omitted, for your
committee have allotted me fifteen minutes in which
to tell it!</p>
<p>Let us note, then, in briefest way, the essential data
of the spot where we stand.</p>
<p>A French exploratory expedition headed by Robert
Cavelier, called La Salle, attempted the first fortification
here in 1679.<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> There was a temporary Indian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>
village on the west side of the river, but no settlement
here, neither were there trees on this point.
Here, under the direction of La Motte de Lussiere,
were built two timber redoubts, joined by a palisade.
This structure, called Fort Conty, burned the same
year, and the site of Fort Niagara was unfortified until
the summer of 1687, when the Marquis de Denonville,
Governor General of Canada, after his expedition
against the Senecas, made rendezvous on this point,
and (metaphorically) shaking his fist at his rival Dongan,
the Governor of the English Colony of New
York, built here a fort which was called Fort Denonville.
It was a timber stockade, of four bastions; was
built in three days, occupied for eleven months by a
garrison which dwindled from 100 men to a dozen, and
would no doubt entirely have succumbed to the scurvy
and the besieging Iroquois but for the timely arrival
of friendly Miamis. It was finally abandoned September
15, 1688, the palisades being torn down, but
the little huts which had sheltered the garrison left
standing. How long they endured is not recorded.
All traces of them had evidently vanished by 1721,
when in May of that year Charlevoix rounded yonder
point in his canoe and came up the Niagara. His
Journal gives no account of any structure here. Four
years more elapsed before the French ventured to take<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>
decided stand on this ground. In 1725 Governor De
Vaudreuil deputed the General De Longueil to erect a
fort here. The work was entrusted to the royal engineer
Chaussegros de Léry—the elder of the two
distinguished engineers bearing that name. He came
to this spot, got his stone from Lewiston Heights and
his timber from the forest west of the river, and built
the "castle." Some of the cut stone was apparently
brought from the vicinity of Fort Frontenac, now
Kingston, across the lake. The oldest part of this
familiar pile, and more or less of the superstructure, is
therefore 171 years old.<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> There is, however, probably
but little suggestion of the original building in the
present construction, which has been several times
altered and enlarged. But from 1725 to the present
hour Fort Niagara has existed and, with one brief interim,
has been continuously and successively garrisoned
by the troops of France, England, and the United States.</p>
<p>By 1727 De Léry had completed the fortification of
the "castle," and the French held the post until
1759, when it surrendered to the English under Sir
William Johnson. It was in its last defence by the
French that the famous Capt. Pouchot first established
the fortification to the eastward, with two bastions and
a curtain-wall, apparently on about the same lines as
those since maintained. The story of the siege, the
battle, and the surrender is an eventful one; it is also
one of the most familiar episodes in the history of the
place, and may not be dwelt upon here.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p>
<p>July 25, 1759, marks the end of the French period
in the history of Fort Niagara. The real significance
of that period was even less in its military than in its
commercial aspect. During the first century and more
of our story the possession of the Niagara was coveted
for the sake of the fur trade which it controlled. I
cannot better tell the story of that hundred years in
less than a hundred words, than to symbolize Fort
Niagara as a beaver skin, held by an Indian, a Frenchman,
an Englishman and a Dutchman, each of the last
three trying to pull it away from the others (the poor
Dutchman being early bowled over in the scuffle), and
each European equally eager to placate the Indian with
fine words, with prayers or with brandy, or to stick a
knife into his white brother's back.</p>
<p>This vicinity also has peculiar precedence in the
religious records of our State. It was near here<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> that
Father Melithon Watteaux, the first Catholic priest to
minister to whites in what is now New York State, set
up his altar.<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> It has been claimed, too, by eminent
authority, that on this bank of the Niagara, was
acquired by the Catholic Church its first title to
property in this State<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a>; and here at Fort Niagara, under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>
the French <i>régime</i>, ministered Fathers Lamberville and
Milet, Crespel and others of shining memory. But
the capture of Fort Niagara by Sir William Johnson
overthrew the last altar raised by the French on the
east bank of the Niagara.</p>
<p>The first period of British possession of this point
extends from 1759 to 1796. This includes the Revolutionary
period, with sixteen years before war was
begun, and thirteen years after peace was declared.
When yielded up by the French, most of the buildings
were of wood. Exceptions were the castle, the old
barracks and magazine, the two latter, probably, dating
from 1756, when the French engineer, Capt. Pouchot,
practically rebuilt the fort. The southwest blockhouse
may also be of French construction. A tablet on the
wall of yonder bake-house says it was erected in 1762.
There were constant repairs and alterations under the
English, and several periods of important construction.
They rebuilt the bastions and waged constant warfare
against the encroaching lake. In 1789 Capt. Gother
Mann, Royal Engineer, made report on the needs of
the place, and his recommendations were followed the
succeeding year. In his report for 1790 he enumerates
various works which have been accomplished on
the fortifications, and says: "The blockhouse [has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>
been] moved to the gorge of the ravelin so as to form
a guard-house for the same, and to flank the line of
picketts.... A blockhouse has been built on
the lake side." This obviously refers to the solid old
structure still standing there.<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p>
<p>The real life of the place during the pre-Revolutionary
days can only be hinted at here. It was the
scene of Sir William Johnson's activities, the rendezvous
and recruiting post for Western expeditions.
Here was held the great treaty of 1764; and here
England made that alliance with the tribes which turned
their tomahawks against the "American rebels." It
may not be too much to say that the greatest horrors
of the Revolutionary War had their source in this spot.
Without Fort Niagara there would have been no massacre
of Wyoming,<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> no Cherry Valley and Bowman's
Creek outrages. Here it was that the cunning of
Montour and of Brant joined with the zeal of the But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>lers
and Guy Johnson, and all were directed and
sanctioned by the able and merciless Haldimand, then
Governor General of Canada. When Sullivan, the
avenger, approached in 1779, Fort Niagara trembled;
had he but known the weakness of the garrison then,
one page of our history would have been altered. The
British breathed easier when he turned back, but another
avenger was in the camp; for the 5,000 inflocking
Indians created a scarcity of provisions; and
starvation, disease and death, as had been the case
more than once before on this point, became the real
commanders of the garrison at Fort Niagara.</p>
<p>I hurry over the Revolutionary period in order to
dwell, briefly, on the time following the treaty of 1783.
By that treaty Great Britain acknowledged the independence
of this country. When it was signed the
British held the posts of Point au Fer and Dutchmen's
Point on Lake Champlain, Oswegatchie on the St.
Lawrence, Oswego, Niagara, Detroit and Mackinac.
The last three were important depots for the fur trade
and were remote from the settled sections of the
country. The British alleged that they held on to
these posts because of the non-fulfillment of certain
clauses in the treaty by the American Government.
But Congress was impotent; it could only recommend
action on the part of the States, and the impoverished
States were at loggerheads with each other. England
waited to see the new Nation succumb to its own domestic
difficulties. It is exceedingly interesting to
note at this juncture the attitude of Gov. Haldimand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>
In November, 1784, more than a year after the signing
of the treaty, he wrote to Brig. Gen. St. Leger:
"Different attempts having been made by the American
States to get possession of the posts in the Upper
Country, I have thought it my duty uniformly to oppose
the same until His Majesty's orders for that purpose
shall be received, and my conduct upon that
occasion having been approved, as you will see by enclosed
extract of a letter from His Majesty's Minister
of State, I have only to recommend to you a strict
attention to the same, which will be more than ever
necessary as uncommon returns of furs from the Upper
Country this year have increased the anxiety of the
Americans to become masters of it, and have prompted
them to make sacrifices to the Indians for that purpose";
and he adds, after more in this vein, that
should evacuation be ordered, "on no account whatever
are any stores or provisions to be left in the forts"
for the use of the Americans.</p>
<p>Not only did Haldimand, during the years immediately
following the treaty, refuse to consider any
overtures made by the Americans looking to a transfer
of the posts, but he was especially solicitous in maintaining
the garrisons, keeping them provisioned, and
the fortifications in good repair. There were over
2,000, troops, Loyalists and Indians, at Fort Niagara,
October 1, 1783. A year later it was much the best-equipped
post west of Montreal; and ten years later it
was not only well garrisoned and armed, mounting twelve
24-pounders, ten 12-pounders, two howitzers and five<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>
mortars, with large store of shell and powder, but it had
become such an important depot of supply to the impoverished
Loyalists that a great scandal had arisen
over the matter of feeding them with King's stores; and
the last spring of the Britishers' sojourn here was
enlivened by the proceedings of a court of inquiry,
with a possible court-martial in prospect, over a wholesale
embezzlement of the King's flour.</p>
<p>Haldimand prized Niagara at its true value. In
October, 1782, several months before peace was declared,
with admirable forethought and diplomacy, he
wrote to the Minister: "In case a peace or truce
should take place during the winter ... great
care should be taken that Niagara and Oswego should
be annexed to Canada, or comprehended in the general
words, that each of the contending parties in
North America should retain what they possessed at
the time. The possession of these two forts is essentially
necessary to the security as well as trade of the
country."<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> He ordered the commandant at Fort Niagara
to be very much on his guard against surprise by the wily
Americans, and at the same time to "be very industrious
in giving every satisfaction to our Indian allies."<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a></p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p>
<p>On the 2d of May, 1783, an express messenger from
Gen. Washington arrived at Fort Niagara, bringing the
terms of the treaty. The news gave great uneasiness
to Indian-Supt. Butler. "Strict attention to the Indians,"
he wrote next day to Capt. Mathews, "has
hitherto kept them in good humor, but now I am fearful
of a sudden and disagreeable change in their conduct.
The Indians, finding that their lands are ceded
to the Americans, will greatly sour their tempers and
make them very troublesome." The British, with
good reason, were constantly considering the effect of
evacuation upon the Indians.</p>
<p>The Americans made an ineffectual effort to get
early possession of the posts. New York State made a
proposition for garrisoning Oswego and Niagara, but
Congress did not accede. On January 21, 1784, Gov.
Clinton advised the New York State Senate and Assembly
on the subject. The British commander [Haldimand],
he said, had treated the Provisional Articles as
a suspension of hostilities only, "declined to withdraw
his garrison and refused us even to visit those
posts."<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> The Legislature agreed with the Governor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>
that nothing could be done until spring.<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> Spring found
them equally impotent. In March Gov. Clinton sent
a copy of the proclamation announcing the ratification
of the treaty to Gen. Haldimand: "Having no doubt
that Your Excellency will, as soon as the season admits,
withdraw the British garrisons under your command
from the places they now hold in the United States,
agreeable to the 7th Article of the Treaty, it becomes a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>
part of my duty to make the necessary provisions for
receiving the Post of Niagara and the other posts
within the limits of this State, and it is for this purpose
I have now to request that Your Excellency would
give me every possible information of the time when
these posts are to be delivered up."</p>
<p>Lieut.-Col. Fish, who carried Gov. Clinton's letter
to Quebec, received no satisfaction. Gen. Haldimand
evaded anything like a direct reply, saying that he
would obey the instructions of His Majesty's Ministers—whom
he was meanwhile urging to hold on to
the posts—but he gave the American officer the gratuitous
information that in his [Haldimand's] private
opinion "the posts should not be evacuated until such
time as the American States should carry into execution
the articles of the treaty in favor of the Loyalists;
that in conformity to that article [I quote from Haldimand's
report of the interview to Lord North], I had
given liberty to many of the unhappy people to go
into the States in order to solicit the recovery of their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>
estates and effects, but that they were glad to return,
without effecting anything after having been insulted
in the grossest manner; that although in compliance
with His Majesty's order, and [to] shun everything
which might tend to prevent a reconciliation between
the two countries, I had make no public representation
on that head. I could not be insensible to the sufferings
of those who had a right to look up to me for protection,
and that such conduct towards the Loyalists
was not a likely means to engage Great Britain to
evacuate the posts; for in all my transactions," he
adds, "I never used the words either of my 'delivering'
or their 'receiving' the posts, for reasons mentioned
in one of my former letters to Your Lordship."
And with this poor satisfaction Col. Fish was sent back
to Gov. Clinton.<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a></p>
<p>In June, Maj.-Gen. Knox, Secretary of War, sent
Lieut.-Col. Hull to Quebec on the same errand. In a
most courteous letter he asked to be notified of the
time of evacuation, and proposed, "as a matter of mutual
convenience, an exchange of certain cannon and
stores now at these posts for others to be delivered at
West Point upon Hudson's River, New York, or some
other convenient place," and he added that Lieut.-Col.
Hull was fully authorized to make final arrangements,
"so that there may remain no impediment to
the march of the American troops destined for this ser<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>vice."
Holdfast Haldimand sent him back with no
satisfaction whatever, and again exulted, in his report
to Lord Sydney, over his success in withstanding the
Americans.<a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> It was with great reluctance that in the
summer of 1784 he reduced the number of British vessels
by one on each of the lakes Erie and Ontario.
"It appears to be an object of National advantage," he
wrote to an official of the British Treasury, "to prevent
the fur trade from being diverted to the American
States, and no measure is so likely to have effect as
the disallowing, as long as it shall be in our power, the
navigation of the lakes by vessels or small crafts of any
kind belonging to individuals; hence I was the more
inclined to indulge the merchants, though in opposition
to the plan of economy which I had laid down."<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a></p>
<p>In October, 1784, Congress ordered 700 men to be
raised for garrisoning the posts; but the season was
late, the States impotent or indifferent, and nothing
came of the order. Congress faithfully exercised all
the power it possessed in the matter. In 1783, and
again in 1787, it unanimously recommended to the
States (and the British commissioner was aware, when
the treaty was made, that Congress could do no more
than recommend) to comply speedily and exactly with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>
that portion of the treaty that concerned creditors and
Royalists. The States were unable to act in concert,
and alleged infractions of the compact by the British,
as, indeed, there were. There was a sporadic show of
indignation in various quarters over the continued
retention of the posts; but in view of more vital
matters, and consciousness that the British claim of
unfulfilled conditions was not wholly unfounded, the
agitation slumbered for long periods, and matters remained
<i>in statu quo</i>.</p>
<p>The establishment of the Federal Constitution in
1789 gave the States a new and firmer union; and the
success of Wayne's expedition materially loosened the
British hold on the Indians and the trade of the lake
region; so that Great Britain readily agreed to the
express stipulation in the commercial treaty of 1794,
that the posts should be evacuated "on or before the
1st of June, 1796." This treaty, commonly called
Jay's, was signed in London, November 19, 1794, but
not ratified until October 28, 1795. No transfer of
troops was then reasonably to be expected during the
winter. Indeed, it was not until April 25, 1796, that
Lord Dorchester officially informed his council at
Castle St. Louis that he had received a copy of the
treaty. Even then the transfer was postponed until
assurances could be had that English traders among the
Indians should not be unduly dealt with.<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> There was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>
much highly-interesting correspondence between Lord
Dorchester and the commandant at Niagara on this
point; with James McHenry, our Secretary of War;
with Robert Liston, the British Minister at Philadelphia;
and, of course, with the Duke of Portland and
others of the Ministry. Capt. Lewis, representing the
United States, was sent to Quebec for definite information
of British intention. He fared better than the
American emissaries had twelve years before. He was
cordially received and supplied with a copy of the
official order commanding evacuation of the posts.
Whereupon, having received the assurance which his
Government had so long sought, he immediately requested
that the posts should not be evacuated until the
troops of the United States should be at hand to pro<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>tect
the works and public buildings. "Being desirous,"
wrote Lord Dorchester, "to meet the wishes of
the President, I have qualified my orders in a manner
that I think will answer this purpose."<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> Thus it happened
that the evacuation occurred at several different
dates. It not being thought necessary to await the
coming of American forces at the small posts on Lake
Champlain and at Oswegatchie, the British withdrew
from those points without ceremony about July 1st.
Detroit followed, July 11th; then Oswego, July 15th.
Most of the garrison appears to have left Fort Niagara
early in July, but an officer's guard remained until
August 11th,<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> when American troops arrived from
Oswego, and the Stars and Stripes went to the masthead.</p>
<p>I have dwelt upon this period in the history of Fort
Niagara at some length, partly because it is the exact
period marked by our celebration today, partly because
most of the data just related are gleaned from unpublished
official MSS., of which but scant use appears
to have been made by writers on the subject.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p>
<p>Of Fort Niagara under the American flag I shall be
very brief. No loyal American can take pride in telling
of its surrender to the British, December 19, 1813.
There was neither a gallant defense nor a generous
enemy. Cowardice on the one hand and retaliation
on the other sum up the episode. The place was
restored to the United States March 27, 1815, and with
the exception of one brief interim has been maintained
as a garrison to this day. The Morgan affair of 1826
need only be alluded to. The last defensive work of
consequence—the brick facing of the bastions, fronting
east—dates from 1861.</p>
<p>In the continental view, Fort Niagara was never of
paramount importance. Before the British conquest,
Niagara was the key to the inner door, but Quebec was
the master-lock. The French Niagara need never
have been attacked; after the fall of Quebec it would
inevitably have become Great Britain's without a blow.
In English hands its importance was great, its expense
enormous. Without it, Detroit and Mackinac could
not have existed; yet England's struggle with the
rebellious colonies would have been inevitable, and
would have terminated exactly as it did, had she never
possessed a post in the lake region. And of Fort Niagara
as an American possession, the American historian
can say nothing more true than this: that it is a striking
exemplification of the fact that his beloved country
is ill prepared upon her frontiers for anything save a
state of international amity and undisturbed peace.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h1>The Journals and Journeys of an<br />
Early Buffalo Merchant.</h1>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE JOURNALS AND JOURNEYS OF
AN EARLY BUFFALO MERCHANT.</h2>
<p>On the frosty morning of February 5, 1822, a
strange equipage turned out of Erie Street into
Willink Avenue, Buffalo, drove down that
steep and ungraded highway for a short distance, then
crossed to Onondaga Street, and turning into Crow,
was soon lost to sight among the snowdrifts that lined
the road running round the south shore of Lake Erie.
At least, such I take to have been the route, through
streets now familiar as Main, Washington and Exchange,
which a traveler would choose who was bound
up the south shore of Lake Erie.</p>
<p>The equipage, as I have said, was a strange one, and
a good many people came out to see it; not so much
to look at the vehicle as to bid good-bye to its solitary
passenger. The conveyance itself was nothing more
nor less than a good-sized crockery-crate, set upon
runners. Thills were attached, in which was harnessed
a well-conditioned horse. The baggage, snugly
stowed, included a saddle and saddle-bags, and a sack
of oats for the horse. Sitting among his effects, the
passenger, though raised but a few inches above the
snow, looked snug and comfortable. With a chorus
of well-wishes following him, he left the village and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>
by nightfall had traveled many miles to the westward,
taking his course on the ice that covered Lake
Erie.</p>
<p>This was John Lay, a merchant of the early Buffalo,
whom even yet it is only necessary to introduce to the
young people and to new-comers. The older generation
remembers well the enterprising and successful
merchant who shared fortunes with Buffalo in her most
romantic days. Before going after him, up the ice-covered
lake, let us make his closer acquaintance.</p>
<p>Mr. Lay, who was of good New-England stock,
came to Buffalo in 1810 to clerk in the general store of
his brother-in-law, Eli Hart. Mr. Hart had built his
store on Main near the corner of Erie Street, the site
now occupied by the American Express Co.'s building.
His dwelling was on Erie Street, adjoining, and
between the house and store was an ample garden.
The space now occupied by St. Paul's Church and the
Erie County Savings Bank was a rough common;
native timber still stood thick along the east side of
Main, above South Division Street; the town had been
laid out in streets and lots for four years, and the
population, exceeding at that time 400, was rapidly
increasing. There was a turnpike road to the eastward,
with a stage route. Buffalo Creek flowed lazily
into the lake; no harbor had been begun; and on
quiet days in summer the bees could still be heard
humming among the basswoods by its waters.</p>
<p>This was the Buffalo to which young Lay had come.
Looking back to those times, even more novel than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>
the condition of the frontier village, was the character
of the frontier trade carried on by Mr. Hart. The
trade of the villagers was less important than that
which was held with the Canadians or English who
were in office under the Government. To them they
sold India goods, silks and muslins. Side by side with
these the shelves were stocked with hardware, crockery,
cottonades, jeans and flannels, Indian supplies,
groceries and liquors. The young New Englander
soon found that with such customers as Red Jacket and
other representative red-men his usefulness was impaired
unless he could speak Indian. With characteristic
energy he set himself at the task, and in three
months had mastered the Seneca. New goods came
from the East by the old Mohawk River and Lewiston
route, were poled up the Niagara from Schlosser's,
above the falls, on flatboats, and were stored in a log
house at the foot of Main Street.</p>
<p>Up to 1810 the growth of Buffalo had been exceedingly
slow, even for a remote frontier point. But
about the time Mr. Lay came here new life was shown.
Ohio and Michigan were filling up, and the tide of
migration strengthened. Mr. Hart's market extended
yearly farther west and southwest, and for a time the
firm did a profitable business.</p>
<p>Then came the war, paralysis of trade, and destruction
of property. Mr. Lay was enrolled as a private in
Butts's Company, for defense. The night the village
was burned he with his brother-in-law, Eli Hart, were
in their store. The people were in terror, fearing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>
massacre by the Indians, hesitating to fly, not knowing
in which direction safety lay.</p>
<p>"John," said Mr. Hart, "there's all that liquor in
the cellar—the redskins mustn't get at that."</p>
<p>Together they went down and knocked in the heads
of all the casks until, as Mr. Lay said afterwards, they
stood up to their knees in liquor. As he was coming
up from the work he encountered a villainous-looking
Onondaga chief, who was knocking off the iron shutters
from the store windows. They had been none too
quick in letting the whisky run into the ground. Mr.
Lay said to the Indian:</p>
<p>"You no hurt friend?"</p>
<p>Just then a soldier jumped from his horse before the
door. Mr. Lay caught up a pair of saddle-bags, filled
with silver and valuable papers, threw them across the
horse, and cried out to his brother-in-law:</p>
<p>"Here, jump on and strike out for the woods."</p>
<p>Mr. Hart took this advice and started. The horse
was shot from under him, but the rider fell unharmed,
and, catching up the saddle-bags, made his way on foot
to the house of another brother-in-law, Mr. Comstock.
Later that day they came back to the town, and with
others they picked up thirty dead bodies and put them
into Rees's blacksmith shop, where the next day they
were burned with the shop.</p>
<p>After starting his relatives toward safety, Mr. Lay
thought of himself. The Onondaga had disappeared,
and Mr. Lay went into the house, took a long surtout
that hung on the wall and put it on. As he stepped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>
out of the door he was taken prisoner, and that night,
with many others, soldiers and civilians, was carried
across the river to Canada.</p>
<p>And here begins an episode over which I am
tempted to linger; for the details of his captivity, as
they were related to me by his widow, the late Mrs.
Frances Lay, are worthy of consideration. I will only
rehearse, as briefly as possible, the chief events of this
captivity in Canada, which, although not recorded in
Mr. Lay's journals, resulted in one of his most arduous
and adventurous journeys.</p>
<p>The night of December 30, 1813, was bitterly cold.
The captured and the captors made a hard march from
Fort Erie to Newark—or, as we know it now,
Niagara, Ont., on Lake Ontario. The town was full
of Indians, and many of the Indians were full of
whisky. Under the escort of a body-guard Mr. Lay
was allowed to go to the house of a Mrs. Secord, whom
he knew. While there, the enemy surrounded the
house and demanded Lay, but Mrs. Secord hid him in
a closet, and kept him concealed until Mr. Hart, who
had followed with a flag of truce, had learned of his
safety. Then came the long, hard march through
Canadian snows to Montreal. The prisoners were put
on short rations, were grudgingly given water to drink,
and were treated with such unnecessary harshness that
Mr. Lay boldly told the officer in charge of the expedition
that on reaching Montreal he should report him to
the Government for violating the laws of civilized warfare.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p>
<p>In March he was exchanged at Greenbush, opposite
Albany. There he got some bounty and footed it
across the country to Oneida, where his father lived.
As he walked through the village he saw his father's
sleigh in front of the postoffice, where his parents had
gone, hoping for news from him. They burned his
war-rags, and he rested for a time at his father's home,
sick of the horrors of war and fearful lest his constitution
had been wrecked by the hardships he had undergone.
It will be noted that this enforced journey from
Buffalo through Canada to Montreal and thence south
and west to Oneida had been made in the dead of
winter and chiefly, if not wholly, on foot. Instead of
killing him, as his anxious parents feared it might, the
experience seems to have taught him the pleasures of
pedestrianism, for it is on foot and alone that we are to
see him undertaking some of his most extended journeys.</p>
<p>I cannot even pause to call attention to the slow
recovery of Buffalo from her absolute prostration. The
first house rebuilt here after the burning was that of
Mrs. Mary Atkins, a young widow, whose husband,
Lieut. Asael Atkins, had died of an epidemic only ten
days before the village was destroyed. The young
widow had fled with the rest, finding shelter at
Williamsville, until her new house was raised on the
foundation of the old. It stood on the corner of Church
and Pearl streets, where the Stafford Building now is.</p>
<p>The reader is perhaps wondering what all this has to
do with John Lay. Merely this: that when, at Mr.
Hart's solicitation, Mr. Lay once more returned to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>
Buffalo, he boarded across the common from the rebuilt
store, with the Widow Atkins, and later on married her
daughter Frances, who, many years his junior, long survived
him, and to whose vigorous memory and kind graciousness
we are indebted for these pictures of the past.</p>
<p>The years that followed the War of 1812 were devoted
by Messrs. Hart & Lay to a new upbuilding of
their business. Mr. Hart, who had ample capital,
went to New York to do the buying for the firm, and
continued to reside there, establishing as many as five
general stores in different parts of Western New York.
He had discerned in his young relative a rare combination
of business talents, made him a partner, and
entrusted him with the entire conduct of the business
at Buffalo. After peace was declared the commercial
opportunities of a well-equipped firm here were great.
Each season brought in larger demands from the
western country. Much of the money that accrued
from the sale of lands of the Holland Purchase flowed
in the course of trade into their hands. The pioneer
families of towns to the west of Buffalo came hither
to trade, and personal friendships were cemented
among residents scattered through a large section. I
find no period of our local history so full of activities.
From Western New York to Illinois it was a time of
foundation-laying. Let me quote a few paragraphs
from memoranda which Mrs. Lay made relating to this
period:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>The war had brought men of strong character, able to cope
with pioneer life; among others, professional men, surgeons,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>
doctors and lawyers: Trowbridge, Marshall, Johnson, and many
others. Elliot of Erie was a young lawyer, of whom Mr. Lay had
often said, "His word is as good as his bond." Another friend
was Hamot of Erie, who had married Mr. Hart's niece. He
made frequent visits to his countryman, Louis Le Couteulx. [At
whose house, by the way, John Lay and Frances Atkins were
married, Red Jacket being among the guests.] At Erie, then a
naval station, were the families of Dickinson, Brown, Kelso, Reed,
Col. Christy, and many others, all numbered among Mr. Lay's
patrons. Albert H. Tracy came here about that time; he brought
a letter from his brother Phineas, who had married Mr. Lay's
sister. He requested Mr. Lay to do for him what he could in the
way of business. Mr. Lay gave him a room over his store,
and candles and wood for five years. Even in those days
Mr. Tracy used to declare that he should make public life his
business.</p>
<p>Hart & Lay became consignees for the Astors in the fur business.
I well remember that one vessel-load of furs from the West
got wet. To dry them Mr. Lay spread them on the grass, filling
the green where the churches now are. The wet skins tainted the
air so strongly that Mr. Lay was threatened with indictment—but
he saved the Astors a large sum of money.</p></div>
<p>Hart & Lay acquired tracts of land in Canada,
Ohio and Michigan. To look after these and other
interests Mr. Lay made several adventurous journeys to
the West—such journeys as deserve to be chronicled
with minutest details, which are not known to have
been preserved. On one occasion, to look after
Detroit interests, he went up the lake on the ice with
Maj. Barton and his wife; the party slept in the wigwams
of Indians, and Mr. Lay has left on record his
admiration of Mrs. Barton's ability to make even such
rough traveling agreeable.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p>
<p>A still wilder journey took him to Chicago. He
went alone, save for his Indian guides, and somewhere
in the Western wilderness they came to him and told
him they had lost the trail. Before it was regained
their provisions were exhausted, and they lived for a
time on a few kernels of corn, a little mutton tallow,
and a sip of whisky. Fort Dearborn—or Chicago—at
that date had but one house, a fur-trading post.
When Mr. Lay and his guides reached there they were
so near starvation that the people dared give them
only a teaspoonful of pigeon soup at a time. Nor had
starvation been the only peril on this journey. An
attempt to rob him, if not to murder him, lent a grim
spice to the experience. Mr. Lay discovered that he
was followed, and kept his big horse-pistols in readiness.
One night, as he lay in a log-house, he suddenly felt a
hand moving along the belt which he wore at his waist.
Instantly he raised his pistol and fired. The robber
dashed through the window, and he was molested no
more.</p>
<p>Such adventurous journeyings as these formed no
inconsiderable part of the work of this pushing Buffalo
merchant during the half dozen years that followed
the burning of the town. Business grew so that half a
dozen clerks were employed, and there were frequently
crowds of people waiting to be served. The store
became a favorite rendezvous of prominent men of the
place.</p>
<p>Many a war episode was told over there. Albert
Gallatin and Henry Clay, Jackson and the United<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>
States banks—the great men and measures of the day—were
hotly discussed there; and many a time did
the group listen as Mr. Lay read from <i>Niles' Register</i>,
of which he was a constant subscriber. There
were sometimes lively scrimmages there, as the following
incident, narrated by Mrs. Lay, will illustrate:</p>
<p>There was a family in New York City whose son
was about to form a misalliance. His friends put him
under Mr. Hart's care, and he brought the youth to
Buffalo. Here, however, an undreamed-of difficulty
was encountered. A young Seneca squaw, well known
in town as Suse, saw the youth from New York and fell
desperately in love with him. Mr. Lay, not caring to
take the responsibility of such a match-making, shipped
the young man back to New York. The forest maiden
was disconsolate; but, unlike <i>Viola</i>, she told her love,
nor "let concealment, like the worm i' the bud, feed
on her damask cheek." Not a bit of it. On the contrary,
whenever Suse saw Mr. Lay she would ask him
where her friend was. One day she went into the
store, and, going up to the counter behind which Mr.
Lay was busy, drew a club from under her blanket and
"let him have it" over the shoulders. The attack
was sudden, but just as suddenly did he jump over the
counter and tackle her. Suse was a love-lorn maid,
but she was strong as a wildcat and as savage. Albert
H. Tracy, who was in the store, afterwards described
the trouble to Mrs. Lay.</p>
<p>"I never saw a fight," he said, "where both par<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>ties
came so near being killed; but Lay got the better
of her, and yanked her out into the street with her
clothes torn off from her."</p>
<p>"I should think you would have helped John," said
the gentle lady, as Mr. Tracy told her this.</p>
<p>By the close of the year 1821, although still a young
man, the subject of this sketch had made a considerable
fortune. Feeling the need of rest, and anxious to
extend his horizon beyond the frontier scenes to which
he was accustomed, he decided to go to Europe.
Telling Mr. Hart to get another partner, the business
was temporarily left in other hands; and on February
5, 1822, as narrated at the opening of this paper, Mr.
Lay drove out of town in a crockery-crate, and took
his course up the ice-covered lake, bound for Europe.</p>
<p>Recall, if you please, something of the conditions
of those times. No modern journeyings that we can
conceive of, short of actual exploration in unknown
regions, are quite comparable to such an undertaking
as Mr. Lay proposed. Partly, perhaps, because it was
a truly extraordinary thing for a frontier merchant to
stop work and set off for an indefinite period of sight-seeing;
and partly, too, because he was a man whose
love for the accumulation of knowledge was regulated
by precise habits, we are now able to follow him in
the closely-written, faded pages of half a dozen fat
journals, written by his own hand day by day during
the two years of his wanderings. No portion of these
journals has ever been published; yet they are full of
interesting pictures of the past, and show Mr. Lay to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>
have been a close observer and a receptive student of
nature and of men.</p>
<p>The reason for his crockery-crate outfit may have
been divined. He wanted a sleigh which he could
leave behind without loss when the snow disappeared.</p>
<p>Business took him first to Cleveland, which he
reached in six days, driving much of the distance on the
lake. Returning, at Erie he headed south and followed
the old French Creek route to the Allegheny.
Presently the snow disappeared. The crockery-crate
sleigh was abandoned, and the journey lightly continued
in the saddle; among the few <i>impedimenta</i> which
were carried in the saddle-bags being "a fine picture
of Niagara Falls, painted on satin, and many Indian
curiosities to present to friends on the other side."</p>
<p>Pittsburg was reached March 2d; and, after a delay
of four days, during which he sold his horse for $30, we
find our traveler embarked on the new steamer Gen.
Neville, carrying $120,000 worth of freight and fifty
passengers.</p>
<p>Those were the palmy days of river travel. There
were no railroads to cut freight rates, or to divert the
passenger traffic. The steamers were the great transporters
of the middle West. The Ohio country was
just emerging from the famous period which made the
name "river-man" synonymous with all that was disreputable.
It was still the day of poor taverns, poor
food, much bad liquor, fighting, and every manifestation
of the early American vulgarity, ignorance and
boastfulness which amazed every foreigner who ven<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>tured
to travel in that part of the United States,
and sent him home to magnify his bad impressions in
a book. But with all its discomforts, the great Southern
river route of 1822 proved infinitely enjoyable to
our Buffalonian. At Louisville, where the falls intercepted
travel, he reëmbarked on the boat Frankfort
for a fourteen-days' journey to New Orleans.
Her cargo included barrels of whisky, hogsheads of
tobacco, some flour and cotton, packs of furs, and two
barrels of bear's oil—how many years, I wonder,
since that last item has been found in a bill of lading
on an Ohio steamer!</p>
<p>I must hurry our traveler on to New Orleans, where,
on a Sunday, he witnessed a Congo dance, attended
by 5,000 people, and at a theater saw "The Battle of
Chippewa" enacted. There are antiquarians of the
Niagara Frontier today who would start for New
Orleans by first train if they thought they could see
that play.</p>
<p>April 27th, Mr. Lay sailed from New Orleans, the
only passenger on the ship Triton, 310 tons, cotton-laden,
for Liverpool. It was ten days before they
passed the bar of the Mississippi and entered the Gulf,
and it was not until June 28th that they anchored in
the Mersey. The chronicle of this sixty days' voyage,
as is apt to be the case with journals kept at sea, is exceedingly
minute in detail. Day after day it is
recorded that "we sailed thirty miles to-day," "sailed
forty miles to-day," etc. There's travel for you—thirty
miles on long tacks, in twenty-four hours! The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>
ocean greyhound was as yet unborn. The chief diversion
of the passage was a gale which blew them along
195 miles in twenty-four hours; and an encounter
with a whaleship that had not heard a word from the
United States in three years. "I tossed into their
boat," Mr. Lay writes, "a package of newspapers.
The captain clutched them with the avidity of a starving
man."</p>
<p>Ashore in Liverpool, the first sight he saw was a
cripple being carried through the streets—the only
survivor from the wreck of the President, just lost on
the Irish coast.<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a></p>
<p>He hastened to London just too late to witness the
coronation of George IV., but followed the multitude
to Scotland, where, as he writes, "the outlay of attentions
to this bad man was beyond belief. Many of
the nobility were nearly ruined thereby." He was in
Edinburgh on the night of August 15, 1822, when that
city paid homage to the new King; saw the whole
coast of Fife illuminated "with bonfires composed of
thirty tons of coal and nearly 1,000 gallons of tar and
other combustibles"; and the next day, wearing a
badge of Edinburgh University, was thereby enabled
to gain a good place to view the guests as they passed
on their way to a royal levee. To the nobility our
Buffalonian gave little heed; but when Sir Walter
Scott's carriage drove slowly by he gazed his fill. "He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>
has gray thin hair and a thoughtful look," Mr. Lay
wrote. "The Heart of Midlothian" had just been
published, and Mr. Lay went on foot over all the
ground mentioned in that historical romance. He
stayed in pleasant private lodgings in Edinburgh for six
months, making pedestrian excursions to various parts
of Scotland. In twenty-eight days of these wanderings
he walked 260 miles.</p>
<p>Instead of following him closely in these rambles,
my readers are asked to recall, for a moment, the time
of this visit. Great Britain was as yet, to all intents
and purposes, in the eighteenth century. She had few
canals and no railroads, no applied uses of steam and
electricity. True, Stephenson had experimented on
the Killingworth Railway in 1814; but Parliament had
passed the first railway act only a few months before
Mr. Lay reached England, and the railway era did not
actually set in until eight years later. There is no
reference in the Lay journals to steam locomotives or
railways. Liverpool, which was built up by the African
slave trade, was still carrying it on; the Reform Bill
was not born in Parliament; it was still the old <i>régime</i>.</p>
<p>Our traveler was much struck by the general bad
opinion which prevailed regarding America. On
meeting him, people often could not conceal their surprise
that so intelligent and well-read a man should be
an American, and a frontier tradesman at that. They
quizzed him about the workings of popular government.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>I told them [writes this true-hearted democrat] that as long as
we demanded from our public men honesty and upright dealings,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>
our institutions would be safe, but when men could be bought or
sold I feared the influence would operate ruinously, as all former
republics had failed for lack of integrity and honesty.</p></div>
<p>His political talks brought to him these definitions,
which I copy from his journal:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>Tory was originally a name given to the wild Irish robbers who
favored the massacre of the Protestants in 1641. It was afterward
applied to all highflyers of the Church. Whig was a name
first given to the country field-elevation meetings, their ordinary
drink being whig, or whey, or coagulated sour milk. Those
against the Court interest during the reigns of Charles II. and
James II. and for the Court in the reigns of William and George
I. were called Whigs. A Yankee is thus defined by an Englishman,
who gives me what is most likely the correct derivation of
the epithet: The Cherokee word eanker [?] signifies coward or
slave. The Virginians gave the New Englanders this name for
not assisting in a war with the Cherokees in the early settlement
of their country, but after the affair of Bunker Hill the New Englanders
gloried in the name, and in retaliation called the Virginians
Buckskins, in allusion to their ancestors being hunters, and selling
as well as wearing buckskins in place of cloth.</p></div>
<p>In Edinburgh he saw and heard much of some of
Scotia's chief literary folk. Burns had been dead
twenty-six years, but he was still much spoken of,
much read, and admired far more than when he lived.
With Mr. Stenhouse, who for years was an intimate
of Burns, Mr. Lay formed a close acquaintance:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>Mr. Stenhouse has in his possession [says the journal] the mss.
of all of Burns's writings. I have had the pleasure of perusing
them, which I think a great treat. In the last of Burns's letters
which I read he speaks of his approaching dissolution with sorrow,
of the last events in his life in the most touching and delicate
language.</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p>
<p>The journal relates some original Burns anecdotes,
which Mr. Lay had from the former companions of the
bard, but which have probably never been made public,
possibly because—in characteristic contrast to the
letter referred to above—they are touching but <i>not</i>
delicate.</p>
<p>Our Buffalonian encountered numerous literary lions,
and writes entertainingly of them. He speaks often of
Scott, who he says "is quite the theme. He is constantly
writing—something from his pen is shortly
expected. I saw him walking on the day of the grand
procession. He is very lame, has been lame from his
youth, a fact I did not know before." James Hogg,
author of the "Winter Evening Tales," lived near
Edinburgh. Mr. Lay described him as "a singular
rustic sort of a genius, but withal clever—very little
is said about him."</p>
<p>I have touched upon Mr. Lay's achievements in
pedestrianism, a mode of travel which he doubtless
adopted partly because of the vigorous pleasure it afforded,
partly because it was the only way in which to visit
some sections of the country. A man who had walked
from Fort Erie to Montreal, to say nothing of hundreds
of miles done under pleasanter circumstances,
would naturally take an interest in the pedestrian
achievements of others. Whoever cares for this
"sport" will find in the Lay journals unexpected
revelations on the diversions and contests of three-quarters
of a century ago. Have we not regarded the
walking-match as a modern mania, certainly not ante<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>dating
Weston's achievements? Yet listen to this page
of the old journal, dated Edinburgh, Aug. 27, 1822:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>I went to see a pedestrian named Russell, from the north of
England, who had undertaken to walk 102 miles in twenty-four
successive hours. He commenced his task yesterday at 1.15
o'clock. The spot chosen was in the vale between the Mound
and the North Bridge, which gave an opportunity for a great
number of spectators to see him to advantage; yet the numbers
were so great and so much interested that there were persons constantly
employed to clear his way. The ground he walked over
measured one eighth of a mile. I saw him walk the last mile,
which he did in twelve minutes. He finished his task with eleven
minutes to spare, and was raised on the shoulders of men and
borne away to be put into a carriage from which the horses were
taken. The multitude then drew him through many principal
streets of the city in triumph. The Earl of Fyfe agreed to give
him £30 if he finished his work within the given time. He
also got donations from others. Large bets were depending, one
of 500 guineas. He carried a small blue flag toward the last and
was loudly cheered by the spectators at intervals.</p></div>
<p>Nor was the "sport" confined to Scotland. August
4, 1823, being in London, Mr. Lay writes:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>To-day a girl of eight years of age undertook to walk thirty
miles in eight consecutive hours. She accomplished her task in
seven hours and forty-nine minutes without being distressed. A
wager of 100 sovereigns was laid. This great pedestrian feat took
place at Chelsea.</p></div>
<p>A few weeks later he writes again:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>This is truly the age of pedestrianism. A man has just accomplished
1,250 miles in twenty successive days. He is now to
walk backward forty miles a day for three successive days. Mr.
Irvine, the pedestrian, who attempted to walk from London to
York and back, 394 miles, in five days and eight hours, accomplished
it in five days seven and one-half hours.</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p>
<p>With men walking backwards and eight-years-old
girls on the track, these Britons of three-quarters of a
century ago still deserve the palm. But Mr. Lay's
own achievements are not to be lightly passed over.
Before leaving London he wrote: "The whole length
of my perambulations in London and vicinity exceeds
1,200 miles."</p>
<p>The journals, especially during the months of his
residence in Scotland, abound in descriptions of people
and of customs now pleasant to recall because for the
most part obsolete. He heard much rugged theology
from Scotland's greatest preachers; had an encounter
with robbers in the dark and poorly-policed streets of
Edinburgh; had his pockets picked while watching the
King; and saw a boy hanged in public for house-breaking.
With friends he went to a Scotch wedding,
the description of which is so long that I can only give
parts of it:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>About forty had assembled. The priest, a Protestant, united
them with much ceremony, giving them a long lecture, after
which dinner was served up and whisky toddy. At six, dancing
commenced and was kept up with spirit until eleven, when we had
tea, after which dancing continued until three in the morning.
The Scotch dances differ from the American, and the dancers hold
out longer. The girls particularly do not tire so early as ours at
home. We retired to the house where the bride and groom were
to be bedded. The females of the party first put the bride to bed,
and the bridegroom was then led in by the men. After both were
in bed liquor was served. The groom threw his left-leg hose.
Whoever it lights upon is next to be married. The stocking
lighted on my head, which caused a universal shout. We reached
home at half past six in the morning, on foot.</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p>
<p>I have been much too long in getting Mr. Lay to
London, to go about much with him there. And yet
the temptation is great, for to an American of Mr.
Lay's intelligence and inquiring mind the great city
was beyond doubt the most diverting spot on earth.
One of the first sights he saw—a May-day procession
of chimney-sweeps, their clothes covered with gilt
paper—belonged more to the seventeenth century
than to the nineteenth. Peel and Wilberforce,
Brougham and Lord Gower, were celebrities whom he
lost no time in seeing. On the Thames he saw the
grand annual rowing match for the Othello wherry
prize, given by Edmund Kean in commemoration of
Garrick's last public appearance on June 10, 1776.
Mr. Lay's description of the race, and of Kean himself,
who "witnessed the whole in an eight-oared cutter,"
is full of color and appreciative spirit. He saw a man
brought before the Lord Mayor who "on a wager had
eaten two pounds of candles and drank seven glasses of
rum," and who at another time had eaten at one meal
"nine pounds of ox hearts and taken drink proportionately";
and he went to Bartholomew's Fair, that
most audacious of English orgies, against which even
the public sentiment of that loose day was beginning
to protest. As American visitors at Quebec feel to-day
a flush of patriotic resentment when the orderly in the
citadel shows them the little cannon captured at Bunker
Hill, so our loyal friend, with more interest than
pleasure, saw in the chapel at Whitehall, "on each side
and over the altar eight or ten eagles, taken from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>
French, and flags of different nations; the eagle of the
United States is among them, two taken at New Orleans,
one at Fort Niagara, one at Queenston, and three at
Detroit"; but like the American at Quebec, who, the
familiar story has it, on being taunted with the captured
Bunker Hill trophy, promptly replied, "Yes, you got
the cannon, but we kept the hill," Mr. Lay, we may
be sure, found consolation in the thought that though
we lost a few eagle-crested standards, we kept the Bird
o' Freedom's nest.</p>
<p>On July 5, 1823, he crossed London Bridge on foot,
and set out on an exploration of rural England; tourings
in which I can not take space to follow him.
When he first went abroad he had contemplated a trip
on the continent. This, however, he found it advisable
to abandon, and on October 5, 1823, on board
the Galatea, he was beating down the channel, bound
for Boston. The journey homeward was full of grim
adventure. A tempest attended them across the
Atlantic. In one night of terror, "which I can never
forget," he writes, "the ship went twice entirely
around the compass, and in very short space, with continual
seas breaking over her." The sailors mutinied
and tried to throw the first mate into the sea. Swords,
pistols and muskets were made ready by the captain.
Mr. Lay armed himself and helped put down the
rebellion. When the captain was once more sure of
his command, "Jack, a Swede, was taken from his
confinement, lashed up, and whipped with a cat-o'-nine-tails,
then sent to duty." The dose of cat was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>
afterwards administered to the others. It is no wonder
that the traveler's heart was cheered when, on November
13th, the storm-tossed Galatea passed under the
guns of Forts Warren and Independence and he stepped
ashore at Boston.</p>
<p>He did not hurry away, but explored that city and
vicinity thoroughly, going everywhere on foot, as he
had, for the most part, in England. He visited the
theaters and saw the celebrities of the day, both of
the stage and the pulpit. At the old Boston Theater,
Cooper was playing <i>Marc Antony</i>, with Mr. Finn as
<i>Brutus</i>, and Mr. Barrett as <i>Cassius</i>.</p>
<p>On November 20th he pictures a New-England
Thanksgiving:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>This is Thanksgiving Day throughout the State of Massachusetts.
It is most strictly observed in this city; no business
whatever is transacted—all shops remained shut throughout the
day. All the churches in the city were open, divine service performed,
and everything wore the appearance of Sunday. Great
dinners are prepared and eaten on this occasion, and in the evening
the theaters and ball-rooms tremble with delight and carriages
fill the streets.... A drunken, riotous gang of fellows got
under our windows yelping and making a great tumult.</p></div>
<p>A week later, sending his baggage ahead by stage-coach,
he passed over Cambridge Bridge, on foot for
Buffalo, by way of New York, Philadelphia, Washington,
Pittsburg and Erie.</p>
<p>Once more I must regret that reasonable demands
on the reader's patience will not let me dwell with much
detail on the incidents and observations of this unusual
journey. No man could take such a grand walk and fail<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>
to see and learn much of interest. But here was a practical,
shrewd, observant gentleman who, just returned
from two years in Great Britain, was studying his own
countrymen and weighing their condition and ideas
by most intelligent standards. The result is that the
pages of the journals reflect with unaccustomed fidelity
the spirit of those days, and form a series of historical
pictures not unworthy our careful attention. Just a
glimpse or two by the way, and I am through.</p>
<p>The long-settled towns of Massachusetts and Connecticut
appeared to him in the main thrifty and growing.
Hartford he found a place of 7,000 inhabitants,
"completely but irregularly built, the streets crooked
and dirty, with sidewalks but no pavements." He
passed through Wethersfield, "famous for its quantities
of onions. A church was built here, and its bell purchased,"
he records, "with this vegetable." New
Haven struck him as "elegant, but not very flourishing,
with 300 students in Yale." Walking from
twenty-five to thirty-five miles a day, he reached Rye,
just over the New York State line, on the ninth day
from Boston, and found people burning turf or peat for
fuel, the first of this that he had noticed in the United
States.</p>
<p>At Harlem Bridge, which crosses to New York
Island, he found some fine houses, "the summer residences
of opulent New Yorkers"; and the next day
"set out for New York, seven miles distant, over a
perfectly straight and broad road, through a rough,
rocky and unpleasing region." In New York, where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>
he rested a few days, he reviewed his New England
walk of 212 miles:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>The general aspect of the country is pleasing; inns are provided
with the best, the people are kind and attentive. I think I have
never seen tables better spread. I passed through thirty-six
towns on the journey, which are of no mean appearance. I never
had a more pleasant or satisfactory excursion. There are a great
number of coaches for public conveyance plying on this great
road. The fare is $12 for the whole distance. Formerly it was
254 miles between Boston and New York, but the roads are now
straightened, which has shortened the distance to 212 miles.</p></div>
<p>He had experienced a Boston Thanksgiving. In
New York, on Thursday, December 18th, he had another
one. Thanksgiving then was a matter of State proclamation,
as now, but the day had not been given its
National character, and in many of the States was not
observed at all. We have seen what it was like in
Boston. In New York, "business appears as brisk as
on any other laboring day." The churches, however,
were open for service, and our traveler went to hear
the Rev. Mr. Cummings in Vanderventer Street, and to
contribute to a collection in behalf of the Greeks.</p>
<p>Four days before Christmas he crossed to Hoboken,
and trudged his way through New Jersey snow and
mud to Philadelphia, which he reached on Christmas.
At the theater that night he attended—</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>a benefit for Mr. Booth of Covent Garden, London, and was filled
with admiration for Mr. Booth, but the dancing by Miss Hathwell
was shocking in the extreme. The house was for a long time in
great uproar, and nothing would quiet them but an assurance
from the manager of Mr. Booth's reappearance.</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p>
<p>This of course was Junius Brutus Booth. Here is Mr.
Lay's pen-picture of Philadelphia seventy-six years ago:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>The streets of Philadelphia cross at right angles; are perfectly
straight, well-paved but miserably lighted. The sidewalks break
with wooden bars on which various things are suspended, and in
the lower streets these bars are appropriated for drying the washwomen's
clothes. Carpets are shaken in the streets at all hours,
and to the annoyance of the passer-by. Mr. Peale of the old
Philadelphia Museum was lecturing three nights a week on galvanism,
and entertaining the populace with a magic lantern.</p></div>
<p>It is much the same Philadelphia yet.</p>
<p>January 8th, Mr. Lay took his way south to Baltimore,
making slow progress because of muddy roads;
but he had set out to walk, and so he pushed ahead
on to Washington, although there were eight coaches
daily for the conveyance of passengers between the
two cities, the fare being $4. The road for part of
the way lay through a wilderness. "The inns generally
were bad and the attention to travelers indifferent."</p>
<p>In Washington, which he reached on January 14th, he
lost no time in going to the House of Representatives,
where he was soon greeted by Albert H. Tracy, whose
career in Congress I assume to be familiar to the reader.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>On the day named, the House was crowded to excess with
spectators, a great number of whom were ladies, in consequence
of Mr. Clay's taking the floor. He spoke for two hours
on the subject of internal improvements, and the next day the
question of erecting a statue to Washington somewhere about
the Capitol, was debated warmly.</p></div>
<p>On his return North, in passing through Baltimore, he
called on Henry Niles, who as editor of <i>Niles' Weekly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>
Register</i>, was to thousands of Americans of that day
what Horace Greeley became later on—an oracle;
and on January 18th struck out over a fine turnpike
road for Pittsburg.</p>
<p>The Pittsburg pike was then the greatest highway to
the West. The Erie Canal was nearing completion,
and the stage-routes across New York State saw much
traffic. Yet the South-Pennsylvania route led more
directly to the Ohio region, and it had more traffic
from the West to the East than the more northern
highways had for years to come. In the eastern part
of the State it extends through one of the most fertile
and best-settled parts of the United States. Farther
west it climbs a forest-clad mountain, winds
through picturesque valleys, and from one end of the
great State to the other is yet a pleasant path for the
modern tourist. The great Conestoga wagons in endless
trains, which our pedestrian seldom lost sight of,
have now disappeared. The wayside inns are gone or
have lost their early character, and the locomotive has
everywhere set a new pace for progress.</p>
<p>When Mr. Lay entered the Blue Ridge section, beyond
Chambersburg, he found Dutch almost the only
language spoken. The season was at first mild, and as
he tramped along the Juniata, it seemed to him like
May. "Land," he notes, "is to be had at from $1
to $3 per acre." It took him seventeen days to walk
to Pittsburg. Of the journey as a whole he says:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>At Chambersburg the great stage route from Philadelphia
unites with the Baltimore road. Taverns on these roads are fre<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>quent
and nearly in sight of each other. The gates for the collection
of tolls differ in distance—some five, others ten, and others
twenty-five miles asunder. Notwithstanding the travel is great
the stock yields no profit, but, on the contrary, it is a sinking concern
on some parts, and several of the companies are in debt for
opening the road. About $100 per mile are annually expended in
repairs. It cost a great sum to open the road, particularly that
portion leading over the mountains and across the valleys.</p>
<p>Taverns are very cheap in their charges; meals are a fourth of
a dollar, beds 6¼ cents, liquors remarkably cheap. Their tables
are loaded with food in variety, well prepared and cleanly served
up with the kindest attention and smiling cheerfulness. The
women are foremost in kind abilities. Beer is made at Chambersburg
of an excellent quality and at other places. A good deal
of this beverage is used and becoming quite common; it is found
at most of the good taverns. Whisky is universally drank and it
is most prevalent. Places for divine service are rarely to be met
with immediately on the road. The inhabitants, however, are
provided with them not far distant in the back settlements, for
almost the whole distance. The weather has been so cold that
for the two last days before reaching Pittsburg I could not keep
myself comfortable in walking; indeed, I thought several times I
might perish.</p></div>
<p>In Pittsburg he lodged at the old Spread Eagle
Tavern, and afterwards at Conrad Upperman's inn on
Front Street at $2 a week. He found the city dull
and depressed:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>The streets are almost deserted, a great number of the houses
not tenanted, shops shut, merchants and mechanics failed; the
rivers are both banked by ice, and many other things wearing the
aspect of decayed trade and stagnation of commerce. Money I
find purchases things very low. Flour from this city is sent over
the mountains to Philadelphia for $1 per barrel, which will little
more than half pay the wagoner's expenses for the 280 miles.
Superfine flour was $4.12½ in Philadelphia, and coal three cents<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>
per bushel. Coal for cooking is getting in use in this city—probably
two-thirds the cooking is with coal.</p></div>
<p>He had had no trouble up to this point in sending
his baggage ahead. It was some days before the stage
left for Erie. All was at length dispatched, however,
and on February 14th he crossed over to Allegheny—I
think there was no bridge there then—and marched
along, day after day, through Harmony, Mercer and
Meadville, his progress much impeded by heavy snow;
at Waterford he met his old friend G. A. Elliott, and
went to a country dance; and, finally, on February 20th
found himself at Mr. Hamot's dinner-table in Erie,
surrounded by old friends. They held him for two
days; then, in spite of heavy snow, he set out on foot
for Buffalo. Even the faded pages of the old journal
which hold the record of these last few days bespeak
the eager nervousness which one long absent feels as
his wanderings bring him near home. With undaunted
spirit, our walker pushed on eastward to the house of
Col. N. Bird, two miles beyond Westfield; and the
next day, with Col. Bird, drove through a violent snow-storm
to Mayville to visit Mr. William Peacock—the
first ride he had taken since landing in Boston in
November of the previous year. But he was known
throughout the neighborhood, and his friends seem to
have taken possession of him. From Mr. Bird's he
went in a stage-sleigh to Fredonia to visit the Burtons.
Snow two feet deep detained him in Hanover town,
where friends showed him "some tea-seed bought of a
New-England peddler, who left written directions for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>
its cultivation." "It's all an imposition," is Mr.
Lay's comment—but what a horde of smooth-tongued
tricksters New England has to answer for!</p>
<p>The stage made its way through the drifts with difficulty
to the Cattaraugus, where Mr. Lay left it, and
stoutly set out on foot once more. For the closing
stages of this great journey let me quote direct from
the journal:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>I proceeded over banks of drifted snow until I reached James
Marks's, who served breakfast. The stage wagon came up again,
when we went on through the Four-mile woods, stopping to see
friends and spending the night with Russell Goodrich. On February
29th [two years and twenty-four days from the date of setting
out] I drove into Buffalo on Goodrich's sleigh and went
straight to Rathbun's, where I met a great number of friends,
and was invited to take a ride in Rathbun's fine sleigh with four
beautiful greys. We drove down the Niagara as far as Mrs.
Seely's and upset once.</p></div>
<p>What happier climax could there have been for this
happy home-coming!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h1>Misadventures of Robert Marsh.</h1>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p>
<h2>MISADVENTURES OF ROBERT MARSH.</h2>
<p>Robert Marsh claimed American citizenship,
but the eventful year of 1837 found him on the
Canadian side of the Niagara River. His
brother was a baker at Chippewa, and Robert drove a
cart, laden with the bakery products, back and forth
between the neighboring villages. From St. Catharines
to Fort Erie he dispensed bread and crackers and
the other perhaps not wholly harmless ammunition that
was moulded in that Chippewa bakery; and he naturally
absorbed the ideas and the sentiments of the men
he met. The Niagara district was at fever heat.
Mackenzie had sown his Patriot literature broadcast,
and what with real and imaginary wrongs the
majority of the community sentiment seemed ripe for
rebellion.</p>
<p>It is easy enough now, as one reads the story of that
uprising, to see that the rebels never had a ghost of a
chance. The grip of the Government never was in
real danger of being thrown off in the upper province;
but a very little rebellion looks great in the eyes of
the rebel who hazards his neck thereby; and it is no
wonder that Robert Marsh came to the conclusion that
the colonial government of Canada was about to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>
overthrown, or that he decided to cast in his lot with
those who should win glory in the cause of freedom.
As an American citizen he had a right to do this.
History was full of high precedents. Did not Byron
espouse the cause of the Greeks? Did not Lafayette
make his name immortal in the ranks of American
rebels? One part of America had lately thrown off
the hated yoke of Great Britain; why should not
another part? So our cracker peddler reasoned; and
reasoning thus, began the train of adventures for the
narration of which I draw in brief upon his own obscure
narrative. It is a story that leads us over some
strange old trails, and its value lies chiefly in the fact
that it illustrates, by means of a personal experience, a
well-defined period in the history of the Niagara
region. Robert Marsh is hardly an ideal hero, but
he is a fair type of a class who contrived greatly to
delude themselves, and to pay roundly for their
experience. He thought as many others thought;
what he adventured was also adventured by many
other men of spirit; and what he endured before he
got through with it was the unhappy lot of many of
his fellows.</p>
<p>It was a time of great discontent and discouragement
on both sides of the border. Throughout the
Holland Purchase the difficulties over land titles had
reached a climax, and the sheriff and his deputies enforced
the law at the risk of their lives. This year of
1837 also brought the financial panic which is still a
high-water mark of hard times in our history. Buffalo<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>
suffered keenly, and it is not strange that such of her
young men as had a drop of adventurous blood in their
veins were ready to turn "Patriot" for the time being;
though as a matter of sober fact it must be recorded
that the enthusiasm of the majority did not blind their
judgment to the hopelessness of the rebellion. On
the Canadian side the case was different. Unlike their
American brethren, many of the residents there felt
that they had not a representative government. It is
not necessary now, nor is it essential to our story, to
rehearse the grievances which the Canadian Patriots
undertook to correct by taking up arms against the
established authority. They are presented with great
elaboration in many histories; they are detailed with
curious ardor in the Declaration of Rights, a document
ostentatiously patterned after the Declaration of
Independence. William Lyon Mackenzie was a long
way from being a Thomas Jefferson; yet he and his
associates undertook a reform which—taking it at
their valuation—was as truly in behalf of liberty as
was the work of the Signers of the Declaration of Independence.
They made the same appeal to justice;
argued from the same point of view for man's inalienable
rights; they were temperate, too, in their demands,
and sought liberty without bloodshed. Yet
while the American patriots were enabled to persist
and win their cause, though after two bitter and exhausting
wars, their Canadian imitators were ignominiously
obliterated in a few weeks. In the one case the
cause of Liberty won her brightest star. In the other,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>
there is complete defeat, without a monument save the
derision of posterity.</p>
<p>It was in November of this year of rebellion 1837
that Marsh, being at Chippewa, decided to cast in his
lot with the Patriots. "I began to think," he says,
"that I must soon become an actor on one side or the
other." He saw the Government troops patrolling
every inch of the Canadian bank of the Niagara, and
concentrating in the vicinity of Chippewa. "Boats of
every description were brought from different parts; at
the same time they were mustering all their cannon
and mortars intending to drive them [the Patriots] off;
one would think by their talk, that they would not
only kill them all, but with their cannon mow down
all the trees, and what the balls failed in hitting the
trees would fall upon, and thus demolish the whole
Patriot army." Our hero's observations have this peculiar
value: they are on the common level. He heard
the boasts and braggadocio of the common soldier;
the diplomatic or guarded speech of officers and officials
he did not record. He heard all about the plot
to seize the Caroline, and could not believe it at first.
But, he says, "when I beheld the men get in the boats
and shove off and the beacon lights kindled on the
shore, that they might the more safely find the way
back, my eyes were on the stretch, towards where the
ill-fated boat lay." When he saw the party return
and heard them boast of what they had done, he
thought it high time for him to leave the place.
"Judge my feelings," he says, "on beholding this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>
boat on fire, perhaps some on board, within two short
miles of the Falls of Niagara, going at the rate of
twelve miles an hour."<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a></p>
<p>The Caroline was burned on the 29th of December.
On the next day our hero and a friend set out to join
the Patriots. Let me quote in condensed fashion from
his narrative, which is a tolerably graphic contribution
to the history of this famous episode:</p>
<p>"We succeeded in reaching the river six miles above
Chippewa about 11 o'clock in the evening, after a
tedious and dangerous journey through an extensive
swamp. There is a small settlement in a part of this
swamp which has been called Sodom. There were
many Indians prowling about. We managed to evade
them but with much difficulty. There were sentinels
every few rods along the line." A friendly woman at a
farmhouse let them take a boat. They offered her
$5 for its use, but she declined; "she said she would
not take anything ... as she knew our situation
and felt anxious to do all in her power to help us across
the river; she also told us that her husband had taken
Mackenzie across a few nights previous. 'Leave the
boat in the mouth of the creek,' said she, pointing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>
across the river towards Grand Island, ... 'there
is a man there that will fetch it back, you have only
to fasten it, say nothing and go your way.' We were
convinced that we were not the only ones assisted by
this patriotic lady."</p>
<p>Marsh and his companion, whose surname was
Thomas, launched the boat with much difficulty, and
with muffled oars they rowed across to Grand Island.
"It was about 1 o'clock in the morning and we had to
go eight or nine miles through the woods and no road.
There had been a light fall of snow, and in places
[was] ice that would bear a man, but oftener would
not; once or twice in crossing streams the ice gave
way and we found ourselves nearly to the middle in
water." Our patriot's path, the reader will note, was
hard from the outset, but he kept on, expecting to be
with his friends again in a few days, and little dreaming
of what lay ahead of him. "We at near daylight
succeeded in reaching White Haven, a small village,
where we were hailed by one of our militia sentinels:
'Who comes there?' 'Friends.' 'Advance and give
the countersign.' Of course we advanced, but we
could not give the countersign; a guard was immediately
dispatched with us to headquarters, where we
underwent a strict examination."</p>
<p>He was sent across to Tonawanda, where he took
the cars for Schlosser. There the blood-stains on the
dock where Durfee had been killed sealed his resolution;
he crossed to Navy Island and presented himself
at the headquarters of William Lyon Mackenzie, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>
peppery little Scotchman who was the prime organizer
of the Provisional Government, and of General Van
Rensselaer, commander-in-chief of the Patriot Army.
"The General produced the list and asked me the
length of time I wished to enlist. I was so confident
of success that I unhesitatingly replied, 'Seven years
or during the war.' The General remarked, 'I wish
I had 2,000 such men, we have about 1,000 already,<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a>
and I think this Caroline affair will soon swell our force
to 2,000, and then I shall make an attack at some
point where they least expect, ... and as you are
well acquainted there I want you to be by my side.'"
Here was preferment indeed, for Marsh believed that
Van Rensselaer was brave and able; history has a
different verdict; but we must assume that our hero
entered upon the campaign with high hopes and who
knows what visions of glory.</p>
<p>Now, at the risk of tiresomeness, I venture to dwell
a little longer on this occupancy of Navy Island; I
promise to get over ground faster farther along in the
story. It is assumed that the reader knows the principal
facts of this familiar episode; but in Marsh's journal
I find graphic details of the affair not elsewhere
given, to my knowledge. Let me quote from his
obscure record:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>After my informing the General of their preparations and intention
of attacking the Island, breastworks were hastily thrown up,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>
and all necessary arrangements made to give them a warm reception.
There were twenty-five cannon, mostly well mounted,
which could easily be concentrated at any point required; and
manned by men that knew how to handle them. Besides other
preparations, tops of trees and underbrush were thrown over the
bank at different places to prevent them landing. I know there
were various opinions respecting the strength of the Island, but
from close observation, during these days of my enlistment, it is
my candid opinion that if they had attacked the Island, as was
expected, they would mostly or all have found a watery grave.
The tories were fearful of this, for when the attempt was made
men could not be found to hazard their lives in so rash an
attempt....</p>
<p>It was hoped and much regretted by all on the Island that the
attempt was not made; for if they had done so it would have
thinned their ranks and made it the more easy for us to have entered
Canada at that place. They finally concluded to bring all
their artillery to bear upon us, and thus exterminate all within
their reach. They were accordingly arranged in martial pomp,
opposite the Island, the distance of about three-quarters of a mile.
Now the work of destruction commences; the balls and bombs
fly in all directions. The tops of the trees appear to be a great
eye-sore to them. I suppose they thought by commencing an
attack upon them, their falling would aid materially in the destruction
of lives below.</p></div>
<p>Robert, the reader will have observed, had a fine
gift of sarcasm. The thundering of artillery was
heard, by times, he says, for twenty and thirty miles
around, for a week, "[the enemy] being obliged to
cease firing at times for her cannons to cool. They
were very lavish with Her Gracious Majesty's powder
and balls." He continues:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>I recollect a man standing behind the breastwork where were
four of us sitting as the balls were whistling through the trees.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>
"Well," says he, "if this is the way to kill the timber on this
island, it certainly is a very expensive way as well as somewhat
comical; I should think it would be cheaper to come over with
axes, and if they are not in too big a hurry, girdle the trees and
they will die the sooner." I remarked: "They did not know
how to use an axe, but understood girdling in a different way."
An old gentleman from Canada taking the hint quickly responded,
"Yes. Canada can testify to the fact of their having other ways
of girdling besides with the axe, and unless there is a speedy stop
put to it, there will not be a green tree left." There was another
gentleman about to say something of their manner of swindling
in other parts of the world, he had just commenced about Ireland
when I felt a sudden jar at my back, and the other three that set
near me did the same; we rose up and discovered that a cannon
ball had found its way through our breastwork, but was kind
enough to stop after just stirring the dirt at our backs. I had
only moved about an inch of dirt when I picked up a six-pound
ball.</p>
<p>As it happened, our gun was a six-pounder. We concluded,
as that was the only ball that had as yet been willing to pay us a
visit, we would send it back as quick as it come. We immediately
put it into our gun and wheeled around the corner of the breastwork.
"Hold," said I, "there is Queen Ann's Pocket Piece, as
it is called, it will soon be opposite, and then we'll show them
what we can do." It was not mounted, but swung under the ex
[axle] of a cart, such as are used for drawing saw-logs, with very
large wheels. I had seen it previous to my leaving Chippewa.
I think there was six horses attached to the cart, for it was very
heavy, it being a twenty-four-pounder. I suppose it was their
intention to split the Island in two with it, hoping by so doing it
might loosen at the roots and move off with the current and go
over the falls, and thus accomplish their great work of destruction
at once. As they were opposite, the words "ready, fire," were
given; we had the satisfaction of seeing the horses leave the
battleground with all possible speed. The gun was forsaken in
no time, and in less than five minutes there was scarcely a man to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>
be seen. The ball had gone about three feet further to the left
than had been intended; it was intended to lop the wheels, but it
severed the tongue from the ex and the horses took the liberty to
move off as fast as possible.</p>
<p>We were about to give them another shot, when the officer of
the day came up and told us the orders from headquarters were
not to fire unless it was absolutely necessary, that we must be
saving of our ammunition. I told him that it was their own ball
that we had just sent back. When he saw the execution it had
done he smiled and went on, remarking, "They begin to fire a
little lower." "Yes," said I, "and as that was the first, we
thought we would send it back and let them know we did not
want it, that we had balls of our own."</p></div>
<p>This incident was the beginning of more active operations.
For the next nine days and nights there was a
great deal of firing, with one killed and three wounded.
The Patriot army held on to its absurd stronghold for
four weeks, causing, as Marsh quaintly puts it, "much
noise and confusion on both sides"; and he at least
was keenly disappointed when it was evacuated, Jan.
12, 1838. The handful of Patriots scattered and
Chippewa composed herself to the repose which, but
for one ripple of disturbance in 1866, continues to the
present day.</p>
<p>Up to the end of this abortive campaign Robert
Marsh's chief misadventure had been to cut himself off,
practically, from a safe return to the community where
his best interests lay. But he had a stout heart if a
perverse head. "I was born of Patriot parentage,"
he boasted; "I am not a Patriot today and tomorrow
the reverse"; and being fairly identified with the
rebels, he determined to woo the fortunes of war wher<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>ever
opportunity offered. His ardor must have been
considerable, for he made his way in the dead of winter
from Buffalo to Detroit; just how I do not know;
but he speaks of arriving at Sandusky "after a tedious
walk of five days." Here he joined a party for an
attack on Malden, but the Patriots were themselves
attacked by some 300 Canadian troops who came across
the lake in sleighs; there was a lively fight on the ice,
with some loss of life, when each party was glad to
retire. Next he tried it with a band of rebels on
Fighting Island, below Detroit; treachery and "the
power of British gold" seem to have kept Canada from
falling into their hands; and presently, "being sick of
island fighting," as he puts it, he made his way to
Detroit, where, all through that troubled summer of
'38, he appears to have been one of the most active
and ardent of the plotters. Certain it is that he was
promptly to the front for the battle of Windsor, and
was with the invaders on Dec. 4, 1838, when a band
of 164 misguided men crossed the Detroit River to take
Canada. He was "Lieutenant" Marsh on this expedition,
but it was the emptiest of honors. At four in the
morning they attacked the barracks on the river banks
above Windsor, and, as often happens with the most
fatuous enterprises, met at the outset with success.
They burned the barracks and took thirty-eight prisoners
(whom they could not hold), looking meanwhile
across the river for help which never came. "We
were about planting our standard," wrote Marsh afterward;
"the flag was a splendid one, with two stars for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>
Upper and Lower Canada. We had just succeeded in
getting a long spar and was in the act of raising it, as
the cry was heard,—'There comes the Red-coats!
There are the dragoons!'" Our Patriot, it will be observed,
made no nice distinctions between British and
Canadian troops; that distinction will not fail to be
made for him, in a province which has always claimed
the honor—to which it is fully entitled—of putting
down this troublesome uprising without having to call
for help upon the British regulars. But the invaders
did not raise nice points then. They hastily formed
and withstood the attack for a little; but it was a hopeless
stand, for numbers and discipline were all on the
other side. According to Marsh, the regulars numbered
600. There was sharp firing, eleven Patriots and
forty-four Canadians were killed; and seeing this, and
learning, later than his friends across the river, that
discretion is the better part of valor, he did the only
thing that remained to do—he took to the woods.</p>
<p>The woods were full just then of discreet Patriots,
and several of them held a breathless council of war.
Here is Marsh's account of it:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>It was finally concluded for every man to do the best he could
for himself. We accordingly separated and I found myself pursued
by a man hollowing at the top of his voice, "Stop there,
stop, you damned rebel, or I'll shoot you! stop, stop!" I was
near a fence at that time crossing a field. I proceeded to the
fence, dropped on one knee, put my rifle through the fence, took
deliberate aim. He had a gun and was gaining on me. I had a
cannister of powder, pouch of balls, two pistols and an overcoat
on, which prevented me from attempting to run. I saw all hopes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>
of escape was useless; I discharged my rifle, but cannot say
whether it hit the mark or not, for I did not look, but immediately
rose and walked off. At any rate I heard no more "Stop there,
you damned rebel."</p></div>
<p>Marsh's narrative is too diffuse, not to mention
other faults, for me to follow it <i>verbatim et (il-)literatim</i>.
I give the events of the next few days as simply as possible.
After he fired his gun through the fence at the
red-coat who followed no more—his last shot, be it
remarked, for the relief of Canada—he found that he
was very tired. It was late in the day of the battle and
he had eaten nothing for nearly forty-eight hours.
Pushing on through the woods he came to a barn, but
had scarcely entered when it was surrounded by ten or
twelve "dragoons," as he calls them. He scrambled
up a ladder to the hay-mow, dug a hole in the hay,
crawled in and smoothed it over himself, and, he says,
"had just got a pistol in each hand as the door flew
open; in they rushed, crying, 'Come out, you damned
rebel, we'll shoot you, we'll not take you before the
Colonel to be shot, come out, come out, we'll hang
you.' Said another, 'We'll quarter you and feed you
to the hogs as we've just served one!' They thrust
their swords into the hay, and threatened to burn the
barn; but as it belonged to one of their sort, they
thought better of it and went off. They soon came
back, and saying they would place a sentry, disappeared
again." Marsh tore up certain papers which he feared
would be troublesome if found on him and then slept.
It was dark when he awoke. He crept out of the barn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>
and wandered through the woods until daylight, narrowly
escaping some Indians. He applied at the
house of a French settler for something to eat; frankly
admitting, what it obviously was folly to deny, that
he was a fugitive. Three "large bony Frenchmen"
came to the door, made him their prisoner and marched
him off through the woods to Sandwich, where he was
stripped of his valuables and locked up with several
others, his captors cheerfully assuring them that they
would have a fine shooting-match tomorrow. Marsh
stoutly maintained that, as he owed the Queen no
allegiance, he was not a rebel; but his protests did him
no good. He was not shot on the morrow, although
others of the captives were summarily executed, without
a pretext of trial or even a chance to say their prayers.</p>
<p>And now begins an imprisonment of ten months full
of such distress and atrocity that I should not please,
however much I might edify, by its recital. We read
today of the horrors of Spanish and Turkish massacres
or of Siberian prisons, and every page of history has
its record of inhumanity—its Black Hole, its Dartmoor,
its Andersonville. In this dishonor roll of
official outrages surely may be included the backwoods
prisons of Upper Canada in 1838 and '39. Our misadventurer
was shifted from one to another. At Fort
Malden, on the shore of Lake Erie, he was kept for
seven weeks in a small room with twenty-eight other
men. It was the dead of winter, but they had no
warmth save from their emaciated and vermin-infested
bodies. They were ironed two and two, day and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>
night. They were so crowded that there was not floor-room
for all to sleep at once. According to Marsh,
who afterwards wrote a minute record of this imprisonment,
their feeding and care would have been fatal to
a herd of hogs. The acme of the miseries of the prison
at Fort Malden I cannot even hint at with propriety.
When transferred from Sandwich to Malden, and later
from Malden to London, Marsh, like many of his fellow
sufferers, had his feet frozen; and when his limbs
swelled so that life itself was threatened, it was not the
surgeon but a clumsy blacksmith who cut off the irons
and supplied new ones.</p>
<p>In London the treatment of Malden was repeated.
Here the trials began. The gallows was erected close
to the jail wall; day by day the doomed ones walked
out of a door in the second story to the death platform;
and day by day Marsh and the other wretches in the
cells heard the drop as it swung, in falling, against the
jail wall. Marsh lived in hourly expectation of the
summons, but before his turn came there was a stay in
the work which had been going on under the warrants
signed by Sir George Arthur—as great a tyrant, probably,
as ever held power on the American continent.
A far more philosophic writer than Robert Marsh has
called him the Robespierre of Canada. Whatever
may be held as to the illegality of the trials which sent
some twenty-five men to the gallows at this time, certain
it is that the hangings stopped before our hero's
neck was stretched. Fate still had her quiver full of
evil days for him; and fortune, like a gleam of sun<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>
between clouds, moved him on to the prison at Toronto,
where his mother came to see him.</p>
<p>It was in the early spring of 1839 that he was transferred
to Toronto. In June following, with a boatload
of companions, he was shipped down to Fort
Henry at Kingston. Here, for three months, he was
deluded with the constant expectation of release; but
he must have had some foreshadowings of his fate
when, after three months of wretched existence at Fort
Henry, he was again sent on, down the river to Quebec;
and there, on September 28, 1839, he and 137 companions
in irons were put aboard the British prison-ship
Buffalo, commanded by Capt. Wood. They were
stowed on the third deck, below the water line; 140
sailors were placed over them; and the Buffalo took
her course down the widening gulf. The dismal
departure was lightened by a touch of human nature.
There were several of the convicts who, like Marsh,
claimed American citizenship, and American blood
will show itself.<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> As the prisoners were marched down
with clanking chains from Fort Henry for the shipment
to Quebec, many of them thought that it was their
last shift before release. "There were three or four<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>
very good singers amongst us," says Marsh, "which
made the fort ring with the 'American Star,' 'Hunters
of Kentucky' and other similar songs, which caused
many to flock to our windows. Some of them remarked,
'You will not feel like singing in Botany
Bay.' 'Give us "Botany Bay,"' said one, and it was
done in good style."</p>
<p>If the reader will permit the digression, it may
afford a little entertainment to consider for a moment
these old songs. The literature of every war includes
its patriotic songs—seldom the work of great poets,
and most popular when they appeal to the quick sympathies
and sense of humor of the common people.
Every people has such songs, sometimes cherished and
sung for generations. England has them without
number, Canada has hers, the United States has hers;
and among the most popular for many years, strange as
it now may seem, were "The American Star" and
"The Hunters of Kentucky," which were sung by
these none-too-worthy representatives of the United
States, through Canadian prison bars, this autumn
morning sixty years ago. Both songs had their origin,
I believe, at the time of the War of 1812. That such
barren and bombastic lines as "The American Star"
should have remained popular a quarter of a century
seems incredible, and appears to indicate that the youth
of the country were very hard up for patriotic songs
worth singing. Here follows "The American Star":</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Come, strike the bold anthem, the war dogs are howling,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Already they eagerly snuff up their prey,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span><br /></span>
<span class="i0">The red clouds of war o'er our forests are scowling,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Soft peace spreads her wings and flies weeping away;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The infants, affrighted, cling close to their mothers,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The youths grasp their swords, for the combat prepare,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While beauty weeps fathers, and lovers and brothers,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Who rush to display the American Star.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Come blow the shrill bugle, the loud drum awaken,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The dread rifle seize, let the cannon deep roar;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No heart with pale fear, or faint doubtings be shaken,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">No slave's hostile foot leave a print on our shore.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shall mothers, wives, daughters and sisters left weeping,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Insulted by ruffians, be dragged to despair!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh no! from her hills the proud eagle comes sweeping<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And waves to the brave the American Star.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The spirits of Washington, Warren, Montgomery,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Look down from the clouds with bright aspect serene;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Come, soldiers, a tear and a toast to their memory,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Rejoicing they'll see us as they once have been.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To us the high boon by the gods has been granted,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To speed the glad tidings of liberty far;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let millions invade us, we'll meet them undaunted,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And vanquish them by the American Star.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Your hands, then, dear comrades, round Liberty's altar,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">United we swear by the souls of the brave<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Not one from the strong resolution shall falter,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To live independent, or sink to the grave!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then, freemen, fill up—Lo, the striped banner's flying,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The high bird of liberty screams through the air;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beneath her oppression and tyranny dying—<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Success to the beaming American Star.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Every one of its turgid and wordy lines bespeaks the
struggling infancy of a National literature. "The
Hunters of Kentucky" is a little better, because it has
humor—though of the primitive backwoods type—in it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>
If the reader has not heard it lately, perhaps he can
stand a little of it. It was inspired by the battle of
New Orleans:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Ye gentlemen and ladies fair,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Who grace this famous city,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Just listen, if you've time to spare,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">While I rehearse a ditty;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And for the opportunity<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Conceive yourselves quite lucky,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For 'tis not often that you see<br /></span>
<span class="i1">A hunter from Kentucky;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">O! Kentucky,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The hunters of Kentucky.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">We are a hardy free-born race,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Each man to fear a stranger;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whate'er the game, we join in chase,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Despising toil and danger;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And if a daring foe annoys,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Whate'er his strength or force is,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We'll show him that Kentucky boys<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Are alligators,—horses:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">O! Kentucky, etc.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I s'pose you've read it in the prints,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">How Packenham attempted<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To make Old Hickory Jackson wince,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">But soon his schemes repented;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For we, with rifles ready cock'd,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Thought such occasion lucky,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And soon around the general flock'd<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The hunters of Kentucky:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">O! Kentucky, etc.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I s'pose you've heard how New Orleans<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Is famed for wealth and beauty;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span><br /></span>
<span class="i0">There's gals of every hue, it seems,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">From snowy white to sooty:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So, Packenham he made his brags<br /></span>
<span class="i1">If he in fight was lucky,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He'd have their gals and cotton bags,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In spite of Old Kentucky:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">O! Kentucky, etc.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But Jackson he was wide awake,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And wasn't scared at trifles,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For well he knew what aim we take<br /></span>
<span class="i1">With our Kentucky rifles;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So, he led us down to Cypress Swamp,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The ground was low and mucky;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There stood John Bull in martial pomp—<br /></span>
<span class="i1">But here was Old Kentucky:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">O! Kentucky, etc.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">We raised a bank to hide our breasts,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Not that we thought of dying,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But then we always like to rest,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Unless the game is flying;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Behind it stood our little force—<br /></span>
<span class="i1">None wish'd it to be greater,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For every man was half a horse<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And half an alligator:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">O! Kentucky, etc.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They didn't let our patience tire<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Before they show'd their faces;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We didn't choose to waste our fire,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">But snugly kept our places;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And when so near we saw them wink,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">We thought it time to stop 'em,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It would have done you good, I think,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To see Kentuckians drop 'em:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">O! Kentucky, etc.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They found, at length, 'twas vain to fight,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span><br /></span>
<span class="i1">When lead was all their booty,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And so, they wisely took to flight,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And left us all the beauty.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And now, if danger e'er annoys,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Remember what our trade is;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Just send for us Kentucky boys,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And we'll protect you, ladies:<br /></span>
<span class="i3">O! Kentucky, etc.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>At least it has a gallant ending, which was not altogether
apposite to the situation of Marsh and his fellow-prisoners
at Kingston. "Botany Bay" was more in
their line just then; but, at any rate, it was just as
philosophic to go into exile singing as mourning or
cursing.</p>
<p>Were I a Herman Melville or a Clark Russell I
should be tempted to dwell on this dreary voyage of
the prison-ship Buffalo. Even Marsh's humble chronicle
of it is graphic with unstudied incidents. They
ran into rough weather at once; so that to the wretchedness
of their imprisonment was added the misery of
seasickness. No one had told them of their destination,
and many of them, like Marsh, stoutly maintained
from first to last that they were transported without a
sentence. Their daily life in this dark and crowded
'tween-decks, practically the hold of a staggering old
sailer, could not be detailed without offense; and if it
could be, I have no desire to heap up the horrors. In
mid-voyage there was an attempted mutiny; the convicts
tried to seize the ship; but the only result was
heavier irons, closer confinement, and a stricter guard.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>
After two months of the stormy Atlantic the Buffalo
put into Rio Janeiro, where she lay three tantalizing
days. "It happened to be the Emperor's birthday,"
says Marsh, "and although we were not allowed to go
on shore, we could discover through a skylight the flags
on the pinnacles of houses and hills apparently reaching
to the clouds." A little fruit was had aboard to
allay the scurvy which was making havoc, and the
Buffalo lumbered away again and ran straight into a
savage gale, in which she sprung a bad leak. She was
an old ship, and had formerly been a man-of-war, but
for some years now had been employed as a convict
transport between England and New South Wales.
From Rio around the Cape of Good Hope the log kept
by Robert Marsh is a story of sickness and death.
Those who had had their limbs frozen in Canada now
found the skin and flesh coming away and the sea
water on their bare feet gave them excruciating agony.
The shotted sack slid into the shark-patrolled waters of
the Indian Ocean, and the wretches who still lived were
envious of the dead. And on the 13th of February,
1840, four months and a half from Quebec, the Buffalo
anchored in Hobart Town harbor, Van Dieman's Land.</p>
<p>And now a word about this antipodean land on
which our unlucky hero looked out from the prison-ship.
We are wont to regard it, perhaps, as a new
and well-nigh unknown part of the world; possibly
some of us would have to think twice if asked off-hand,
Where is Van Dieman's Land? Of course we
remember, when we glance at the map, that it is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>
good-sized island just south of Australia. From extreme
north to extreme south it is about as far as from
Buffalo to Philadelphia, and east and west not quite
so far as from Buffalo to Albany. And here is a
coincidence: Hobart Town, in the harbor of which
the prison-ship Buffalo dropped anchor with her load of
misery, is exactly as far south of the equator as Buffalo
is north of it. Other parallel data may perhaps be
helpful: It was in 1642 that the navigator Tasman
discovered the island, naming it after his Dutch patron,
Van Dieman. The explorer's name has now been
substituted, as it should be, and Tasmania, not Van
Dieman's Land, appears on modern maps. The history
of that land dates from 1642. It was in 1641 that
those adventurous missioners, Brébeuf and Chaumonot,
first carried their portable altar across the Niagara; and
from the Relations of their order for that year the
world gained the first actual glimpse of the Niagara
region. In the world's annals, therefore, this far-away
island and our own Niagara and lake region are of the
same age. One other parallel may be ventured. The
first permanent settlement in Van Dieman's Land was
made in 1803. In 1804 Buffalo had fifteen actual
settlers and a few squatters. But here our parallels
end, for when, on that February morning of 1840, the
unhappy Marsh was put ashore, he found a community
unlike any that has ever existed in this happier part
of the world. For over thirty years England had been
sending thither her worst criminals. Shipload after
shipload, year after year, of the most depraved and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>
vicious of mankind, had been sent out. England had
made of it and of Botany Bay a dumping-ground for
whatever manner of evil men and women she could
scrape from her London slums. There was some free
colonization, but it went on slowly. Honest men
hesitated to go where society was so handicapped.
The treatment of the convicts varied according to the
Governors, but for years before Marsh arrived it seems
to have been as harsh and brutalizing as imperiousness
and cruelty could devise. In 1836 Sir John Franklin
was sent out to the station. He was an exceptionally
humane and generous man, according to most accounts.
Marsh does not complain of any severity from him,
but calls him an old granny, a glutton and a temporizer
in his promises to convicts. It is something foreign to
our purpose to dwell upon this point, nor is it a
gracious thing to seek any imputation against a character
which history delights to hold as the embodiment
of the gallant and heroic. We must remember that
Robert Marsh's point of view was not likely to bring
him to favorable estimates of those in authority
over him and through whom his very real oppression
came. Years after, when the great explorer's bones
lay whitening in the unknown North, this far-away colony
raised to his memory a noble bronze statue, which
stands to-day in Franklin Square, Hobart, not far from
the old Government House, the scene of his uncongenial
administration.</p>
<p>And now behold our hero marched ashore with his
fellows; reeling like a drunken man, the strange effect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>
of firm earth under foot after months of heaving seaway;
examined, ticketed and numbered, clad in Her
Majesty's livery, and sent to a near-by country station,
where he is put to work under savage overseers at carrying
stone for road-building; and thus began five
years of unmitigated suffering for Robert Marsh in that
detestable land. There were about 43,000 convicts on
the island at the time, 25,000 of whom were driven to
daily work in chain gangs, on the roads, in the wet
mines or the forest. The rest were ex-convicts; had
served their sentences and counted themselves among
the free population, which all told did not then exceed
60,000. Conceive of a free community, nearly one half
of whom, men and women, were former convicts, but
not regenerate. For years the brothels of London,
Glasgow, Edinburgh, were emptied into Van Dieman's
Land. A reputable writer has said that at this time
female virtue was unknown in the island. The wealthy
land-owners, under government patronage, were autocrats
in their own domain. The whipping-post, the
triangle—a refinement of cruelty—and the gallows
were familiar sights. The slightest failure at his daily
task sent the convict to the whipping-post or to solitary
confinement.</p>
<p>Official iniquity flourished under Sir George Arthur's
reign of eleven years. He was Franklin's predecessor,
and his minions were still in control when Marsh came
under their power. He was shifted from station to
station; fed like a dog, lodged in the meanest huts
and worked well nigh to death. The worst characters<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>
were his overseers, and the day began with the lash.
A convict's strength would give out under his load;
he would lag behind, or stop to rest. At once he
would be taken to the station, stripped to the waist—if
he chanced to have anything on—strung up to the
post or triangle, and flogged. As an additional measure
of reform, brine was thrown into the gashes which
the lash had made. These were the milder forms of
daily punishment. Sir George Arthur's prouder record
comes from the executions. Travelers to-day tell us that
Tasmania is really a second England; in its settled
portions it is a land of pleasant vales and gentle rivers,
rich in harvests of the temperate zone. "Appleland,"
some have called it, from its fruitful orchards; but no
tree transplanted from Merrie England ever flourished
more than the black stock from Tyburn Hill. Sir
George hanged 1,500 during his stay. Marsh tells of
a compassionate clergyman who was watching with interest
the erection of a gallows. "Yes," he said, "I
suppose it will do, but it is not as large as we need. I
think ten will hang comfortable, but twelve will be
rather crowded."</p>
<p>It is small wonder that our hero tried to escape. He
took to the bush—which means the unexplored and
inhospitable forest—with a band of friends; was captured,
punished, and thereafter dressed in magpie—trousers
and frock one half black, one half yellow; and
in this garb, which advertised to all that he had been a
bush-ranger, he worked on until the spring of 1842,
when Sir John Franklin made him a ticket-of-leave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>
man. This relieved him from the overseers, and gave
him permission to work, for whatever wages he could
get, in an assigned district.</p>
<p>And now again, of this new phase of his misadventures,
a long story could be made. At that time
the best circumstanced ticket-of-leave men got about
a shilling a day and boarded themselves. But there
was little work and many seekers. They roamed over
the country, turned away from plantation after plantation,
and in many cases became the boldest of outlaws.
Escape from the island was well nigh impossible; but
after many hardships, utterly unable to get honest
work, Marsh was one of a party that determined to try
it. Making their way eighty miles to the seashore,
they hid in the woods, where for a week or so they
gathered firewood, buried potatoes and snared kangaroo.
One of their number reached a settlement and returned
with the word that an American whaler was coming to
take them off. After six days more of waiting the
vessel hove in sight. As she tried to draw near and
send boats ashore a storm came up and she narrowly
escaped the breakers. At this critical moment a British
armed patrol schooner rounded a point down the coast
and the American made her escape with great difficulty,
leaving the score of runaway convicts at their precarious
lookout, hopeless and despondent.</p>
<p>They were soon arrested, Marsh among them. He
was tried for breaking his patrol, and sent to an inland
district, 100 miles through the bush and swamps. "It
was all punishment," he says pathetically, in describ<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>ing
this journey on which he nearly perished. So
down-hearted and distressed were they, so appalled
by the war of nature and man against them, that one
of Marsh's companions, with fagged-out brain, came
to the conclusion that they were really in hell and that
the devil himself was in charge of them. But there is
always a turn to the tide. They trapped a kangaroo
and did not starve. Marsh reached his district and
this time found work, which had to be light, for he
was weak, emaciated and troubled day and night with
a pain in his chest. And finally the glad word came
that he was gazetted for pardon and could go to
Hobart. There, on January 27, 1845, after ten
months in Canada prisons, four and a half months in a
transport ship, and five years in a convict colony, he
went on board the American whaler Steiglitz of Sag
Harbor, Selah Young, master, a free man.</p>
<p>The Steiglitz was bound out on a whaling voyage.
No matter, she would take Marsh away from that hell.
She cruised for whale off New Zealand, then made
north, and in April anchored off Honolulu. King
Hamehameha III., on hearing the story of the convict
Americans, welcomed them ashore, and there
Marsh stayed for four months, exploring the islands
and waiting for a chance to get home. At last it came
in the welcome shape of the whaler Samuel Robertson,
Capt. Warner, bound for New Bedford. She touched at
the Society Islands and Pernambuco, and on March 13,
1846, after seven years four and a half months absence,
Marsh stepped ashore in his own country again. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>
people of New Bedford helped him and a few others as
far as Utica. There one of his comrades in exile left
him for his home in Watertown, and others went their
several ways. Marsh was helped as far as Canandaigua,
where his brother met him and took him to his home
in Avon; and after a time of recuperation there, they
came on to Buffalo, where he met his father, his
mother and sister. He soon crossed the river, visited
Toronto, and probably looked over the scenes of his
early cracker-peddling and subsequent campaigning, up
and down the Niagara. He had traveled 77,000 miles,
but here his journey ended; and here the Patriot exile
told his story, which I have drawn on in an imperfect
way, for this true chronicle of old trails.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h1>Underground Trails.</h1>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p>
<h2>UNDERGROUND TRAILS.</h2>
<p>It was Dame Nature who decreed that the Niagara
region should be peculiarly a place of trails.
When she set the great cataract midway between
two lakes, she thereby ordained that in days to come
the Indian should go around the falls, on foot. The
Indian trail was a footpath; nothing more. Here it
followed the margin of a stream; there, well nigh
indiscernable, it crossed a rocky plateau; again, worn
deep in yielding loam, it led through thick woods,
twisting and turning around trees and boulders, with
detours for swamps or bad ground, and long stretches
along favorable slopes or sightly ridges. Who can
hazard a guess as to the time when, or by what manner
of men, these trails were first established in our region?
Immemorial in their source—akin in natural origins
to the path the deer makes in going to the salt-lick or
to drink—they were old, established, when our history
begins. And when the white man came he followed
the old trails. Traveling like the Indian, by water when
he could; when lakes and rivers did not serve, he found
the footpaths ready made for him in the forest. Armies
came, cutting military roads. Settlers followed
to banish forests, drain swamps, and make new highways.
And yet the horseman, the military train, the
wagon of the pioneer, the early stage-coach, the rail<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>road,
each in its day, along many of the most direct
and important thoroughfares, has but followed the
ancient ways. The thing is axiomatic. Nature for
the most part decrees where men shall walk. Her
lakes and rivers and her hills may be strewn by whim;
but there are plain reasons enough for our road-building.
We go where we can, with safety and expedition.
So ran the red man. We still follow the old trails.</p>
<p>Other aspects of our frontier are worthy of a
thought. Two nations look across the Niagara, so
that, even though its flow were placid from lake to
lake, it would still be a political barrier, a halting-place.
This fact has filled it full of trails in history.
Again, as the gateway of the West, the paths of immigration
and of commerce for a century have here converged.
The early settlers of Michigan and Wisconsin
went by the old Lewiston ferry. From Buffalo by
boat, and from old Suspension Bridge by rail, who
can estimate the thousands who have gone on to create
the New West? From the earliest Iroquois raid upon
the Neuters, down to yesterday's excursion, the Niagara
frontier has been peculiarly a region of passing,
of coming and going, along old trails.</p>
<p>Now of all the paths that have led hitherward, none
has greater significance in American history than that
known as the Underground Railroad. Other paths,
touching here, have led to war, to wealth, to pleasure;
but this led to Liberty. Thousands of negro slaves, gaining
after infinite hardships these shores of the lake or
river, have looked across the smiling expanse to such an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>
elysium as only a slave can dream of. Once the passage
made, no matter how poor the passenger, freedom
became his possession and the heritage of his children.
The chattel became a man. I can never sail upon the
blue lake, or down the pleasant river, without seeing
in fancy this throng of famished, frightened, blindly
hopeful blacks, for whom these waters were the gateway
to new life. The most vital part of the Underground
Railroad was the over-water ferry. Bark canoe and
great steamer alike leave no lasting trail; but to him
who reads the history of our region, this fair waterway
at our door is thronged as a street; and every secret
traveler thereby is worthy of his attention. Much has
been recorded of these refugees, who came, singly or
in small parties, for more than thirty years preceding
the Civil War. Indeed, runaway slaves passed this way
to Canada soon after the War of 1812. The tales of
soldiers returning to Kentucky from the Niagara frontier
and other campaigns of that war, first planted in
the minds of Southern slaves the idea that Canada was
a land of freedom. By 1830 many earnest people who
disapproved of slavery, the Quakers prominent among
them, were giving organized aid to the escaping blacks.
In many secret ways the refugees were passed on from
one friend to another. Hiding-places were established,
and routes which were found advantageous were regularly
followed.</p>
<p>It is no part of my present plan to enter upon a
general sketch of the Underground Railroad. That
task has already been admirably performed, at volumi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>nous
length, by careful students. My aim in this paper
is to bring together a number of incidents and narratives,
particularly illustrative of its work at the eastern
end of Lake Erie and along the Niagara frontier, in
order that the student may the better appreciate how
vital this phase of the slavery issue was, even in this
region, for more than a generation preceding the
Civil War. There were established routes for the passage
of fugitive slaves: From the seaboard States to the
North, by water from Newberne, S. C, and Portsmouth,
Va.; or by land routes from Washington and Philadelphia,
to and through New England and so into Quebec.
There was "John Brown's route" through Eastern
Kansas and Nebraska; and there were many routes
through Iowa and Illinois, most of them leading to
Chicago and other Lake Michigan ports, whence the
refugees came by boat to Canadian points, chiefly
along the north shore of Lake Erie; or even, in some
cases, by water to Collingwood on Georgian Bay, where
a considerable number of runaway slaves were carried
prior to the Civil War. But the travel by these extreme
East and West routes was insignificant as compared
with the number that came through Western Pennsylvania,
Ohio and Indiana, to points on the south shore
of Lake Erie and the Detroit and Niagara rivers at
either end. The region bounded by the Ohio, the
Allegheny, and the western border of Indiana was a
vast plexus of Underground routes. The negroes were
taken across to Canada in great numbers from Detroit
and other points on that river; from Sandusky to Point<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>
Pelee; from Ashtabula to Port Stanley; from Conneaut
to Port Burwell; from Erie to Long Point; and from
all south-shore points on Lake Erie they were brought
by steamer to Buffalo. Often, the vessel captains would
put the refugees ashore between Long Point and
Buffalo. At other times, the fugitives were sent to
stations at Black Rock or Niagara Falls, whence they
were soon set across the river and were free. There
were some long routes across New York State, the chief
one being up the Hudson and Mohawk valleys to Lake
Ontario ports. There was some crossing to Kingston,
and some from Rochester to Port Dalhousie or
Toronto. Another route led from Harrisburg up the
Susquehanna to Williamsport, thence to Elmira, and
northwesterly, avoiding large towns, to Niagara Falls.
But the most active part in the Underground Railroad
operations in New York State was borne by the western
counties. There were numerous routes through
Allegany, Chautauqua and Cattaraugus counties, along
which the negroes were helped; all converging at
Buffalo or on the Niagara. In the old towns of this
section are still many houses and other buildings which
are pointed out to the visitor as having been former
stations on the Underground. The Pettit house at
Fredonia is a distinguished example.</p>
<p>It is impossible to state even approximately the number
of refugee negroes who crossed by these routes to
Upper Canada, now Ontario. In 1844 the number
was estimated at 40,000;<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> in 1852 the Anti-Slavery<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>
Society of Canada stated in its annual report that there
were about 30,000 blacks in Canada West; in 1858 the
number was estimated as high as 75,000.<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> This figure is
probably excessive; but since the negroes continued to
come, up to the hour of the Emancipation Proclamation,
it is probably within the fact to say that more
than 50,000 crossed to Upper Canada, nearly all from
points on Lake Erie, the Detroit and Niagara rivers.</p>
<p>Runaway slaves appeared in Buffalo at least as early
as the '30's. "Professor Edward Orton recalls that in
1838, soon after his father moved to Buffalo, two
sleigh-loads of negroes from the Western Reserve were
brought to the house in the night-time; and Mr.
Frederick Nicholson of Warsaw, N. Y., states that the
Underground work in his vicinity began in 1840. From
this time on there was apparently no cessation of migrations
of fugitives into Canada at Black Rock, Buffalo
and other points."<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> Those too were the days of much
passenger travel on Lake Erie, and certain boats came
to be known as friendly to the Underground cause.
One boat which ran between Cleveland and Buffalo
gave employment to the fugitive William Wells Brown.
It became known at Cleveland that Brown would take
escaped slaves under his protection without charge,
hence he rarely failed to find a little company ready to
sail when he started out from Cleveland. "In the
year 1842," he says, "I conveyed from the 1st of
May to the 1st of December, sixty-nine fugitives over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>
Lake Erie to Canada."<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> Many anecdotes are told of
the search for runaways on the lake steamers. Lake
travel in the <i>ante-bellum</i> days was ever liable to be
enlivened by an exciting episode in a "nigger-chase";
but usually, it would seem, the negroes could rely upon
the friendliness of the captains for concealment or
other assistance.</p>
<p>There are chronicled, too, many little histories of
flights which brought the fugitive to Buffalo. I pass
over those which are readily accessible elsewhere to
the student of this phase of our home history.<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> It is
well, however, to devote a paragraph or two to one
famous affair which most if not all American writers on
the Underground Railroad appear to have overlooked.</p>
<p>One day in 1836 an intelligent negro, riding a
thoroughbred but jaded horse, appeared on the streets
of Buffalo. His appearance must have advertised him
to all as a runaway slave. I do not know that he made
any attempt to conceal the fact. His chief concern
was to sell the horse as quickly as possible, and get
across to Canada. And there, presently, we find him,
settled at historic old Niagara, near the mouth of the
river. Here, even at that date, so many negroes had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>
made their way from the South, that more than 400
occupied a quarter known as Negro Town. The newcomer,
whose name was Moseby, admitted that he had
run away from a plantation in Kentucky, and had used
a horse that formerly belonged to his master to make
his way North. A Kentucky grand jury soon found a
true bill against him for horse-stealing, and civil officers
traced him to Niagara, and made requisition for his
arrest and extradition. The year before, Sir Francis
Bond Head had succeeded Sir John Colborne as Governor
of Canada West, and before him the case was laid.
Sir Francis regarded the charge as lawful, notwithstanding
the avowal of Moseby's owners that if they
could get him back to Kentucky they would "make
an example of him"; in plainer words, would whip
him to death as a warning to all slaves who dared to
dream of seeking freedom in Canada.</p>
<p>Moseby was arrested and locked up in the Niagara
jail; whereupon great excitement arose, the blacks and
many sympathizing whites declaring that he should
never be carried back South. The Governor, Sir Francis,
was petitioned not to surrender Moseby; he replied
that his duty was to give him up as a felon, "although
he would have armed the province to protect a slave."
For more than a week crowds of negroes, men and
women, camped before the jail, day and night. Under
the leadership of a mulatto schoolmaster named
Holmes, and of Mrs. Carter, a negress with a gift for
making fiery speeches, the mob were kept worked up
to a high pitch of excitement, although, as a contem<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>porary
writer avers, they were unarmed, showed "good
sense, forbearance and resolution," and declared their
intention not to commit any violence against the English
law. They even agreed that Moseby should
remain in jail until they could raise the price of the
horse, but threatened, "if any attempt were made to
take him from the prison, and send him across to
Lewiston, they would resist it at the hazard of their
lives." The order, however, came for Moseby's delivery
to the slave-hunters, and the sheriff and a party
of constables attempted to execute it. Moseby was
brought out from the jail, handcuffed and placed in a
cart; whereupon the mob attacked the officers. The
military was called out to help the civil force and
ordered to fire on the assailants. Two negroes were
killed, two or three wounded, and Moseby ran off and
was not pursued. The negro women played a curiously-prominent
part in the affair. "They had been
most active in the fray, throwing themselves fearlessly
between the black men and the whites, who, of course,
shrank from injuring them. One woman had seized
the sheriff, and held him pinioned in her arms; another,
on one of the artillery-men presenting his piece,
and swearing that he would shoot her if she did not
get out of his way, gave him only one glance of unutterable
contempt, and with one hand knocking up
his piece, and collaring him with the other, held him
in such a manner as to prevent his firing."<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a></p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p>
<p>Soon after, in the same year, the Governor of
Kentucky made requisition on the Governor of the province
of Canada West for the surrender of Jesse Happy,
another runaway slave, also on a charge of horse-stealing.
Sir Francis held him in confinement in Hamilton
jail, but refused to deliver him up until he had laid
the case before the Home Government. In a most
interesting report to the Colonial Secretary, under
date of Toronto, Oct. 8, 1837, he asked for instructions
"as a matter of general policy," and reviewed
the Moseby case in a fair and broad spirit, highly
creditable to him alike as an administrator and a friend
of the oppressed. "I am by no means desirous," he
wrote, "that this province should become an asylum
for the guilty of any color; at the same time the
documents submitted with this dispatch will I conceive
show that the subject of giving up fugitive slaves to the
authorities of the adjoining republican States is one
respecting which it is highly desirable I should receive
from Her Majesty's Government specific instructions.... It
may be argued that the slave escaping
from bondage on his master's horse is a vicious struggle
between two guilty parties, of which the slave-owner
is not only the aggressor, but the blackest criminal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>
of the two. It is a case of the dealer in human flesh
<i>versus</i> the stealer of horse-flesh; and it may be argued
that, if the British Government does not feel itself
authorized to pass judgment on the plaintiff, neither
should it on the defendant." Sir Francis continues in
this ingenious strain, observing that "it is as much a
theft in the slave walking from slavery to liberty in
his master's shoes as riding on his master's horse."
To give up a slave for trial to the American laws, he
argued, was in fact giving him back to his former
master; and he held that, until the State authorities
could separate trial from unjust punishment, however
willing the Government of Canada might be to deliver
up a man for trial, it was justified in refusing to deliver
him up for punishment, "unless sufficient security be
entered into in this province, that the person delivered
up for trial shall be brought back to Upper Canada as
soon as his trial or the punishment awarded by it shall
be concluded." And he added this final argument,
begging that instructions should be sent to him at once:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>It is argued, that the republican states have no right, under the
pretext of any human treaty, to claim from the British Government,
which does not recognize slavery, beings who by slave-law
are not recognized as <i>men</i> and who actually existed as brute beasts
in moral darkness, until on reaching British soil they suddenly
heard, for the first time in their lives, the sacred words, "Let
there be light; and there was light!" From that moment it is
argued they were created <i>men</i>, and if this be true, it is said they
cannot be held responsible for conduct prior to their existence.<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a></p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p>
<p>Sir Francis left the Home Government in no doubt
as to his own feelings in the matter; and although I
have seen no further report regarding Jesse Happy,
neither do I know of any case in which a refugee in
Canada for whom requisition was thus made was permitted
to go back to slavery. It did sometimes happen,
however, that refugees were enticed across the river on
one pretext or another, or grew careless and took their
chances on the American side, only to fall into the
clutches of the ever-watchful slave-hunters.</p>
<p>British love of fair play could be counted on to stand
up for the rights of the negro on British soil; but that
by no means implies that this inpouring of ignorant
blacks, unfitted for many kinds of pioneer work and
ill able to withstand the climate, was welcomed by the
communities in which they settled. At best, they
were tolerated. Very different from the spirit shown
in Sir Francis Bond Head's plea, is the tone of much
tourist comment, especially during the later years of
the Abolition movement. Thus, in 1854, the Hon.
Amelia M. Murray wrote, just after her Niagara visit:</p>
<p>"One of the evils consequent upon Southern Slavery,
is the ignorant and miserable set of coloured people
who throw themselves into Canada.... I must
regret that the well-meant enthusiasm of the Abolitionists
has been without judgment."<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> Another particularly
unamiable critic, W. Howard Russell, a much-exploited
English war correspondent who wrote volum<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>inously
of the United States during the Civil War, and
who showed less good will to this country than any
other man who ever wrote so much, came to Niagara in
the winter of 1862, and in sourly recording his unpleasant
impressions wrote: "There are too many free
negroes and too many Irish located in the immediate
neighborhood of the American town, to cause the doctrines
of the Abolitionists to be received with much
favor by the American population; and the Irish of
course are opposed to free negroes, where they are
attracted by paper mills, hotel service, bricklaying,
plastering, housebuilding, and the like—the Americans
monopolizing the higher branches of labor and
money-making, including the guide business."<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a> A few
pages farther on, however, describing his sight-seeing
on the Canadian side, he speaks of "our guide, a
strapping specimen of negro or mulatto." Quotations
of like purport from English writers during the years
immediately preceding the Civil War, might be multiplied.
One rarely will find any opinion at all favorable
to the refugee black, and never any expression of sympathy
with the Abolitionists by English tourists who
wrote books, or endorsal of the work accomplished by
the Underground Railroad.</p>
<p>From its importance as a terminal of the Underground,
one would look to Buffalo for a wealth of
reminiscence on this subject. On the contrary, comparatively
little seems to have been gathered up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>
regarding Buffalo stations and workers. The Buffalo
of <i>ante-bellum</i> days was not a large place, and many
"personally-escorted" refugees were taken direct
from country stations to the river ferries, without
having to be hid away in the city. Certain houses
there were, however, which served as stations. One of
these, on Ferry Street near Niagara, long since disappeared.
When the "Morris Butler house," at the
corner of Utica Street and Linwood Avenue, built
about 1857, was taken down a few years ago, hiding-places
were found on either side of the front door,
accessible only from the cellar. Old residents then
recalled that Mr. Butler was reputed to keep the last
station on the Underground route to Canada.<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a></p>
<p>Many years before Mr. Butler's time runaway slaves
used to appear in Buffalo, eagerly asking the way to
Canada. Those days were recalled by the death, on
Aug. 2, 1899, in the Kent County House of Refuge,
Chatham, Ont., of "Mammy" Chadwick, reputed to
be over 100 years old. She was born a slave in
Virginia; was many times sold, once at auction in New
Orleans, and later taken to Kentucky. She escaped
and made her way by the Underground to Buffalo in
1837. She always fixed her arrival at Fort Erie as
"in de year dat de Queen was crowned." She mar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>ried
in Fort Erie, but after a few years went to
Chatham, in the midst of a district full of refugee
blacks, and there she lived for sixty years, rejoicing in the
distinction of having nursed in their infancy many who
became Chatham's oldest and most prominent citizens.</p>
<p>There still lives at Fort Erie an active old woman
who came to Buffalo, a refugee from slavery, some
time prior to 1837; she herself says, "a good while
before the Canadian Rebellion," and her memory is so
clear and vigorous in general that there appears no
warrant for mistrusting it on this point. This interesting
woman is Mrs. Betsy Robinson, known throughout
the neighborhood as "Aunt Betsy." She lately told
her story to me at length. Robbed of all the picturesque
detail with which she invested it, the bare facts
are here recorded. Her father, mother, and their seven
children were slaves on a plantation in Rockingham
County, Virginia. There came a change of ownership,
and Baker (her father) heard he was to be sold
to New Orleans—the fate which the Virginia slave
most dreaded; "and yet," says Aunt Betsy, "I've seen
dem slaves, in gangs bein' sent off to New Orleans,
singin' and playin' on jewsharps, lettin' on to be that
careless an' happy." But not so Baker. He made
ready to escape. For a week beforehand his wife hid
food in the woods. On a dark night the whole family
stole away from the plantation, crossed a river, probably
the north fork of the Shenandoah, and pushed
northward. The father had procured three "passes,"
which commended them for assistance to friends<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>
along the way. According to Aunt Betsy, there were
a good many white people in the South in those
days who helped the runaway. She was a little girl
then, and she now recalls the child's vivid impressions
of the weeks they spent traveling and hiding in the
mountains, which she says were full of rattlesnakes,
wolves and deer. It was a wild country that they
crossed, for they came out near Washington, Pa. Here
the Quakers helped them; and her father and brothers
worked in the coal mines for a time. Then they came
on to Pittsburg. From that city north there was no
lack of help. "We walked all the way," she says.
"There was no railroads in them days, an' I don't remember's
we got any wagon-rides. You see, we was so
many, nine in all. I remember we went to Erie, and
came through Fredonia. We walked through Buffalo—it
was little then, you know—and down the river road.
My father missed the Black Rock ferry an' we went
away down where the bridge is now. I remember we
had to walk back up the river, and then we got brought
across to Fort Erie. That was a good while before the
Canadian Rebellion."<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a></p>
<p>Samuel Murray, a free-born negro, came to Buffalo
from Reading, Pa., in 1852. For a time he was
employed at the American Hotel, and went to work<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>
very early in the morning. It was, he has said, a
common occurrence to meet strange negroes, who
would ask him the way to Canada. "Many a time,"
said Murray, "I have gone into the hotel and taken
food for them. Then I would walk out Niagara Street
to the ferry and see them on the boat bound for Canada."
Mr. Murray has related the following incidents:</p>
<p>"There was a free black man living in Buffalo in
the '50's who made a business of going to the South
after the wives of former slaves who had found comfortable
homes, either in the Northern States or in
Canada. They paid him well for his work, and he
rarely failed to accomplish his mission.</p>
<p>"While connected with the Underground Railroad
in Buffalo word was sent us that a colored man from
Detroit, a traitor to his color, was coming to Buffalo.
This man made a business of informing Southerners of
the whereabouts of their slaves, and was paid a good
sum per head for those that they recovered. When we
heard that he was coming a meeting was held and a
committee appointed to arrange for his reception.
After being here a few days, not thinking that he was
known, he was met by the committee and taken out in
the woods where the Parade House now stands. Here
he was tied to a tree, stripped and cow-hided until he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>
was almost dead. He lay for a time insensible in a
pool of his own blood. Finally regaining consciousness,
he made his way back into Buffalo and as soon as
he was able complained to the city authorities. His
assailants were identified, arrested, and locked up in
the old jail to await the result of his injuries. After a
time the excitement caused by the affair subsided and
the men were let out one day without having been
tried." The sympathy of the sheriff, and probably that
of the community as a whole, was plainly not with the
renegade who got flogged.</p>
<p>Another celebrated Underground case was the arrest
at Niagara Falls of a slave named Sneedon, on a charge
of murder, undoubtedly trumped up to procure his
return South. Sneedon is described as a fine-looking
man, with a complexion almost white. He was
brought to trial in Buffalo, when Eli Cook pleaded his
case so successfully that he was acquitted. No sooner
was he released than he was spirited away <i>via</i> the
Underground Railroad.</p>
<p>Niagara Falls, far more than Buffalo, was the scene
of interesting episodes in the Underground days. Not
only did many refugee negroes find employment in the
vicinity, especially on the Canada side, but many
Southern planters used to visit there, bringing their
retinue of blacks. Many a time the trusted body-servant,
or slave-girl, would leave master or mistress in
the discharge of some errand, and never come back.
Instances are related, too, of sudden meetings, at the
Falls hotels, between negro waiters and the former<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>
masters they had run away from. It is recorded that
when Gen. Peter B. Porter brought his Kentucky wife
home with him to Niagara Falls, she was attended by a
numerous retinue of negro servants, but that one by
one they "scented freedom in the air" and ran away,
though probably not to any immediate betterment of
their condition.</p>
<p>Henry Clay visited Buffalo in September, 1849.
When he left for Cleveland his black servant Levi was
missing, but whether he had gone voluntarily or against
his wishes Mr. Clay was uncertain. "There are circumstances
having a tendency both ways," he wrote to
Lewis L. Hodges of Buffalo, in his effort to trace the
lost property. "If voluntarily, I will take no trouble
about him, as it is probable that in a reversal of our
conditions I would have done the same thing."<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a> The
absentee had merely been left in Buffalo—probably he
missed the boat—and reported in due time to his master
at Ashland. The incident, however, suggests the
hazards of Northern travel which in those years awaited
wealthy Southerners, who were fond of making long sojourns
at Niagara Falls, accompanied by many servants.</p>
<p>An "old resident of Buffalo" is to be credited
with the following reminiscence:</p>
<p>"I remember one attempt that was made to capture
a runaway slave. It was right up here on Niagara
Street. The negro ventured out in daytime and was
seized by a couple of men who had been on the watch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>
for him. The slave was a muscular fellow, and fought
desperately for his liberty; but his captors began beating
him over the head with their whips, and he would
have been overpowered and carried off if his cries had
not attracted the attention of two Abolitionists, who
ran up and joined in the scuffle. It was just above
Ferry Street, and they pulled and hauled at that slave
and pounded him and each other until it looked as
though somebody would be killed. At last, however,
the slave, with the help of his friends, got away and ran
for his life, and the slave-chasers and the Abolitionists
dropped from blows to high words, the former threatening
prosecutions and vengeance, but I presume
nothing came of it."<a name="FNanchor_62_62" id="FNanchor_62_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a></p>
<p>Nowhere were the friends of the fugitive more
active or more successful than in the towns along
the south shore of Lake Erie, from Erie to Buffalo.<a name="FNanchor_63_63" id="FNanchor_63_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a>
Some years ago it was my good fortune to become
acquainted with Mr. Frank Henry of Erie, who
had been a very active "conductor" on the Underground.<a name="FNanchor_64_64" id="FNanchor_64_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a>
From him I had the facts of the following<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>
experiences, which he had not in earlier years thought
it prudent to make public. These I now submit, partly
in Mr. Henry's own language, as fairly-illustrative episodes
in the history of Underground trails at the eastern
end of Lake Erie.</p>
<p>In the year 1841 Capt. David Porter Dobbins, afterwards
Superintendent of Life Saving Stations in the
Ninth U. S. District, including Lakes Erie and Ontario,
was a citizen of Erie. In politics he was one
of the sturdy, old-time Democrats, not a few of whom,
in marked contrast to their "Copperhead" neighbors,
secretly sympathized with and aided the runaway slaves.
Capt. Dobbins had in his employ a black man named
William Mason, his surname being taken, as was the
usual, but not invariable, custom among slaves, from
that of his first master. Now Mason, some time before
he came into the employ of Capt. Dobbins, had
apparently become tired of getting only the blows and
abuse of an overseer in return for his toil; so one night
he quietly left his "old Kentucky home," determined
to gain his freedom or die in the attempt. In good
time he succeeded in getting to Detroit, then a small
town; and there he found work, took unto himself a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>
wife, and essayed to settle down. Instead, however,
of settling, he soon found himself more badly stirred
up than ever before, for his wife proved to be a
veritable she-devil in petticoats, with a tongue keener
than his master's lash. They parted, and the unfaithful
wife informed against him to the slave-hunters.
Mason fled, made his way to Erie, and was given work
by Capt. Dobbins. He was a stalwart negro, intelligent
above the average, altogether too fine a prize to
let slip easily, and the professional slave-hunters lost
no time in hunting him out.</p>
<p>For many years prior to the Civil War a large class
of men made their living by ferreting out and recapturing
fugitive slaves and returning them to their old
masters; or, as was often the case, selling them into
slavery again. Free black men, peaceful citizens of
the Northern States, were sometimes seized, to be sold
to unscrupulous men who stood ever ready to buy
them. There was but little hope for the negro who
found himself carried south of Mason and Dixon's line
in the clutches of these hard men, who were generally
provided with a minute description of runaways from
the border States, and received a large commission for
capturing and returning them into bondage.</p>
<p>One day, as Mason was cutting up a quarter of
beef in Capt. Dobbins's house, two men came in,
making plausible excuses. Mason saw they were
watching him closely, and his suspicions were at once
aroused.</p>
<p>"Is your name William?" one of them asked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p>
<p>"No," said Mason curtly, pretending to be busy
with his beef.</p>
<p>Then they told him to take off his shoe and let them
see if there was a scar on his foot. On his refusing to
do so, they produced handcuffs and called on him to
surrender. Livid with desperation and fear, Mason
rushed upon them with his huge butcher-knive, and
the fellows took to their heels to save their heads.
They lost no time in getting a warrant from a magistrate
on some pretext or other, and placed it in the
hands of an officer for execution.</p>
<p>While the little by-play with the butcher-knife was
going on, Capt. Dobbins had entered the house, and
to him Mason rushed in appeal. Swearing "by de
hosts of heaben" that he would never be captured, he
piteously begged for help and the protection of his employer.
And in Capt. Dobbins he had a friend who
was equal to any emergency. Calling Mason from the
room his employer hurried with him to Josiah Kellogg's
house, then one of the finest places in Erie, with a
commanding view from its high bank over lake and
bay.<a name="FNanchor_65_65" id="FNanchor_65_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a> To this house Mason was hurried, and Mrs.
Kellogg comprehended the situation at a glance. The
fugitive was soon so carefully hidden that, to use the
Captain's expression, "The Devil himself couldn't
have found him, sir!"</p>
<p>Expeditious as they were, they had been none too
quick. Capt. Dobbins had scarcely regained his own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>
door, when the two slave-hunters came back with the
sheriff and demanded Mason.</p>
<p>"Search the premises at your pleasure," was the response.</p>
<p>The house was ransacked from cellar to garret, but,
needless to say, Mason was not to be found.</p>
<p>There was living in Erie at that time a big burly
negro, Lemuel Gates by name, whose strength was
only surpassed by his good nature. He was willing
enough to lend himself to the cause of humanity. The
Captain owned a very fast horse, and while the officer
and his disappointed and suspicious companions were
still lurking around, just at nightfall, he harnessed
his horse into the buggy and seated the Hercules by
his side. All this was quietly done in the barn with
closed doors. At a given signal, the servant-girl threw
open the doors, the Captain cracked his whip, and out
they dashed at full speed. He took good care to be
seen and recognized by the spies on watch, and then
laid his course for Hamlin Russell's house at Belle
Valley. Mr. Russell was a noted Abolitionist, and
lived on a cross-road between the Wattsburg and Lake
Pleasant roads. Just beyond Marvintown, at Davison's,
the Lake Pleasant road forks off from the Wattsburg
road to the right. The travelers took the Lake road.
When Mr. Russell's house was reached, the Captain
slipped a half-eagle into the hand of his grinning companion,
with the needless advice that it would be well
to make tracks for home as fast as possible. Mr. Russell
was told of the clever ruse, and then Capt. Dobbins<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>
drove leisurely homeward. At the junction of the two
roads he met the officer and his comrades in hot pursuit.</p>
<p>"Where is Mason?" they demanded.</p>
<p>"Find out," was the Captain's only answer, as he
drove quietly along, chuckling to himself over the success
of his strategy; while the slave-hunters worked
themselves into a passion over a fruitless search of Mr.
Russell's innocent premises.</p>
<p>Early one morning a few days afterward, as Capt.
Dobbins was on the bank of the lake, he saw a vessel
round the point of the Peninsula, sail up the channel,
and cast anchor in Misery Bay, then, and for many
years afterwards, a favorite anchorage for wind-bound
vessels. Soon a yawl was seen to put off for the
shore with the master of the vessel aboard. Capt.
Dobbins contrived to see him during the day, and
was delighted to find him an old and formerly
intimate shipmate. The ship-master heartily entered
into the Captain's plans, and it was agreed to put
Mason aboard of the vessel at two o'clock the next
morning.</p>
<p>At the time of which we write, the steamer docks and
lumber-yards which later were built along the shore at
that point, were yet undreamed of, and the waters of
the bay broke unhindered at the foot of the high bank
on which stood Mrs. Kellogg's house, where Mason
was hid. It would not do openly to borrow a boat,
and Capt. Dobbins had no small difficulty in getting
a craft for the conveyance of his <i>protégé</i> to the vessel.
At last, late at night, a little, leaky old skiff was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>
temporarily confiscated. By this time a strong breeze
had sprung up, and it was difficult to approach the
shore. A tree had fallen over the bank with its top in
the water, and the Captain found precarious anchorage
for his leaky tub by clinging to its branches. With a
cry like the call of the whip-poor-will the runaway was
summoned. In his hurry to get down the bank he
slipped and fell headlong into the fallen treetop;
while a small avalanche of stones and earth came crashing
after and nearly swamped the boat. When the
boat had been lightened of its unexpected cargo, the
voyage across the bay began. The poor darky, however,
was no sooner sure that his neck was not broken
by the tumble, than he was nearly dead with the fear
of drowning. Their boat, a little skiff just big enough
for one person, leaked like a sieve, and soon became
water-logged in the seaway. Mason's hat was a stiff
"plug," a former gift of charity. It had suffered
sorely by the plunge down the bank, but its ruin was
made complete by the Captain ordering its owner to
fall to and bail out the boat with it. The brim soon
vanished, but the upper part did very well as a bucket;
and the owner consoled himself that in thus sacrificing
his hat he saved his life. It was a close call for safety.
The Captain tugged away at the oars as never before,
and the shivering negro scooped away for dear life to
keep the boat afloat. In after years Capt. Dobbins
experienced shipwreck more than once, but he used
to say that never had he been in greater peril than
when making that memorable trip across Presque Isle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>
Bay in the wild darkness and storm of midnight. The
vessel was at length reached. She was loaded with
staves, and a great hole was made in the deck load,
within which Mason was snugly stowed away, while
the staves were piled over him again. Capt. Dobbins
reached the mainland in safety before daylight, and
during the morning had the satisfaction of seeing the
wind haul around off land, when the vessel weighed
anchor and sailed away.</p>
<p>Knowing that pursuit was impossible (there were
no steam tugs on the bay in those days), Capt. Dobbins
quietly told the officer that he was tired of being
watched, and that if he would come along, he would
show him where Mason was. The Captain had notified
some of his friends, and when the bank of the lake
was reached, a crowd had gathered, for the affair had
created quite a stir in the village.</p>
<p>"Do you see that sail?" said the Captain, pointing
to the retreating vessel.</p>
<p>"Well?" was the impatient answer.</p>
<p>"Mason is aboard of her," was the quiet reply.
The befooled magistrate of the law, who had taken great
care to bring handcuffs for his expected prisoner,
acknowledged himself beaten; while the "nigger-chasers"
were glad to sneak off, followed by the shouts
and jeers of the crowd. "Pretty well done—for a
Democrat," said Mr. Russell to the Captain a few days
afterwards. "After your conversion to our principles
you will make a good Abolitionist."</p>
<p>Some years after the event above narrated, as Capt.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>
Dobbins<a name="FNanchor_66_66" id="FNanchor_66_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a> was in the cabin of his vessel as she lay at
Buffalo, a respectably-dressed black man was shown
into the cabin. It was Mason, who had come to repay
his benefactor with thanks and even with proffered
money. He had settled somewhere back of Kingston,
Ontario, on land which the Canadian Government at
that time gave to actual settlers. He had married an
amiable woman, and was prosperous and happy.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>I give the following incident substantially as it was
set down for me by Mr. Frank Henry:</p>
<p>In the summer of 1858 Mr. Jehiel Towner (now
deceased) sent me a note from the city of Erie, asking
me to call on him that evening. When night came I
rode into town from my home in Harborcreek, and saw
Mr. Towner. "There are three 'passengers' hidden
in town, Henry," said he, "and we must land them
somewhere on the Canada shore. You are just the
man for this work; will you undertake to get them
across?"</p>
<p>You must remember that we never had anything to
do with "runaway niggers" in those days, nor even
with "fugitive slaves"; we simply "assisted passengers."
I knew well enough that there was a
big risk in the present case, but I promised to do
my part, and so after talking over matters a little I
drove home.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p>
<p>The next night just about dusk a wagon was driven
into my yard. The driver, one Hamilton Waters,
was a free mulatto, known to everybody around Erie.
He had brought a little boy with him as guide, for he
was almost as blind as a bat. In his wagon were three
of the strangest-looking "passengers" I ever saw; I can
remember how oddly they looked as they clambered out
of the wagon. There was a man they called Sam, a
great strapping negro, who might have been forty years
old. He was a loose-jointed fellow, with a head like
a pumpkin, and a mouth like a cavern, its vast circumference
always stretched in a glorious grin; for no
matter how badly Sam might feel, or how frightened,
the grin had so grown into his black cheeks that it
never vanished. I remember how, a few nights after,
when the poor fellow was scared just about out of his
wits, his grin, though a little ghastly, was as broad
as ever. Sam was one of the queerest characters I ever
met. His long arms seemed all wrists, his legs all
ankles; and when he walked, his nether limbs had a
flail-like flop that made him look like a runaway windmill.
The bases upon which rested this fearfully-
and wonderfully-made superstructure were abundantly
ample. On one foot he wore an old shoe—at least
number twelve in size—and on the other a heavy
boot; and his trousers-legs, by a grim fatality, were
similarly unbalanced, for while the one was tucked
into the boot-top, its fellow, from the knee down, had
wholly vanished. Sam wore a weather-beaten and
brimless "tile" on his head, and in his hand carried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>
an old-fashioned long-barreled rifle. He set great
store by his "ole smooth bo'," though he handled it in
a gingerly sort of way, that suggested a greater fear of
its kicks than confidence in its aim. Sam's companions
were an intelligent-looking negro about twenty-five
years old, named Martin, and his wife, a pretty
quadroon girl, with thin lips and a pleasant voice, for
all the world like <i>Eliza</i> in "Uncle Tom's Cabin."
She carried a plump little piccaninny against her
breast, over which a thin shawl was tightly drawn.
She was an uncommonly attractive young woman, and I
made up my mind then and there that she shouldn't
be carried back to slavery if I had any say in the matter.</p>
<p>The only persons besides myself who knew of their
arrival were William P. Trimble and Maj. F. L. Fitch.
The party was conducted to the old Methodist church
in Wesleyville, which had served for a long time as a
place of rendezvous and concealment. Except for the
regular Sunday services, and a Thursday-night prayer-meeting,
the church was never opened, unless for an
occasional funeral, and so it was as safe a place as could
well have been found. In case of unexpected intruders,
the fugitives could crawl up into the attic and remain
as safe as if in Liberia.</p>
<p>It was my plan to take the "passengers" from the
mouth of Four-Mile Creek across the lake to Long
Point light-house, on the Canada shore, but the wind
hung in a bad quarter for the next two or three days,
and our party had to keep in the dark. One rainy
night, however—it was a miserable, drizzling rain,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>
and dark as Egypt—I was suddenly notified that a
sailboat was in readiness off the mouth of Four-Mile
Creek. At first I was at a loss what to do. I didn't
dare go home for provisions, for I had good reason to
believe that my house was nightly watched by a
cowardly wretch, whose only concern was to secure the
$500 offered by Sam's former master for the capture of
the slaves. In the vicinity lived a well-to-do farmer,
a devoted pro-slavery Democrat. Notwithstanding his
politics, I knew the man was the soul of honor, and
possessed a great generous heart. So I marshaled my
black brigade out of the church, and marched them
off, through the rain, single file, to his house. In
answer to our knock, our friend threw open the door;
then, with a thousand interrogation points frozen into
his face, he stood for a minute, one hand holding a
candle above his head, the other shading his eyes, as
he stared at the wet and shivering group of darkies,
the very picture of dumfounded astonishment. In less
time than it takes to tell it, however, he grasped the
situation, hustled us all into the house and shut the
door with a most expressive slam.</p>
<p>"What in —— does all this mean?" was his pious
ejaculation.</p>
<p>He saw what it meant, and it needed but few words
of explanation on my part. "They are a party of
fugitives from slavery," said I, calling our friend by
name. "We are about to cross the lake to Canada;
the party are destitute and closely pursued; their only
crime is a desire for freedom. This young woman and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>
mother has been sold from her husband and child to a
dealer in the far South, and if captured, she will be
consigned to a life of shame." The story was all too
common in those days, and needed no fine words.
The young girl's eyes pleaded more forcibly than any
words I could have spoken.</p>
<p>"Well—what do you want of me?" demanded our
host, trying hard to look fierce and angry.</p>
<p>"Clothing and provisions," I replied.</p>
<p>"Now look here," said he, in his gruffest voice,
"this is a bad job—bad job." Then, turning to the
negroes: "Better go back. Canada is full of runaway
niggers now. They're freezin' and starvin' by
thousands. Was over in Canada t'other day. Saw six
niggers by the roadside, with their heads cut off.
Bones of niggers danglin' in the trees. Crows pickin'
their eyes out. <i>You</i> better go back, d'ye <i>hear</i>?"
he added, turning suddenly towards Sam.</p>
<p>Poor Sam shook in his shoes, and his eyes rolled in
terror. He fingered his cherished smooth-bore as
though uncertain whether to shoot his entertainer, or
save all his ammunition for Canada crows, while he
cast a helpless look of appeal upon his companions.
The young woman, however, with her keener insight,
had seen through the sham brusqueness of their host;
and although she was evidently appalled by the horrible
picture of what lay before them across the lake, her
heart told her it was immeasurably to be preferred to a
return to the only fate which awaited her in the South.
Her thoughts lay in her face, and our friend read them;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>
and not having a stone in his broad bosom, but a big,
warm, thumping old heart, was moved to pity and to
aid. He set about getting a basket of provisions.
Then he skirmished around and found a blanket and
hood for the woman; all the time declaring that <i>he</i>
never would help runaway niggers, no sir! and drawing
(for Sam's especial delectation) the most horrible
pictures of Canadian hospitality that he could conjure
up. "You'll find 'em on shore waitin' for ye," said
he; "they'll catch ye and kill ye and string ye up for
a scare-crow." Seeing that Sam was coatless, he
stripped off his own coat and bundled it upon the
astonished darky with the consoling remark: "When
they get hold of <i>you</i> they'll tan your black hide,
stretch it for drum-heads, and beat 'God Save the
Queen' out of ye every day in the year."</p>
<p>All being in readiness, our benefactor plunged his
hand into his pocket, and pulling it out full of small
change thrust it into the woman's hands, still urging
them to go back to the old life. At the door Sam
turned back and spoke for the first time:</p>
<p>"Look 'e hyar, Massa, you's good to we uns an' 'fo'
de Lo'd I tank yer. Ef enny No'then gemmen hankah
fur my chances in de Souf, I' zign in dair favo'. 'Fo'
de good Lo'd I tank ye, Massa, I does, <i>shuah</i>!"</p>
<p>Here Sam's feelings got the better of him, and we
were hurrying off, when our entertainer said:</p>
<p>"See here, now, Henry, remember you were never
at my house with a lot of damned niggers in the night.
Do you understand?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p>
<p>"All right, sir. You are the last man who would
ever be charged with Abolitionism, and that's the
reason why we came here tonight. Mum is the word."</p>
<p>The rain had stopped and the stars were shining in a
cheerful way as we all trudged down the wet road to
the lake shore. Our boat was found close in shore,
and Martin and his wife had waded out to it, while
Sam and I stood talking in low tones on the beach.
Suddenly a crash like the breaking of fence-boards was
heard on the bank near by, and to the westward of us.
We looked up quickly and saw the form of a man climb
over the fence and then crouch down in the shadow.
Up came Sam's rifle, and with a hurried aim he fired
at the moving object. His old gun was trusty and his
aim true, and had it not been for a lucky blow from my
hand, which knocked the gun upwards just as he fired,
and sent the ball whistling harmlessly over the bank,
there'd have been one less mean man in the world, and
we should have had a corpse to dispose of. I scrambled
up the bank, with my heart in my mouth, I'll confess,
just in time to see the sneak scurry along in the direction
of the highway. I watched a long time at the
creek after the boat left, and seeing no one astir started
for home. By the time I reached the Lake road the
moon had come up, and a fresh carriage-track could be
plainly seen. I followed it down the road a short distance,
when it turned, ran across the sod, and ended
at the fence, which had been freshly gnawed by horses.
It then turned back into the highway, followed up the
crossroad to Wesleyville, and thence came to the city.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p>
<p>The fugitives reached the promised land in safety,
and I heard from them several times thereafter. The
man Sam subsequently made two or three successful
trips back to the old home, once for a wife and afterwards
for other friends. He made some money in the
Canada oil fields, and some time after sent me $100,
$50 for myself to invest in books, and $50 for the fishermen
who carried them safely across to Long Point
and liberty.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>Of all the places which have sheltered the fugitive
slave there is none better known, along the southeastern
shore of Lake Erie, than the old Methodist church
at Wesleyville, Erie Co., Pennsylvania. It stands
today much as it stood a half century since; though
repairs have been made from time to time, and of late
years modern coal stoves have replaced the capacious
but fervid old wood-eaters known as box-stoves. Dedicated
to God, it has been doubly hallowed by being
devoted to the cause of humanity. To more than
one wretch, worn out with the toils of a long flight, it
has proved a glorious house of refuge; and if safety
lay not within the shadow of its sacred altar, it surely
did amidst the shadowy gloom of its dingy garret.</p>
<p>In the year 1856 there lived in Caldwell County,
in western Kentucky, a well-to-do farmer named Wilson.
He owned a large and well-stocked farm, which
he had inherited, with several slaves, from his father.
Mr. Wilson was an easy-going and indulgent master,
and reaped a greater reward of affection from his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>
"people" than he did of pecuniary gain from his
plantation. In the autumn of the above-named year
he died, and his servants were divided among the
heirs, who lived in Daviess County, in the same State.
Two of the slaves, Jack and Nannie, a young man and
his sister, fell to the lot of a hard master named Watson.
The housekeeper dying, Nannie was taken from
the field to fill her place. Nothing could have been
worse for the poor girl. She was handsome, her young
master a brute. Because she defended her honor she
was cruelly punished and locked up for many hours.
Her brother succeeded in freeing her, and together
they fled, only to be recaptured. They were whipped
so terribly that the girl Nannie died. Jack survived,
heart-broken, quiet for a time, but with a growing resolve
in his heart. One night his master came home
from a debauch, and ordered Jack to perform some unreasonable
and impossible task. Because the poor boy
failed, the master flew at him with an open knife. It
was death for one of them. The image of poor Nan,
beaten to an awful death, rose before Jack's eyes. In
a moment he became a tiger. Seizing a cart-stake, he
dealt his master a blow that killed him. The blood of
his sister was avenged.</p>
<p>Once more Jack fled. The murder of the master
had aroused the neighborhood. Blood-hounds, both
brute and human, scoured the woods and swamps;
flaming handbills offered great rewards for Jack Watson,
dead or alive. With incredible cunning, and
grown wary as a wild animal, Jack lurked in the vicin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>ity
a long time. When the excitement had somewhat
abated, he found his way to Salem, Ohio, and was for
a time in the employ of a worthy Quaker named Bonsell,
whose descendants still live in that locality. It
was then a neighborhood of Friends, and Jack's life
among them brought him great good. He learned to
read and write, and became in heart and conduct a
changed man. His life, however, was haunted by two
ghastly forms; and as often as the image of his murdered
master rose before him, that of Nan came also
to justify the deed. These apparitions wore upon him,
and made his life unnatural and highly sensitive. On
one occasion, while in Pittsburg, he saw what he took
to be the ghost of his murdered master coming toward
him in the street. He turned and fled in abject terror,
much to the astonishment of all passers-by. Long
afterward he learned that the supposed apparition was
a half-brother of his former master.</p>
<p>Jack now determined to devote his life to freeing his
countrymen from bondage. In due time he found his
way to the house of Mr. John Young, a noted Abolitionist
of Wilmington township, in Mercer County,
Pennsylvania. Mr. Young was one of the first men in
Mercer County to proclaim his political convictions to
the world, and to stand by them, bravely and consistently,
and through many a dangerous hour, until slavery
was a thing of the past. No man ever asked brave
John Young for help and was refused. His house was
known among Abolitionists far and wide as a safe station
for the Underground Road.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p>
<p>While Jack was at Mr. Young's he fell in with a
young minister, himself a former fugitive from Kentucky,
and who was at the time an earnest Baptist
preacher in Syracuse, N. Y. This friend, named Jarm
W. Loguen, promised Jack shelter if he could but
reach Syracuse, and so Jack was "forwarded" along
the road.</p>
<p>When he reached Erie, the late Mr. Thomas Elliott,
of Harborcreek, carried him to Wesleyville. His
pursuers were incidentally heard of as being in the
vicinity of Meadville, and it was necessary to proceed
with great caution; so Jack was hidden away for a few
days beneath the shelter of the old church roof.</p>
<p>It so happened that at this time a protracted meeting
was in progress in the church. It was a great awakening,
well remembered yet in the neighborhood. There
were meetings every night, though the church was
shut up during the day. During the evening meetings
Jack would stay quietly concealed in the garret; but
after the congregation dispersed and the key was
turned in the door, he would descend, stir up a rousing
fire, and make himself as comfortable as possible until
the meeting-hour came round again. It is related that
Mr. David Chambers generously kept the house supplied
with fuel; and his boys, to whose lot fell the
manipulation of the wood-pile, were in constant wonder
at the disappearance of the wood. "I shan't be
very sorry when this revival winds up," said one of them
confidentially to the other; "it takes an awful lot of
wood to run a red-hot revival." The meanwhile black<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>
Jack toasted his shins by the revival fire, and found, no
doubt, a deal of comfort in the sacred atmosphere of
the sheltering church.</p>
<p>The meetings grew in interest with every night.
Scores were gathered into the fold of the church, and
the whole community, young and old, were touched by
the mysterious power. The meetings were conducted
by the Rev. John McLean, afterwards a venerable
superannuate of the East Ohio Conference, yet living (at
least a few years ago) in Canfield, Mahoning County,
Ohio; by the Rev. B. Marsteller, and others. The
interest came to a climax one Sunday night. A most
thrilling sermon had been preached. Every heart was
on fire with the sacred excitement, and it seemed as if
the Holy Spirit were almost tangible in their very midst.
The church was full, even to the gallery that surrounds
three sides of the interior. Methodists are not—at
least were not in those days—afraid to shout; and
Jack, hidden above the ceiling, had long been a rapt
listener to the earnest exhortations. His murder, his
people in bondage, all the sorrows and sins of his
eventful life, rose before his eyes. Overcome with
contrition, he knelt upon the rickety old boards, and
poured out his troubles in prayer. Meanwhile, down
below, the excitement grew. The Rev. James Sullivan
made an impassioned exhortation, and when he finished,
the altar was crowded with penitents. The service resolved
itself into a general prayer-meeting. Men
embraced each other in the aisles, or knelt in tearful
prayer together; while shouts of victory and groans<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>
of repentance filled the church. God bless the good
old-fashioned shouting Methodists, who shouted all
the louder as the Lord drew near! Some of the old
revival hymns, sent rolling across winter fields, and
throbbing and ringing through the midnight air, would
set the very universe rejoicing, and scatter the legions
of Satan in dismay. Alas that the religion of lungs—the
shouting, noisy, devout, glorious old worship, is passing
away! The whispers of the Devil too often drown
the modulations of modern prayer, and instead of glorified
visions of angels and the saints, the eyes of modern
worshipers rest weariedly upon the things of the world.</p>
<p>As the tide of excitement swelled higher and wilder
that night, it caught poor Jack, up in the garret.
Through narrow cracks he could see the emotions and
devotions of the audience; and in his enthusiasm he
wholly forgot that he was in concealment and his
presence known to only two or three of the worshipers.</p>
<p>"Come up, sinners, come up to the Throne of
Grace and cast your heavy burdens down," called the
pastor, his face aglow with exercise and emotion, and
his heart throbbing with exultation. "Praise be to
God on High for this glorious harvest of souls."</p>
<p>"Glory, glory, amen!" rose from all parts of the
church.</p>
<p>"Glory, glory, amen!" came back a voice from
the unknown above.</p>
<p>The hubbub was at such a pitch down stairs that
Jack's unconscious response was scarcely heard; but
to those in the gallery it was plainly audible.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p>
<p>"Lord God of Sabbaoth," prayed the minister,
"come down upon us tonight. Send Thy Spirit into
our midst!"</p>
<p>"Amen! glory! hallelujah!" shouted Jack in the
garret.</p>
<p>The people in the gallery were in holy fear. "It is
Gabriel," they said.</p>
<p>"We come to Thee, Lord! We come, we come!"
cried the repentent sinners down stairs.</p>
<p>"I come, I come, glory to God, hallelujah, amen!"
shouted back the Gabriel in the garret, clapping his
hands in the fervor of his ecstacy.</p>
<p>All at once his Abolition friends below heard him.
They were struck with consternation and looked at
each other in dismay. If Jack was discovered, there
would be trouble; they must quiet him at any hazard.
"The idea of that nigger getting the power in the
garret! A stop must be put to that at once. A
revival in full blast is an unusual treat for an Underground
Railroad traveler; he should take with gratitude
what he could hear, and keep still for the safety
of his skin." So thought his frightened friends, who
at once cast about for means to quiet him.</p>
<p>Now it so happened—how fortunate that there is
always a way out of a dilemma!—that the old stove-pipe,
which connected with the chimney in the attic,
frequently became disconnected; and on more than
one occasion incipient fires had started among the dry
boards of the garret floor. The people were used to
seeing the boys go aloft to look after the safety of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>
house; so, when Dempster M. Chambers, a son of Mr.
Stewart Chambers, inspired by a happy thought, scrambled
up the ladder and crawled through the trap-door
into the gloom, those who noticed it thought only that
the old stove-pipe had slipped out, and continued to
throw their sins as fuel into the general religious
blaze; or thinking of the fires of hell, gave little heed
to lesser flames. Jack was soon quieted, and the meeting,
having consumed itself with its own fervor, broke
up without further incident. There is no doubt, however,
that certain worthy people who were seated in the
gallery have ever stoutly maintained that the Angel
Gabriel actually replied to the prayers of that memorable
night.<a name="FNanchor_67_67" id="FNanchor_67_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a></p>
<p>In due time Jack Watson reached the home of his
friend, the Rev. Jarm W. Loguen; and during the dark
days of the War he rendered valuable aid to the Union
cause along the Kentucky and Virginia borders, and in
one guerrilla skirmish he lost his left arm. A few
years since he was still living on a preëmpted land-claim
in Rice County, Kansas.</p>
<p>The following incident, connected with Watson's
career, will not be out of place in closing this sketch:</p>
<p>Some years since the Rev. Glezen Fillmore, a
famous pioneer of the Methodist Episcopal Church in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>
Buffalo, and for more than half a century an honored
member of the Genesee Conference, was engaged in
raising funds for the Freedmen's Aid Society. One
day his cousin, the late ex-President Millard Fillmore,
rode out from Buffalo to visit him. During the conversation
the venerable preacher related the story of
Watson's escape, as Watson himself had told it while
at Fillmore's Underground Railroad depot. The
former President was strongly touched by the story,
and at its close he drew a check for fifty dollars for the
Freedmen. "Thank you, thank you," said the good
old parson. "I was praying that the Lord would open
your heart to give ten dollars, and here are fifty."</p>
<p>No study of Underground Railroad work in this
region, even though, like the present paper, it aims to
be chiefly anecdotal, can neglect recognition of the
fact that it was a Buffalo man in the Presidential chair
who, by signing the Fugitive Slave act of 1850, brought
upon his head the maledictions of the Abolitionists,
who were so stimulated thereby in their humanitarian
law-breaking, that the most active period in Underground
Railroad work dates from the stroke of Millard
Fillmore's pen which sought to put a stop to it. No
passage in American history displays more acrimony
than this. Wherever the friends of the negro were at
work on Underground lines, Mr. Fillmore was denounced
in the most intemperate terms. In his home
city of Buffalo, some who had hitherto prided themselves
upon his distinguished acquaintance, estranged
themselves from him, and on his return to Buffalo he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>
found cold and formal treatment from people whom he
had formerly greeted as friends. Insults were offered
him; and the changed demeanor of many of his townsmen
showed itself even in the church which he
attended. Certain ardent souls there were who refused
any longer to worship where he did.<a name="FNanchor_68_68" id="FNanchor_68_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a> Mr. Fillmore
met all these hostile demonstrations, as he sustained
the angry protests and denunciations of the Abolitionists
in general, in dignified impurturbability, resting
his case upon the constitutionality of his conduct.
The act of 1850 reaffirmed the act of 1793, and both
rested upon the explicit provision in the Constitution
which declares that "no person held to service or
labor in one State under the laws thereof, escaping into
another, shall, in consequence of any law or regulation
therein, be discharged from such service or labor; but
shall be delivered up on claim of the party to whom such
service or labor may be due." Obviously, so far as this
section was concerned, many people of the North were
in rebellion against the Constitution of the United
States for many years before the Civil War. That the
work of the Underground Railroad was justifiable in
the humanitarian aspect needs no argument now. But
the student of that period cannot overcome the legal
stand taken by Mr. Fillmore, his advisers and sym<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>pathizers,
unless he asserts, as Mr. Seward asserted,
that the provision of the Constitution relating to the
rendition of slaves was of no binding force. "The law
of nations," he declared, "disavows such compacts—the
law of nature written on the hearts and consciences
of men repudiates them."<a name="FNanchor_69_69" id="FNanchor_69_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a> This was met by the
plausible assertion that "the hostility which was
directed against the law of 1850 would have been
equally violent against any law which effectually carried
out the provision of the Constitution."<a name="FNanchor_70_70" id="FNanchor_70_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a> During
the years that followed, efforts were made to recover
fugitive slaves under this law. Special officers were
appointed to execute it, but in most Northern communities
they were regarded with odium, and every
possible obstacle put in the way of the discharge of
their offensive duties. Many tragic affairs occurred;
but the organization of the Underground Railroad was
too thorough, its operation was in the hands of men too
discreet and determined, to be seriously disturbed by a
law which found so little moral support in the communities
through which its devious trails ran. Thus the
work went on, through civil contention and bloody
war, until the Emancipator came to loose all shackles,
to put an end to property in slaves, and to stop all
work, because abolishing all need, of the Underground
Railroad.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<h1>Niagara and the Poets.</h1>
<hr style="width: 85%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p>
<h2>NIAGARA AND THE POETS.</h2>
<p>On a day in July, 1804, a ruddy-faced, handsome
young Irishman, whose appearance must
have commanded unusual attention in wild
frontier surroundings, came out of the woods that
overlooked Lake Erie, picking his way among the
still-standing stumps, and trudged down the Indian
trail, which had not long been made passable for
wagons. Presently he came into the better part of the
road, named Willink Avenue, passed a dozen scattered
houses, and finally stopped at John Crow's log tavern,
the principal inn of the infant Buffalo. He was dusty,
tired, and disgusted with the fortune that had brought
an accident some distance back in the woods, compelling
him to finish this stage of his journey, not merely
on foot, but disabled. Here, surrounded by more
Indians than whites, he lodged for a day or so before
continuing his journey to Niagara Falls; and here,
according to his own testimony, he wrote a long poem,
which was not only, in all probability, the first poem
ever composed in Buffalo, and one of the bitterest
tirades against America and American institutions to
be found in literature; but which contained, so far as
I have been able to discover, the first allusion to Niagara
Falls, written by one who actually traveled
thither, in the poetry of any language.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p>
<p>The poetry of Niagara Falls is contemporary with
the first knowledge of the cataract among civilized
men. One may make this statement with positiveness,
inasmuch as the first book printed in Europe which
mentions Niagara Falls contains a poem in which allusion
is made to that wonder. This work is the excessively
rare "Des Sauvages" of Champlain (Paris,
1604),<a name="FNanchor_71_71" id="FNanchor_71_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a> in which, after the dedication, is a sonnet,
inscribed "Le Sievr de la Franchise av discovrs Dv
Sievr Champlain." It seems proper, in quoting this
first of all Niagara poems, to follow as closely as may
be in modern type the archaic spelling of the original:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Mvses, si vous chantez, vrayment ie vous conseille<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Que vous louëz Champlain, pour estre courageux:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sans crainte des hasards, il a veu tant de lieux,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Que ses relations nous contentent l'oreille.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Il a veu le Perou,<a name="FNanchor_72_72" id="FNanchor_72_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a> Mexique & la Merueille<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Du Vulcan infernal qui vomit tant de feux,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Et les saults Mocosans,<a name="FNanchor_73_73" id="FNanchor_73_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a> qui offensent les yeux<br /></span>
<span class="i1">De ceux qui osent voir leur cheute nonpareille.<br /></span>
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span><span class="i0">Il nous promet encor de passer plus auant,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Reduire les Gentils, & trouuer le Leuant,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Par le Nort, ou le Su, pour aller à la Chine.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">C'est charitablement tout pour l'amour de Dieu.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fy des lasches poltrons qui ne bougent d'vn lieu!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Leur vie, sans mentir, me paroist trop mesquine.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>I regret that some research has failed to discover
any further information regarding the poet De la Franchise.
Obviously, he took rather more than the permissible
measure of poet's license in saying that Champlain
had seen Peru, a country far beyond the known
range of Champlain's travels. But in the phrase "<i>les
saults Mocosans</i>," the falls of Mocosa, we have the
ancient name of the undefined territory afterwards
labeled "Virginia." The intent of the allusion is
made plainer by Marc Lescarbot, who in 1610 wrote a
poem in which he speaks of "great falls which the
Indians say they encounter in ascending the St. Lawrence
as far as the neighborhood of Virginia."<a name="FNanchor_74_74" id="FNanchor_74_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a> The
allusion can only be to Niagara.</p>
<p>It is gratifying to find our incomparable cataract a
theme for song, even though known only by aboriginal
report, thus at the very dawn of exploration in this
part of America. It is fitting, too, that the French
should be the first to sing of what they discovered.
More than a century after De la Franchise and Lescarbot,
a Frenchman who really saw the falls introduced
them to the muse, though only by a quotation. This<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>
was Father Charlevoix, who, writing "From the Fall
of Niagara, May 14, 1721," to the Duchess of Lesdiguieres,
was moved to aid his description by quoting
poetry. "Ovid," the priest wrote to the duchess,
"gives us the description of such another cataract,
situated according to him in the delightful valley of
Tempe. I will not pretend that the country of Niagara
is as fine as that, though I believe its cataract much
the noblest of the two," and he thereupon quotes these
lines from the "Metamorphoses":</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Est nemus Hæmoniæ, prærupta quod undique claudit<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sylva; vocant Tempe, per quæ Peneus ab imo<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Effusus Pindo spumosis volvitur undis,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Dejectisque gravi tenues agitantia fumos<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nubila conducit, summisque aspergine sylvas,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Impluit, et sonitu plusquam vicina fatigat.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>It would be strange if there were not other impressionable
Frenchmen who composed or quoted verses
expressive of Niagara's grandeur, during the eighty-one
years that elapsed between the French discovery
of Niagara Falls and the English Conquest—a period
of over three-quarters of a century during which
earth's most magnificent cataract belonged to France.
But if priest or soldier, coureur-de-bois or verse-maker
at the court of Louis said aught in meter of Niagara in
all that time, I have not found it.</p>
<p>A little thunder by Sir William Johnson's guns at
Fort Niagara, a little blood on the Plains of Abraham,
and Niagara Falls was handed over to Great Britain.
Four years after the Conquest English poetry made its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>
first claim to our cataract. In 1764 appeared that
ever-delightful work, "The Traveller, or, a Prospect
of Society," wherein we read:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Have we not seen at pleasure's lordly call<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The smiling long-frequented village fall?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Behold the duteous son, the sire decayed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The modest matron or the blushing maid,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Forced from their homes, a melancholy train,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To traverse climes beyond the western main;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Niagara<a name="FNanchor_75_75" id="FNanchor_75_75"></a><a href="#Footnote_75_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a> stuns with thundering sound.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Even now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Through tangled forests and through dangerous ways,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where beasts with man divided empire claim,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the brown Indian marks with murderous aim;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There, while above the giddy tempest flies,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And all around distressful yells arise,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The pensive exile, bending with his woe,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To stop too fearful and too faint to go,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Casts a long look where England's glories shine,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And bids his bosom sympathize with mine.<a name="FNanchor_76_76" id="FNanchor_76_76"></a><a href="#Footnote_76_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Obviously, Oliver Goldsmith's "Traveller," in its
American allusions, reflected the current literature of
those years when Englishmen heard more of Oswego<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>
than they ever have since. Niagara and Oswego were
uttermost points told of in the dispatches, during that
long war, reached and held by England's "far-flung
battle line"; but if Britain's poets found any inspiration
in Niagara's mighty fount for a half century after
Goldsmith, I know it not.</p>
<p>And this brings us again to our first visiting poet,
Tom Moore, whose approach to Niagara by way of
Buffalo in 1804 has been described. Penning an
epistle in rhyme from "Buffalo, on Lake Erie," to
the Hon. W. R. Spencer—writing, we are warranted
in fancying, after a supper of poor bacon and tea, or
an evening among the loutish Indians who hung about
Crow's log-tavern—he recorded his emotions in no
amiable mood:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Even now, as wandering upon Erie's shore<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I hear Niagara's distant cataract roar,<a name="FNanchor_77_77" id="FNanchor_77_77"></a><a href="#Footnote_77_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">I sigh for home—alas! these weary feet<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Have many a mile to journey, ere we meet.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Niagara in 1804 was most easily approached from
the East by schooner on Lake Ontario from Oswego,
though the overland trail through the woods was beginning
to be used. Moore came by the land route. The
record of the journey is to be found in the preface to
his American Poems, and in his letters to his mother,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>
published for the first time in his "Memoirs, Journal
and Correspondence," edited by Earl Russell and
issued in London and Boston in 1853-'56. The
letters narrating his adventures in the region are
dated "Geneva, Genessee County, July 17, 1804";
"Chippewa, Upper Canada, July 22d"; "Niagara,
July 24th";—in which he copies a description of the
falls from his journal, not elsewhere published—and
"Chippewa, July 25th," signed "Tom." There is
no mention in these letters of Buffalo, but in the prefatory
narrative above alluded to we have this interesting
account of the visit:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>It is but too true, of all grand objects, whether in nature or
art, that facility of access to them much diminishes the feeling of
reverence they ought to inspire. Of this fault, however, the
route to Niagara, at this period—at least the portion of it which
led through the Genesee country—could not justly be accused.
The latter part of the journey, which lay chiefly through yet but
half-cleared woods, we were obliged to perform on foot; and a
slight accident I met with in the course of our rugged walk laid
me up for some days at Buffalo.</p></div>
<p>And so laid up—perhaps with a blistered heel—he
sought relief by driving his quill into the heart of
democracy. His friend, he lamented, had often told
him of happy hours passed amid the classic associations
and art treasures of Italy:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But here alas, by Erie's stormy lake,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As far from such bright haunts my course I take,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No proud remembrance o'er the fancy plays,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No classic dream, no star of other days<br /></span>
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span><span class="i0">Hath left the visionary light behind,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That lingering radiance of immortal mind,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which gilds and hallows even the rudest scene,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The humblest shed where Genius once had been.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>He views, not merely his immediate surroundings in
the pioneer village by Lake Erie, but the general character
of the whole land:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">All that creation's varying mass assumes,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of grand or lovely, here aspires and blooms.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bold rise the mountains, rich the gardens glow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bright lakes expand and conquering rivers flow;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But mind, immortal mind, without whose ray<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This world's a wilderness and man but clay,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mind, mind alone, in barren still repose,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nor blooms, nor rises, nor expands, nor flows.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Take Christians, Mohawks, democrats and all,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From the rude wigwam to the Congress Hall,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From man the savage, whether slaved or free,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To man the civilized, less tame than he,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">'Tis one dull chaos, one unfertile strife<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Betwixt half-polished and half-barbarous life;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where every ill the ancient world could brew<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is mixed with every grossness of the new;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where all corrupts, though little can entice,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And naught is known of luxury, but its vice!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is this the region then, is this the clime<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For soaring fancies? for those dreams sublime,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which all their miracles of light reveal<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To heads that meditate and hearts that feel?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Alas! not so!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>And after much more of proud protest against Columbia
and "the mob mania that imbrutes her now,"
our disapproving poet turned in to make the best, let<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>
us hope, of Landlord Crow's poor quarters, and to
prepare for Niagara. Years afterwards he admitted
that there was some soul for song among the men of
the Far West of that day. Very complacently he tells
us that "Even then, on the shores of those far lakes, the
title of 'Poet'—however in that instance unworthily
bestowed—bespoke a kind and distinguished welcome
for its wearer. The captain who commanded the
packet in which I crossed Lake Ontario, in addition to
other marks of courtesy, begged, on parting with me,
to be allowed to decline payment for my passage." I
cannot do better than to quote further from his account
of the visit to the falls:</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>When we arrived at length at the inn, in the neighborhood of
the Falls, it was too late to think of visiting them that evening;
and I lay awake almost the whole night with the sound of the
cataract in my ears. The day following I consider as a sort of
era in my life; and the first glimpse I caught of that wonderful
cataract gave me a feeling which nothing in this world can ever
awaken again. It was through an opening among the trees, as we
approached the spot where the full view of the Falls was to burst
upon us, that I caught this glimpse of the mighty mass of waters
falling smoothly over the edge of the precipice; and so overwhelming
was the notion it gave me of the awful spectacle I was approaching,
that during the short interval that followed, imagination
had far outrun the reality—and vast and wonderful as
was the scene that then opened upon me, my first feeling
was that of disappointment. It would have been impossible,
indeed, for anything real to come up to the vision I had, in
these few seconds, formed of it, and those awful scriptural
words, 'The fountains of the great deep were broken up,'
can alone give any notion of the vague wonders for which I
was prepared.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p>
<p>But, in spite of the start thus got by imagination, the triumph
of reality was, in the end, but the greater; for the gradual glory of
the scene that opened upon me soon took possession of my whole
mind; presenting from day to day, some new beauty or wonder,
and like all that is most sublime in nature or art, awakening sad as
well as elevating thoughts. I retain in my memory but one other
dream—for such do events so long past appear—which can by
any respect be associated with the grand vision I have just been
describing; and however different the nature of their appeals to
the imagination, I should find it difficult to say on which occasion I
felt most deeply affected, when looking at the Falls of Niagara,
or when standing by moonlight among the ruins of the Coliseum.</p></div>
<p>It was the tranquillity and unapproachableness of the
great fall, in the midst of so much turmoil, which most
impressed him. He tried to express this in a Song of
the Spirit of the region:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There amid the island sedge,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Just upon the cataract's edge,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where the foot of living man<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Never trod since time began,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lone I sit at close of day,<a name="FNanchor_78_78" id="FNanchor_78_78"></a><a href="#Footnote_78_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a> ...<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>The poem as a whole, however, is not a strong one,
even for Tom Moore.</p>
<p>As the Irish bard sailed back to England, another
pedestrian poet was making ready for a tour to Niagara.
This was the Paisley weaver, rhymster and roamer,
Alexander Wilson, whose fame as an ornithologist outshines
his reputation as a poet. Yet in him America
has—by adoption—her Oliver Goldsmith. In 1794,
being then twenty-eight years old, he arrived in Phila<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>delphia.
For eight years he taught school, or botanized,
roamed the woods with his gun, worked at the
loom, and peddled his verses among the inhabitants of
New Jersey. In October, 1804, accompanied by his
nephew and another friend, he set out on a walking
expedition to Niagara, which he satisfactorily accomplished.
His companions left him, but he persevered,
and reached home after an absence of fifty-nine days and
a walk of 1,260 miles. It is very pleasant, especially
for one who has himself toured afoot over a considerable
part of this same route, to follow our naturalist poet and
his friends on their long walk through the wilderness, in
the pages of Wilson's descriptive poem, "The Foresters."
Its first edition, it is believed, is a quaint
little volume of 106 pages, published at Newtown,
Penn., in 1818.<a name="FNanchor_79_79" id="FNanchor_79_79"></a><a href="#Footnote_79_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a> The route led through Bucks and
Northumberland counties, over the mountains and up
the valley of the Susquehanna; past Newtown, N. Y.,
now Elmira, and so on to the Indian village of Catherine,
near the head of Seneca Lake. Here, a quarter
of a century before, Sullivan and his raiders had brought
desolation, traces of which stirred our singer to some
of his loftiest flights. In that romantic wilderness of
rocky glen and marsh and lake, the region where Montour
Falls and Watkins now are, Wilson lingered to shoot
wild fowl. Thence the route lay through that interval
of long ascents—so long that the trudging poet thought</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To Heaven's own gates the mountain seemed to rise<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p>
<p class="noin">—and equally long descents, from Seneca Lake to Cayuga.
Here, after a night's rest, under a pioneer's roof:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Our boat now ready and our baggage stored,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Provisions, mast and oars and sails aboard,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With three loud cheers that echoed from the steep,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We launched our skiff "Niagara" to the deep.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Down to old Cayuga bridge they sailed and through
the outlet, passed the salt marshes and so on to Fort
Oswego. That post had been abandoned on the 28th
of October, about a week before Wilson arrived there.
A desolate, woebegone place he found it:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Those struggling huts that on the left appear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where fence, or field, or cultured garden green,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or blessed plough, or spade were never seen,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is old Oswego; once renowned in trade,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where numerous tribes their annual visits paid.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From distant wilds, the beaver's rich retreat,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For one whole moon they trudged with weary feet;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Piled their rich furs within the crowded store,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Replaced their packs and plodded back for more.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But time and war have banished all their trains<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And naught but potash, salt and rum remains.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The boisterous boatman, drunk but twice a day,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Begs of the landlord; but forgets to pay;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pledges his salt, a cask for every quart,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pleased thus for poison with his pay to part.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From morn to night here noise and riot reign;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From night to morn 'tis noise and roar again.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Not a flattering picture, truly, and yet no doubt a
trustworthy one, of this period in Oswego's history.</p>
<p>But we must hurry along with the poet to his destination,
although the temptation to linger with him in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>
this part of the journey is great. Indeed, "The
Foresters" is a historic chronicle of no slight value.
There is no doubting the fidelity of its pictures of the
state of nature and of man along this storied route as
seen by its author at the beginning of the century;
while his poetic philosophizing is now shrewd, now
absurd, but always ardently American in tone.</p>
<p>Our foresters undertook to coast along the Ontario
shore in their frail "Niagara"; narrowly escaped
swamping, and were picked up by</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A friendly sloop for Queenstown Harbor bound,<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="noin">where they arrived safely, after being gloriously seasick.
It was the season of autumn gales. A few days
before a British packet called the Speedy, with some
twenty or thirty persons on board, including a judge
advocate, other judges, witnesses and an Indian prisoner,
had foundered and every soul perished. No part of
the Speedy was afterwards found but the pump, which
Wilson says his captain picked up and carried to
Queenston.</p>
<p>Wilson had moralized, philosophized and rhapsodized
all the way from the Schuylkill. His verse, as he
approaches the Mecca of his wanderings, fairly palpitates
with expectation and excitement. He was not a
bard to sing in a majestic strain, but his description of
the falls and their environment is vivid and of historic
value. As they tramped through the forest,—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Heavy and slow, increasing on the ear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Deep through the woods a rising storm we hear.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Th' approaching gust still loud and louder grows,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As when the strong northeast resistless blows,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or black tornado, rushing through the wood,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Alarms th' affrighted swains with uproar rude.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet the blue heavens displayed their clearest sky,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And dead below the silent forests lie;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And not a breath the lightest leaf assailed;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But all around tranquillity prevailed.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"What noise is that?" we ask with anxious mien,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A dull salt-driver passing with his team.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Noise? noise?—why, nothing that I hear or see<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But Nagra Falls—Pray, whereabouts live ye?"<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>This touch of realism ushers in a long and over-wrought
description of the whole scene. The "crashing
roar," he says,</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">—— bade us kneel and Time's great God adore.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Whatever may have been his emotions, his adjectives
are sadly inadequate, and his verse devoid of true
poetic fervor. More than one of his descriptive
passages, however, give us those glimpses of conditions
past and gone, which the historian values. For instance,
this:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">High o'er the wat'ry uproar, silent seen,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sailing sedate, in majesty serene,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now midst the pillared spray sublimely lost,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Swept the gray eagles, gazing calm and slow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On all the horrors of the gulf below;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Intent, alone, to sate themselves with blood,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From the torn victims of the raging flood.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Wilson was not the man to mistake a bird; and
many other early travelers have testified to the former
presence of eagles in considerable numbers, haunting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>
the gorge below the falls in quest of the remains of
animals that had been carried down stream.</p>
<p>Moore, as we have seen, denounced the country for
its lack of</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">That lingering radiance of immortal mind<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="noin">which so inspires the poet in older lands. He was
right in his fact, but absurd in his fault-finding. It
has somewhere been said of him, that Niagara Falls
was the only thing he found in America which overcame
his self-importance; but we must remember his
youth, the flatteries on which he had fed at home and the
crudities of American life at that time. For a quarter
of a century after Tom Moore's visit there was much
in the crass assertiveness of American democracy which
was as ridiculous in its way as the Old-World ideas of
class and social distinctions were in their way—and
vastly more vulgar and offensive. Read, in evidence,
Mrs. Trollope and Capt. Basil Hall, two of America's
severest and sincerest critics. It should be put down
to Tom Moore's credit, too, that before he died he admitted
to Washington Irving and to others that his writings
on America were the greatest sin of his early life.<a name="FNanchor_80_80" id="FNanchor_80_80"></a><a href="#Footnote_80_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a></p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p>
<p>Like Moore, Alexander Wilson felt America's lack
of a poet; and, like Barlow and Humphreys and
Freneau and others of forgotten fame, he undertook—like
them again, unsuccessfully—to supply the lack.
There is something pathetic—or grotesque, as we look
at it—in the patriotic efforts of these commonplace
men to be great for their country's sake.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To Europe's shores renowned in deathless song,<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="noin">asks Wilson,</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Must all the honors of the bard belong?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And rural Poetry's enchanting strain<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Be only heard beyond th' Atlantic main?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet Nature's charms that bloom so lovely here,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Unhailed arrive, unheeded disappear;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While bare black heaths and brooks of half a mile<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Can rouse the thousand bards of Britain's Isle.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There, scarce a stream creeps down its narrow bed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There scarce a hillock lifts its little head,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or humble hamlet peeps their glades among<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But lives and murmurs in immortal song.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our Western world, with all its matchless floods,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our vast transparent lakes and boundless woods,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Stamped with the traits of majesty sublime,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Unhonored weep the silent lapse of time,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Spread their wild grandeur to the unconscious sky,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In sweetest seasons pass unheeded by;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While scarce one Muse returns the songs they gave,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or seeks to snatch their glories from the grave.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p>
<p>This solicitude by the early American writers, lest
the poetic themes of their country should go unsung,
contrasts amusingly, as does Moore's ill-natured complaining,
with the prophetic assurance of Bishop Berkeley's
famous lines, written half a century or so before,
in allusion to America:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The muse, disgusted at an age and clime<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Barren of every glorious theme,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In distant lands now waits a better time,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Producing subjects worthy fame.<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><b>. . . . . . .</b><br /></span>
<span class="i1">Westward the course of empire takes its way, ...<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>I have found no other pilgrim poets making Niagara
their theme, until the War of 1812 came to create
heroes and leave ruin along the frontier, and stir a few
patriotic singers to hurl back defiance to the British
hordes. Iambic defiance, unless kindled by a grand
genius, is a poor sort of fireworks, even when it undertakes
to combine patriotism and natural grandeur.
Certainly something might be expected of a poet who
sandwiches Niagara Falls in between bloody battles,
and gives us the magnificent in nature, the gallant in
warfare and the loftiest patriotism in purpose, the three
strains woven in a triple pæan of passion, ninety-four
duodecimo pages in length. Such a work was offered
to the world at Baltimore in 1818, with this title-page:
"Battle of Niagara, a Poem Without Notes, and Goldau,
or the Maniac Harper. Eagles and Stars and
Rainbows. By Jehu O' Cataract, author of 'Keep
Cool.'" I have never seen "Keep Cool," but it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>
must be very different from the "Battle of Niagara,"
or it belies its name. The fiery Jehu O' Cataract was
John Neal.<a name="FNanchor_81_81" id="FNanchor_81_81"></a><a href="#Footnote_81_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a></p>
<p>The "Battle of Niagara," he informs the reader,
was written when he was a prisoner; when he "felt
the victories of his countrymen." "I have attempted,"
he says, "to do justice to American scenery and American
character, not to versify minutiæ of battles."
The poem has a metrical introduction and four cantos,
in which is told, none too lucidly, the story of the
battle of Niagara; with such flights of eagles, scintillation
of stars and breaking of rainbows, that no brief
quotation can do it justice. In style it is now Miltonic,
now reminiscent of Walter Scott. The opening
canto is mainly an apostrophe to the Bird, and a vision
of glittering horsemen. Canto two is a dissertation on
Lake Ontario, with word-pictures of the primitive Indian.
The rest of the poem is devoted to the battle
near the great cataract—and throughout all are
sprinkled the eagles, stars and rainbows. Do not infer
from this characterization that the production is wholly
bad; it is merely a good specimen of that early Ameri<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>can
poetry which was just bad enough to escape being
good.</p>
<p>A brief passage or two will sufficiently illustrate the
author's trait of painting in high colors. He is a word-impressionist
whose brush, with indiscreet dashes,
mars the composition. I select two passages descriptive
of the battle:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The drum is rolled again. The bugle sings<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And far upon the wind the cross flag flings<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A radiant challenge to its starry foe,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That floats—a sheet of light!—away below,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where troops are forming—slowly in the night<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of mighty waters; where an angry light<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bounds from the cataract, and fills the skies<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With visions—rainbows—and the foamy dyes<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That one may see at morn in youthful poets' eyes.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Niagara! Niagara! I hear<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thy tumbling waters. And I see thee rear<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thy thundering sceptre to the clouded skies:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I see it wave—I hear the ocean rise,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And roll obedient to thy call. I hear<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The tempest-hymning of thy floods in fear;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The quaking mountains and the nodding trees—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The reeling birds and the careering breeze—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The tottering hills, unsteadied in thy roar;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Niagara! as thy dark waters pour<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One everlasting earthquake rocks thy lofty shore!<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><b>. . . . . . .</b><br /></span>
<span class="i0">The cavalcade went by. The day hath gone;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And yet the soldier lives; his cheerful tone<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rises in boisterous song; while slowly calls<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The monarch spirit of the mighty falls:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Soldier, be firm! and mind your watchfires well;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sleep not to-night!<br /></span>
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></div></div>
<p>The following picture of the camp at sunset, as the
reveille rings over the field, and Niagara's muffled
drums vibrate through the dusk, presents many of the
elements of true poetry:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Low stooping from his arch, the glorious sun<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hath left the storm with which his course begun;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And now in rolling clouds goes calmly home<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In heavenly pomp adown the far blue dome.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In sweet-toned minstrelsy is heard the cry,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All clear and smooth, along the echoing sky,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of many a fresh-blown bugle full and strong,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The soldier's instrument! the soldier's song!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Niagara, too, is heard; his thunder comes<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Like far-off battle—hosts of rolling drums.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All o'er the western heaven the flaming clouds<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Detach themselves and float like hovering shrouds.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Loosely unwoven, and afar unfurled,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A sunset canopy enwraps the world.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Vesper hymn grows soft. In parting day<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wings flit about. The warblings die away,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The shores are dizzy and the hills look dim,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The cataract falls deeper and the landscapes swim.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Jehu O' Cataract does not always hold his fancy with
so steady a rein as this. He is prone to eccentric
flights, to bathos and absurdities. His apostrophe to
Lake Ontario, several hundred lines in length, has many
fine fancies, but his luxuriant imagination continually
wrecks itself on extravagancies which break down the
effect. This I think the following lines illustrate:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">... He had fought with savages, whose breath<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He felt upon his cheek like mildew till his death.<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><b>. . . . . . .</b><br /></span>
<span class="i0">So stood the battle. Bravely it was fought,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lions and Eagles met. That hill was bought<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And sold in desperate combat. Wrapped in flame,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Died these idolaters of bannered fame.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Three times that meteor hill was bravely lost—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Three times 'twas bravely won, while madly tost,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Encountering red plumes in the dusky air;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While Slaughter shouted in her bloody lair,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And spectres blew their horns and shook their whistling hair.<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><b>. . . . . . .</b><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>There are allusions to Niagara in some of the ballads
of the War of 1812, one of the finest of which, "Sea
and Land Victories," beginning</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">With half the western world at stake<br /></span>
<span class="i0">See Perry on the midland lake,—<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="noin">appeared in the Naval Songster of 1815, and was a
great favorite half a century or more ago. So far,
however, as the last War with Great Britain has added
to our store of poetry by turning the attention of the
poets to the Niagara region as a strikingly picturesque
scene of war, there is little worthy of attention. One
ambitious work is remembered, when remembered at
all, as a curio of literature. This is "The Fredoniad,
or Independence Preserved," an epic poem by Richard
Emmons, a Kentuckian, afterwards a physician of Philadelphia.
He worked on it for ten years, finally
printed it in 1826, and in 1830 got it through a second
edition, ostentatiously dedicated to Lafayette. "The
Fredoniad" is a history in verse of the War of 1812;
it was published in four volumes; it has forty cantos,
filling 1,404 duodecimo pages, or a total length of about
42,000 lines. The first and second cantos are devoted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>
to Hell, the third to Heaven, and the fourth to Detroit.
About one-third of the whole work is occupied with
military operations on the Niagara frontier. Nothing
from Fort Erie to Fort Niagara escapes this meter-machine.
The Doctor's poetic feet stretch out to
miles and leagues, but not a single verse do I find that
prompts to quotation; though, I am free to confess, I
have not read them all, and much doubt if any one save
the infatuated author, and perhaps his proof-reader,
ever did read the whole of "The Fredoniad."</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>No sooner was the frontier at peace, and the pathways
of travel multiplied and smoothed, than there set
in the first great era of tourist travel to Niagara. From
1825, when the opening of the Erie Canal first made
the falls easily accessible to the East, the tide of visitors
steadily swelled. In that year came one other
poetizing pilgrim, from York, now Toronto, who,
returning home, published in his own city a duodecimo
of forty-six pages, entitled "Wonders of the West, or
a Day at the Falls of Niagara in 1825. A Poem. By
a Canadian." The author was J. S. Alexander, said
to have been a Toronto school-teacher. It is a great
curio, though of not the least value as poetry; in fact,
as verse it is ridiculously bad. The author does not
narrate his own adventures at Niagara, but makes his
descriptive and historical passages incidental to the
story of a hero named <i>St. Julian</i>. Never was the name
of this beloved patron saint of travelers more unhappily
bestowed, for this <i>St. Julian</i> is a lugubrious, crack<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>-brained
individual who mourns the supposed death of
a lady-love, <i>Eleanor St. Fleur</i>. Other characters are
introduced; all French except a remarkable driver
named <i>Wogee</i>, who tells legends and historic incidents
in as good verse, apparently, as the author was able to
produce. <i>St. Julian</i> is twice on the point of committing
suicide; once on Queenston Heights, and again at
the falls. Just as he is about to throw himself into the
river he hears his <i>Ellen's</i> voice—the lady, it seems,
had come from France by a different route—all the
mysteries are cleared up, and the reunited lovers and
their friends decide to "hasten hence,"</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Again to our dear native France,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where we shall talk of all we saw,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At thy dread falls, Niagara.<a name="FNanchor_82_82" id="FNanchor_82_82"></a><a href="#Footnote_82_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>From about this date the personal adventures of individuals
bound for Niagara cease to be told in verse,
and if they were they would cease to be of much historic
interest. The relation of the poets to Niagara
no longer concerns us because of its historic aspect.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>There remains, however, an even more important
division of the subject. The review must be less narrative
than critical, to satisfy the natural inquiry,
What impress upon the poetry of our literature has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>
this greatest of cataracts made during the three-quarters
of a century that it has been easily accessible to
the world? What of the supreme in poetry has been
prompted by this mighty example of the supreme in
nature? The proposition at once suggests subtleties
of analysis which must not be entered upon in this
brief survey. The answer to the question is attempted
chiefly by the historical method. A few selected examples
of the verse which relates to Niagara will, by
their very nature, indicate the logical answer to the
fundamental inquiry.</p>
<p>There is much significance in the fact, that what has
been called the best poem on Niagara was written by
one who never saw the falls. Chronologically, so far
as I have ascertained, it is the work which should next
be considered, for it appeared in the columns of a
New-England newspaper, about the time when the
newly-opened highway to the West robbed Niagara
forever of her majestic solitude, and filled the world
with her praise. They may have been travelers' tales
that prompted, but it was the spiritual vision of the true
poet that inspired the lines printed in the <i>Connecticut
Mirror</i> at Hartford, about 1825, by the delicate,
gentle youth, John G. C. Brainard. It is a poem
much quoted, of a character fairly indicated by these
lines:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">It would seem<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As if God formed thee from his "hollow hand"<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And hung his bow upon thine awful front;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And spoke in that loud voice, which seemed to him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who dwelt in Patmos for his Savior's sake,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"The sound of many waters"; and bade<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thy flood to chronicle the ages back,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And notch his centuries in the eternal rocks.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Measured by the strength of an Emerson or a Lowell,
this is but feeble blank verse, approaching the
bombastic; but as compared with what had gone
before, and much that was to follow, on the Niagara
theme, it is a not unwelcome variation.</p>
<p>The soul's vision, through imagination's magic glass,
receives more of Poesy's divine light than is shed upon
all the rapt gazers at the veritable cliff and falling flood.</p>
<p>During the formative years of what we now regard
as an established literary taste, but which later generations
will modify in turn, most American poetry was
imitative of English models. Later, as has been
shown, there was an assertively patriotic era; and later
still, one of great laudation of America's newly-discovered
wonders, which in the case of Niagara took
the form of apostrophe and devotion. To the patriotic
literature of Niagara, besides examples already cited,
belongs Joseph Rodman Drake's "Niagara," printed
with "The Culprit Fay, and Other Poems" in 1835.<a name="FNanchor_83_83" id="FNanchor_83_83"></a><a href="#Footnote_83_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a>
It is a poem which would strike the critical ear of
today, I think, as artificial; its sentiment, however, is
not to be impeached. The poet sings of the love of
freedom which distinguishes the Swiss mountaineer;
of the sailor's daring and bravery; of the soldier's hero<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>ism,
even to death. Niagara, like the alp, the sea, and
the battle, symbolizes freedom, triumph and glory:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then pour thy broad wave like a flood from the heavens,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Each son that thou rearest, in the battle's wild shock,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When the death-speaking note of the trumpet is given,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Will charge like thy torrent or stand like thy rock.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Let his roof be the cloud and the rock be his pillow,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Let him stride the rough mountain or toss on the foam,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let him strike fast and well on the field or the billow,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In triumph and glory for God and his home!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Nine years after Drake came Mrs. Sigourney, who,
notwithstanding her genuine love of nature and of
mankind, her sincerity and occasional genius, was
hopelessly of the sentimental school. Like Frances
S. Osgood, N. P. Willis and others now lost in even
deeper oblivion, she found great favor with her day
and generation. Few things from her ever-productive
pen had a warmer welcome than the lines beginning:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Up to the table-rock, where the great flood<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Reveals its fullest glory,<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="noin">and her "Farewell to Niagara," concluding</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">... it were sweet<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To linger here, and be thy worshipper,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Until death's footstep broke this dream of life.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Supremely devout in tone, her Niagara poems are
commonplace in imagination. Her fancy rarely reaches
higher than the perfectly obvious. I confess that I
cannot read her lines without a vision of the lady herself
standing in rapt attitude on the edge of Table
Rock, with note-book in hand and pencil uplifted to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>
catch the purest inspiration from the scene before her.
She is the type of a considerable train of writers whose
Niagara effusions leave on the reader's mind little impression
beyond an iterated "Oh, thou great Niagara,
Oh!" Such a one was Richard Kelsey, whose
"Niagara and Other Poems," printed in London in
1848, is likely to be encountered in old London bookshops.
I have read Mr. Kelsey's "Niagara" several
times. Once when I first secured the handsome gilt-edged
volume; again, later on, to discover why I failed
to remember any word or thought of it; and again, in
the preparation of this paper, that I might justly characterize
it. But I am free to confess that beyond a
general impression of Parnassian attitudinizing and
extravagant apostrophe I get nothing out of its pages.
Decidedly better are the lines "On Visiting the Falls
of Niagara," by Lord Morpeth, the Earl of Carlisle,
who visited Niagara in 1841.<a name="FNanchor_84_84" id="FNanchor_84_84"></a><a href="#Footnote_84_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a> He, too, begins with
the inevitable apostrophe:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There's nothing great or bright, thou glorious fall!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thou mayst not to the fancy's sense recall—<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="noin">but he saves himself with a fairly creditable sentiment:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Oh! may the wars that madden in thy deeps<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There spend their rage nor climb the encircling steeps,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And till the conflict of thy surges cease<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The nations on thy bank repose in peace.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>A British poet who should perhaps have mention in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>
this connection is Thomas Campbell, whose poem,
"The Emigrant," contains an allusion to Niagara. It
was published anonymously in 1823 in the <i>New Monthly
Magazine</i>, which Campbell then edited.<a name="FNanchor_85_85" id="FNanchor_85_85"></a><a href="#Footnote_85_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a></p>
<p>No poem on Niagara that I know of is more entitled
to our respectful consideration than the elaborate work
which was published in 1848 by the Rev. C. H. A.
Bulkley of Mt. Morris, N. Y. It is a serious attempt to
produce a great poem with Niagara Falls as its theme.
Its length—about 3,600 lines—secures to Western
New York the palm for elaborate treatment of the cataract
in verse. "Much," says the author, "has been
written hitherto upon Niagara in fugitive verse, but no
attempt like this has been made to present its united
wonders as the theme of a single poem. It seems a bold
adventure and one too hazardous, because of the greatness
of the subject and the obscurity of the bard; but
his countrymen are called upon to judge it with impartiality,
and pronounce its life or its death. The
author would not shrink from criticism.... His
object has been, not so much to describe at length
the scenery of Niagara in order to excite emotions in
the reader similar to those of the beholder, for this
would be a vain endeavor, as to give a transcript of
what passes through the mind of one who is supposed
to witness so grand an achievement of nature. The
difficulty," he adds, "with those who visit this wonderful
cataract is to give utterance to those feelings and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>
thoughts that crowd within and often, because thus pent
up, produce what may be termed the pain of delight."</p>
<p>Of a poem which fills 132 duodecimo pages it is
difficult to give a fair idea in a few words. There is an
introductory apostrophe, followed by a specific apostrophe
to the falls as a vast form of life. Farther on the
cataract is apostrophized as a destroyer, as an historian,
a warning prophet, an oracle of truth, a tireless laborer.
There are many passages descriptive of the islands, the
gorge, the whirlpool, etc. Then come more apostrophes
to the fall respecting its origin and early life.
It is viewed as the presence-chamber of God, and as a
proof of Deity. Finally, we have the cataract's hymn
to the Creator, and the flood's death-dirge.</p>
<p>No long poem is without its commonplace intervals.
Mr. Bulkley's "Niagara" has them to excess, yet as a
whole it is the work of a refined and scholarly mind, its
imagination hampered by its religious habit, but now
and than quickened to lofty flights, and strikingly sustained
and noble in its diction. Only a true poet takes
such cognizance of initial impulses and relations in nature
as this:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In thy hoarse strains is heard the desolate wail<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of streams unnumbered wandering far away,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From mountain homes where, 'neath the shady rocks<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their parent springs gave them a peaceful birth.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>It presents many of the elements of a great poem,
reaching the climax in the cataract's hymn to the
Creator, beginning</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Oh mighty Architect of Nature's home!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p>
<p>At about this period—to be exact, in 1848—there
was published in New York City, as a pamphlet or
thin booklet, a poem entitled "Niagara," by "A
Member of the Ohio Bar," of whose identity I know
nothing. It is a composition of some merit, chiefly
interesting by reason of its concluding lines:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i10">... Then so live,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That when in the last fearful mortal hour,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thy wave, borne on at unexpected speed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">O'erhangs the yawning chasm, soon to fall,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thou start not back affrighted, like a youth<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That wakes from sleep to find his feeble bark<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Suspended o'er Niagara, and with shrieks<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And unavailing cries alarms the air,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tossing his hands in frenzied fear a moment,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then borne away forever! But with gaze<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Calm and serene look through the eddying mists,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On Faith's unclouded bow, and take thy plunge<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As one whose Father's arms are stretched beneath,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who falls into the bosom of his God!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>The close parallelism of these lines with the exalted
conclusion of "Thanatopsis" is of course obvious;
but they embody a symbolism which is one of the best
that has been suggested by Niagara.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>From the sublime to the ridiculous was never a
shorter descent than in this matter of Niagara poetry.
At about the time Mr. Bulkley wrote, and for some
years after, it was the pernicious custom to keep public
albums at the Table Rock and other points at the
falls, for the record of "impressions." Needless to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>
say, these albums filled up with rubbish. To bad taste
was added the iniquity of publication, so that future
generations may be acquainted with one of the least
creditable of native American literary whims. The
editor of one of these albums, issued in 1856, lamented
that "the innumerable host of visitors who have perpetrated
composition in the volumes of manuscript
now before us, should have added so little to the general
stock of legitimate and permanent literature";
and he adds—by way seemingly of adequate excuse—that
"the actual amount of frivolous nonsense which
constitutes so large a portion of the contents ...
is not all to be calculated by the specimens now and
then exhibited. We have given the best," he says,
"always taking care that decency shall not be outraged,
nor delicacy shocked; and in this respect, however
improbable it may seem, precaution has been by no
means unnecessary." What a commentary on the sublime
in nature, as reflected on man in the mass!</p>
<p>These Table-Rock Albums contain some true poetry;
much would-be fine verse which falls below mediocre;
much of horse-play or puerility; and now and then a
gleam of wit. Here first appeared the lines which
I remember to have conned years ago in a school-rhetoric,
and for which, I believe, N. P. Willis was
responsible:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To view Niagara Falls one day,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A parson and a tailor took their way;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The parson cried, whilst wrapped in wonder,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And listening to the cataract's thunder,<br /></span>
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span><span class="i0">"Lord! how thy works amaze our eyes,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And fill our hearts with vast surprise";—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The tailor merely made his note:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Lord! what a place to sponge a coat!"<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>There has been many a visitor at Niagara Falls who
shares the sentiments of one disciple of the realistic
school:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Loud roars the waters, O,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Loud roars the waters, O,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I come to the Falls again<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I hope they will not spatter so.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Another writes:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My thoughts are strange, sublime and deep,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As I look up to thee—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What a glorious place for washing sheep,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Niagara would be!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Examples of such doggerel could be multiplied by
scores, but without profit. There was sense if not
poetry in the wight who wrote:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I have been to "Termination Rock"<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where many have been before;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But as I can't describe the scene<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I wont say any more.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Infinitely better than this are the light but pleasing
verses written in a child's album, years ago, by the late
Col. Peter A. Porter of Niagara Falls. He pictured
the discovery of the falls by La Salle and Hennepin
and ponders upon the changes that have followed:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">What troops of tourists have encamped upon the river's brink;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What poets shed from countless quills Niagaras of ink;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span><br /></span>
<span class="i0">What artist armies tried to fix the evanescent bow<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of the waters falling as they fell two hundred years ago.<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><b>. . . . . . .</b><br /></span>
<span class="i0">And stately inns feed scores of guests from well-replenished larder,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And hackmen drive their horses hard, but drive a bargain harder,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And screaming locomotives rush in anger to and fro;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But the waters fall as once they fell two hundred years ago.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And brides of every age and clime frequent the islands' bower,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And gaze from off the stone-built perch—hence called the Bridal Tower—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And many a lunar belle goes forth to meet a lunar beau,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By the waters falling as they fell two hundred years ago.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Towards the close of the long poem the author takes
a more serious tone, but throughout he keeps up a
happy cleverness, agreeably in contrast to the prevailing
high gush on one hand and balderdash on the other.</p>
<p>Among the writers of serious and sometimes creditable
verse whose names appear in the Table-Rock
Albums were Henry D. O'Reilly, C. R. Rowland,
Sarah Pratt, Maria del Occidente, George Menzies,
Henry Lindsay, the Rev. John Dowling, J. S. Buckingham,
the Hon. C. N. Vivian, Douglas Stuart, A. S.
Ridgely of Baltimore, H. W. Parker, and Josef
Leopold Stiger. Several of these names are not unknown
in literature. Prof. Buckingham is remembered
as an earlier Bryce, whose elaborate three-volume
work on America is still of value. Vivian was a distinguished
traveler who wrote books; and Josef Leopold
Stiger's stanzas beginning</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Sei mir gegrüsst, des jungen Weltreichs Stolz und Zierde!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="noin">are by no means the worst of Niagara poems.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p>
<p>I cannot conceive of Niagara Falls as a scene promotive
of humor, or suggestive of wit. Others may
see both in John G. Saxe's verses, of which the first
stanza will suffice to quote:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">See Niagara's torrent pour over the height,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">How rapid the stream! how majestic the flood<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rolls on, and descends in the strength of his might,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">As a monstrous great frog leaps into the mud!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>The "poem" contains six more stanzas of the same
stamp.</p>
<p>The writing of jingles and doggerel having Niagara
as a theme did not cease when the Albums were no
longer kept up. If there is no humor or grotesqueness
in Niagara, there is much of both in the human accessories
with which the spot is constantly supplied, and
these will never cease to stimulate the wits. I believe
that a study of this field—not in a restricted, but a
general survey—would discover a decided improvement,
in taste if not in native wit, as compared with
the compositions which found favor half a century ago.
Without entering that field, however, it will suffice to
submit in evidence one "poem" from a recent publication,
which shows that the making of these American
<i>genre</i> sketches, with Niagara in the background, is not
yet a lost art:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Before Niagara Falls they stood,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">He raised aloft his head,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For he was in poetic mood,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And this is what he said:<br /></span>
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Oh, work sublime! Oh, wondrous law<br /></span>
<span class="i1">That rules thy presence here!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How filled I am with boundless awe<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To view thy waters clear!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"What myriad rainbow colors float<br /></span>
<span class="i1">About thee like a veil,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And in what countless streams remote<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Thy life has left its trail!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Yes, George," the maiden cried in haste,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">"Such shades I've never seen,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I'm going to have my next new waist<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The color of that green."<br /></span>
</div></div>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>From about 1850 down to the present hour there is
a striking dearth of verse, worthy to be called poetry,
with Niagara for its theme. Newspapers and magazines
would no doubt yield a store if they could be gleaned;
perchance the one Niagara pearl of poetry is thus
overlooked; but it is reasonably safe to assume that
few really great poems sink utterly from sight. There
is, or was, a self-styled Bard of Niagara, whose verses,
printed at Montreal in 1872, need not detain us. The
only long work on the subject of real merit that I know
of, which has appeared in recent years, is George
Houghton's "Niagara," published in 1882. Like Mr.
Bulkley, he has a true poet's grasp of the material
aspect of his subject:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Formed when the oceans were fashioned, when all the world was a workshop;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Loud roared the furnace fires and tall leapt the smoke from volcanoes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Scooped were round bowls for lakes and grooves for the sliding of rivers,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whilst with a cunning hand, the mountains were linked together.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then through the day-dawn, lurid with cloud, and rent by forked lightning,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Stricken by earthquake beneath, above by the rattle of thunder,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sudden the clamor was pierced by a voice, deep-lunged and portentous—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thine, O Niagara, crying, "Now is creation completed!"<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>He sees in imagination the million sources of the
streams in forest and prairie, which ultimately pour
their gathered "tribute of silver" from the rich
Western land into the lap of Niagara. He makes
skillful use of the Indian legendry associated with the
river; he listens to Niagara's "dolorous fugue," and
resolves it into many contributory cries. In exquisite
fancy he listens to the incantation of the siren rapids:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thus, in some midnight obscure, bent down by the storm of temptation<br /></span>
<span class="i0">(So hath the wind, in the beechen wood, confided the story),<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pine trees, thrusting their way and trampling down one another,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Curious, lean and listen, replying in sobs and in whispers;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Till of the secret possessed, which brings sure blight to the hearer<br /></span>
<span class="i0">(So hath the wind, in the beechen wood, confided the story),<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Faltering, they stagger brinkward—clutch at the roots of the grasses,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cry—a pitiful cry of remorse—and plunge down in the darkness.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>The cataract in its varied aspects is considered with
a thought for those who</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Sin, and with wine-cup deadened, scoff at the dread of hereafter,—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, because all seems lost, besiege Death's door-way with gladness.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p>
<p>The master-stroke of the poem is in two lines:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">That alone is august which is gazed upon by the noble,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That alone is gladsome which eyes full of gladness discover.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Herein lies the rebuking judgment upon Niagara's detractors,
not all of whom have perpetrated album rhymes.</p>
<p>Mr. Houghton, as the reader will note, recognizes
the tragic aspect of Niagara. Considering the insistence
with which accident and suicide attend, making
here an unappeased altar to the weaknesses and woes of
mankind, this aspect of Niagara has been singularly
neglected by the poets. We have it, however, exquisitely
expressed, in the best of all recent Niagara verse—a
sonnet entitled "At Niagara," by Richard Watson
Gilder.<a name="FNanchor_86_86" id="FNanchor_86_86"></a><a href="#Footnote_86_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a> The following lines illustrate our point:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There at the chasm's edge behold her lean<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Trembling, as, 'neath the charm,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A wild bird lifts no wing to 'scape from harm;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her very soul drawn to the glittering, green,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Smooth, lustrous, awful, lovely curve of peril;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While far below the bending sea of beryl<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thunder and tumult—whence a billowy spray<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Enclouds the day.<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><b>. . . . . . .</b><br /></span>
</div></div>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>There is a considerable amount of recent verse commonly
called "fugitive" that has Niagara for its theme,
but I find little that calls for special attention. A few
Buffalo writers, the Rev. John C. Lord, Judge Jesse
Walker, David Gray, Jas. W. Ward, Henry Chandler,
and the Rev. Benjamin Copeland among them, have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>
found inspiration in the lake and river for some of the
best lines that adorn the purely local literature of the
Niagara region. Indeed, I know of no allusion to Niagara
more exquisitely poetical than the lines in David
Gray's historical poem, "The Last of the Kah-Kwahs,"
in which he compares the Indian villages
sleeping in ever-threatened peace to</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">... the isle<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That, locked in wild Niagara's fierce embrace,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Still wears a smile of summer on its face—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Love in the clasp of Madness.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>With this beautiful imagery in mind, recall the lines
of Byron:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i6">On the verge<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><b>. . . . . . .</b><br /></span>
<span class="i0">An Iris sits amidst the infernal surge<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><b>. . . . . . .</b><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Resembling, 'mid the tortures of the scene,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Love watching Madness with unalterable mien.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Byron did not write of Niagara, but these stanzas
beginning</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The roar of waters ...<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="noin">often have been applied to our cataract. Mr. Gray
may or may not have been familiar with them. In any
event he improved on the earlier poet's figure.</p>
<p>Merely as a matter of chronicle, it is well to record
here the names of several writers, some of them of
considerable reputation, who have contributed to
the poetry of Niagara. Alfred B. Street's well-known
narrative poem, "Frontenac," contains Niagara
passages. So does Levi Bishop's metrical volume<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>
"Teuchsa Grondie" ("Whip-poor-will"), the Niagara
portion dedicated to the Hon. Augustus S. Porter.
Ever since Chateaubriand wrote "Atala," authors
have been prompted to associate Indian legends with
Niagara, but none has done this more happily than
William Trumbull, whose poem, "The Legend of the
White Canoe," illustrated by F. V. Du Mond, is one of
the most artistic works in all the literature of Niagara.</p>
<p>The Rev. William Ellery Channing, the Rev. Joseph
H. Clinch, the Rev. Joseph Cook, Christopher P.
Cranch, Oliver I. Taylor, Grenville Mellen, Prof.
Moffat, John Savage, Augustus N. Lowry, Claude James
Baxley of Virginia, Abraham Coles, M. D., Henry
Howard Brownell, the Rev. Roswell Park, Willis
Gaylord Clark, Mary J. Wines, M. E. Wood, E. H.
Dewart, G. W. Cutter, J. N. McJilton, and the
Chicago writer, Harriet Monroe, are, most of them,
minor poets (some, perhaps, but poets by courtesy),
whose tributes to our cataract are contained in their
collected volumes of verse. In E. G. Holland's
"Niagara and Other Poems" (1861), is a poem on
Niagara thirty-one pages long, with several pages of
notes, "composed for the most part by the Drachenfels,
one of the Seven Mountains of the Rhine, in the
vicinity of Bonn, September, 1856, and delivered as
a part of an address on American Scenery the day
following." Among the Canadian poets who have
attempted the theme, besides several already named,
may be recorded John Breakenridge, a volume of
whose verse was printed at Kingston in 1846; Charles<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>
Sangster, James Breckenridge, John Imrie, and William
Rice, the last three of Toronto. The French-Canadian
poet, Louis Fréchette, has written an excellent
poem, "Le Niagara." Wm. Sharpe, M. D.,
"of Ireland," wrote at length in verse on "Niagara
and Nature Worship." Charles Pelham Mulvaney
touches the region in his poem, "South Africa
Remembered at Niagara." One of the most striking
effusions on the subject comes from the successful
Australian writer, Douglas Sladen. It is entitled "To
the American Fall at Niagara," and is dated "Niagara,
Oct. 18, 1899":</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Niagara, national emblem! Cataract<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Born of the maddened rapids, sweeping down<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Direct, resistless from the abyss's crown<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Into the deep, fierce pool with vast impact<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Scarce broken by the giant boulders, stacked<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To meet thine onslaught, threatening to drown<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Each tillaged plain, each level-loving town<br /></span>
<span class="i0">'Twixt thee and ocean. Lo! the type exact!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">America Niagarized the world.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Europe, a hundred years agone, beheld<br /></span>
<span class="i0">An avalanche, like pent-up Erie, hurled<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Through barriers, to which the rocks of eld<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Seemed toy things—leaping into godlike space<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A sign and wonder to the human race.<a name="FNanchor_87_87" id="FNanchor_87_87"></a><a href="#Footnote_87_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Friedrich Bodenstedt and Wilhelm Meister of
Germany, J. B. Scandella and the Rev. Santo Santelli
of Italy ("Cascada di Niagara," 1841), have place<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>
among our Niagara poets. So, conspicuously, has
Juan Antonio Perez Bonalde, whose illustrated volume,
"El Poema del Niagara," dedicated to Emilio Castelar,
with a prose introduction of twenty-five pages by
the Cuban martyr José Martí, was published in New
York, reaching at least a second edition, in 1883.
Several Mexican poets have addressed themselves to
Niagara. "Á la Catarata del Niágara" is a sonnet by
Don Manuel Carpio, whose collected works have been
issued at Vera Cruz, Paris, and perhaps elsewhere. In
the dramatic works of Don Vincente Riva Palacio
and Don Juan A. Mateos is found "La Catarata del
Niágara," a three-act drama in verse; the first two
acts occur in Mexico, in the house of <i>Dona Rosa</i>, the
third act is at Niagara Falls, the time being 1847.<a name="FNanchor_88_88" id="FNanchor_88_88"></a><a href="#Footnote_88_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a>
The Spanish poet Antonio Vinageras, nearly fifty years
ago, wrote a long ode on Niagara, dedicating it to
"la célebre poetisa, Doña Gertrudis Gomez de
Avellaneda." In no language is there a nobler poem
on Niagara than the familiar work by Maria José
Heredosia, translated from the Spanish by William
Cullen Bryant. The Comte de Fleury, who visited
Niagara a few years ago, left a somewhat poetical
souvenir in French verse. Fredrika Bremer, whose
prose is often unmetered poetry even after translation,
wrote of Niagara in a brief poem. The following is
a close paraphrase of the Swedish original:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Niagara is the betrothal of Earth's life<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With the Heavenly life.<br /></span>
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span><span class="i0">That has Niagara told me to-day.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And now can I leave Niagara. She has<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Told me her word of primeval being.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Another Scandinavian poet, John Nyborn, has written
a meritorious poem on Niagara Falls, an adaptation
of which, in English, was published some years since
by Dr. Albin Bernays.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>It is a striking fact that Niagara's stimulus to the
poetic mind has been quite as often through the ear as
through the eye. The best passages of the best poems
are prompted by the sound of the falling waters, rather
than by the expanse of the flood, the height of cliffs,
or the play of light. In Mr. Bulkley's work, which
indeed exhausts the whole store of simile and comparison,
we perpetually hear the voice of the falls, the
myriad voices of nature, the awful voice of God.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Minstrel of the Floods,"<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="noin">he cries:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">What pæans full of triumph dost thou hymn!<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><b>. . . . . . .</b><br /></span>
<span class="i0">However varied is the rhythm sweet<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of thine unceasing song! The ripple oft<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Astray along thy banks a lyric is<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of love; the cool drops trickling down thy sides<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are gentle sonnets; and thy lesser falls<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are strains elegiac, that sadly sound<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A monody of grief; thy whirlpool fierce,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A shrill-toned battle-song; thy river's rush<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A strain heroic with its couplet rhymes;<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><b>. . . . . . .</b><br /></span>
<span class="i0">While the full sweep of thy close-crowded tide<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Resounds supreme o'er all, an epic grand.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p>
<p>Of this class, too, is the "Apostrophe to Niagara,"
by one B. Frank Palmer, in 1855. It is said to have
been "written with the pencil in a few minutes, the
author seated on the bank, drenched, from the mighty
bath at Termination Rock, and still listening to the
roar and feeling the eternal jar of the cataract." The
Rev. T. Starr King, upon reading it in 1855, said:
"The apostrophe has the music of Niagara in it."
As a typical example of the devotional apostrophe it
is perhaps well to give it in full:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">This is Jehovah's fullest organ strain!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">I hear the liquid music rolling, breaking.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From the gigantic pipes the great refrain<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Bursts on my ravished ear, high thoughts awaking!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The low sub-bass, uprising from the deep,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Swells the great pæan as it rolls supernal—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Anon, I hear, at one majestic sweep<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The diapason of the keys eternal!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Standing beneath Niagara's angry flood—<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The thundering cataract above me bounding—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I hear the echo: "Man, there is a God!"<br /></span>
<span class="i1">From the great arches of the gorge resounding!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Behold, O man! nor shrink aghast in fear!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Survey the vortex boiling deep before thee!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Hand that ope'd the liquid gateway here<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Hath set the beauteous bow of promise o'er thee!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Here, in the hollow of that Mighty Hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Which holds the basin of the tidal ocean,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let not the jarring of the spray-washed strand<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Disturb the orisons of pure devotion.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Roll on, Niagara! great River King!<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Beneath thy sceptre all earth's rulers, mortal,<br /></span>
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span><span class="i0">Bow reverently; and bards shall ever sing<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The matchless grandeur of thy peerless portal!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I hear, Niagara, in this grand strain,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">His voice, who speaks in flood, in flame and thunder—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Forever mayst thou, singing, roll and reign—<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Earth's grand, sublime, supreme, supernal wonder.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Such lines as these—which might be many times
multiplied—recall Eugene Thayer's ingenious and
highly poetic paper on "The Music of Niagara."<a name="FNanchor_89_89" id="FNanchor_89_89"></a><a href="#Footnote_89_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a>
Indeed, many of the prose writers, as well as the versifiers,
have found their best tribute to Niagara inspired
by the mere sound of falling waters.</p>
<p>That Niagara's supreme appeal to the emotions is not
through the eye but through the ear, finds a striking
illustration in "Thoughts on Niagara," a poem of
about eighty lines written prior to 1854 by Michael
McGuire, a blind man.<a name="FNanchor_90_90" id="FNanchor_90_90"></a><a href="#Footnote_90_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a> Here was one whose only
impressions of the cataract came through senses other
than that of sight. As is usual with the blind, he uses
phrases that imply consciousness of light; yet to him,
as to other poets whose devotional natures respond to
this exhibition of natural laws, all the phenomena
merge in "the voice of God":</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I stood where swift Niagara pours its flood<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Into the darksome caverns where it falls,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And heard its voice, as voice of God, proclaim<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The power of Him, who let it on its course<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Commence, with the green earth's first creation;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And I was where the atmosphere shed tears,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span><br /></span>
<span class="i0">As giving back the drops the waters wept,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On reaching that great sepulchre of floods,—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or bringing from above the bow of God,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To plant its beauties in the pearly spray.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And as I stood and heard, <i>though seeing nought</i>,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sad thoughts took deep possession of my mind,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And rude imagination venturing forth,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Did toil to pencil, though in vain, that scene,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which, in its every feature, spoke of God.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>The poem, which as a whole is far above commonplace,
develops a pathetic prayer for sight; and employs
much exalted imagery attuned to the central idea
that here Omnipotence speaks without ceasing; here is</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A temple, where Jehovah is felt most.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>But for the most part, the world's strong singers have
passed Niagara by; nor has Niagara's newest aspect,
that of a vast engine of energy to be used for the good
of man, yet found worthy recognition by any poet of
potentials.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>This survey, though incomplete, is yet sufficiently
comprehensive to warrant a few conclusions. More
than half of all the verse on the subject which I have
examined was written during the second quarter of this
century. The first quarter, as has been shown, was
the age of Niagara's literary discovery, and produced
a few chronicles of curious interest. During the last
half of the century—the time in which practically the
whole brilliant and substantial fabric of American liter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>ature
has been created—Niagara well-nigh has been
ignored by the poets. In all our list, Goldsmith and
Moore are the British writers of chief eminence who
have touched the subject in verse, though many British
poets, from Edwin Arnold to Oscar Wilde, have written
poetic prose about Niagara. Of native Americans, I
have found no names in the list of Niagara singers
greater than those of Drake and Mrs. Sigourney.
Emerson nor Lowell, Whittier nor Longfellow, Holmes
nor Stedman, has given our Niagara wonder the dowry
of a single line. Whitman, indeed, alludes to Niagara
in his poem "By Blue Ontario's Shore," but
his poetic vision makes no pause at the falls; nor
does that of Joseph O'Connor, who in his stirring and
exalted Columbian poem, "The Philosophy of America,"
finds a touch of color for his continental cosmorama
by letting his sweeping glance fall for a
moment,</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To where, 'twixt Erie and Ontario,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Leaps green Niagara with a giant roar.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>But in such a symphony as his, Niagara is a subservient
element, not the dominating theme. Most of the
Niagara poets have been of local repute, unknown to
fame.</p>
<p>What, then, must we conclude? Shall we say with
Martin Farquhar Tupper—who has contributed to the
alleged poetry of the place—that there is nothing sublime
about Niagara? The many poetic and impassioned
passages in prose descriptions are against such a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span>
view. If dimensions, volume, exhibition of power, are
elements of sublimity, Niagara Falls are sublime. But
it cannot be said that superlative exhibitions of nature,
some essentially universal phenomena, like those of
the sea and sky, excepted, have been made the specific
subject of verse, with a high degree of success. The
reason is not far to seek, and lies in the inherent nature
of poetry. It is a chief essential of poetry that it express,
in imaginative form, the insight of the human
soul. The feeble poets who have addressed themselves
to Niagara have stopped, for the most part, with purely
objective utterance. In some few instances, as we have
seen, a truly subjective regard has given us noble lines.</p>
<p>The poetic in nature is essentially independent of the
detail of natural phenomena. A waterfall 150 feet high
is not intrinsically any more poetic than one but half
that height; or a thunder-peal than the tinkle of a rill.
True poetry must be self-expression, as well as interpretive
of truths which are manifested through physical
phenomena. Hence it is in the nature of things that a
nameless brook shall have its Tennyson, or a Niagara
flow unsung.</p>
<div class="footnotes">
<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Often spelled "Daillon" or "d'Allion," the latter form suggesting
origin from the name of a place, as is common in the French. Charlevoix
sometimes wrongly has it "de Dallion." I follow the spelling as given in
the priest's own signature to a letter to a friend in Paris, dated at "Tonachain
[Toanchain], Huron village, this 18th July, 1627," and signed
"Joseph De La Roche Dallion." The student of seventeenth-century
history need not be reminded that little uniformity in the spelling of proper
names can be looked for, either in printed books or manuscripts. In
French, as in English, men spelled their names in different ways—Shakespeare,
it is said, achieving thirty-nine variations. The matter bears on
our present study because the diversity of spelling may involve the young
student in perplexity. Thus, the name of the priests Lalemant (there
were three of them) is given by Le Clercq as "Lallemant," by Charlevoix
(a much later historian) as "Lallemant" or "Lalemant," but in the contemporary
"Relations" of 1641-'42 as "Lallemant," "Lalemant" or
"L'allemant." Many other names are equally variable, changes due to
elision being sometimes, but not always, indicated by accents, as "Bruslé,"
"Brûlé." Thus we have "Jolliet" or "Joliet," "De Gallinée" or "De
Galinée," "Du Lu," "Du Luth," "Duluth," etc. When we turn to
modern English, the confusion is much—and needlessly—increased. Dr.
Shea, the learned translator and editor of Le Clercq, apparently aimed to
put all the names into English, without accents. Parkman, or his publishers,
have been guilty of many inconsistencies, now speaking of "Brébeuf,"
now of "Brebeuf," and changing "Le Clercq" to "Le Clerc." The
"Historical Writings" of Buffalo's pre-eminent student in this field,
Orsamus H. Marshall, share with many less valuable works—the present,
no doubt, among them—these inconsistencies of style in the use of proper
names.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Mr. Consul W. Butterfield, whose "History of Brûlé's Discoveries and
Explorations, 1610-1626," has appeared since the above was written, is of
opinion that Brûlé did not visit the falls, nor gain any particular knowledge
of Lake Erie, as that lake is not shown on Champlain's map of 1632;
but that he and his Indian escort crossed the Niagara near Lake Ontario,
"into what is now Western New York, in the present county of Niagara,"
and that "the journey was doubtless pursued through what are now the
counties of Erie, Genesee, Wyoming, Livingston, Steuben and Chemung
into Tioga," and thence down the Susquehanna. It is probable that
Brûlé's party would follow existing trails, and one of the best defined
trails, at a later period when the Senecas occupied the country as far west
as the Niagara, followed this easterly course; but there were other trails,
one of which lay along the east bank of the Niagara. So long as we have
no other original source of information except Champlain, Sagard and Le
Caron, none of whom has left any explicit record of Brûlé's journeyings
hereabouts, so long must his exact path in the Niagara region remain
untraced.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> "Brehan de Gallinée," in Margry. Shea has it "Brehaut de Galinée."</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Why Joliet left the Lake Erie route on his way east, for one much more
difficult, has been a matter of some discussion. According to the Abbé
Galinée, he was induced to turn aside by an Iroquois Indian who had been
a prisoner among the Ottawas. Joliet persuaded the Ottawas to let this
prisoner return with him. As they drew near the Niagara the Iroquois
became afraid lest he should fall into the hands of the ancient enemies of
the Iroquois, the Andastes, although the habitat of that people is usually
given as from about the site of Buffalo to the west and southwest. At
any rate it was the representations of this Iroquois prisoner and guide
which apparently turned Joliet into the Grand River and kept him away
from the Niagara. The paragraph in de Galinée bearing on the matter is
as follows:
</p><p>
"Ce fut cet Iroquois qui montra à M. Jolliet un nouveau chemin que les
François n'avoient point sceu jusques alors pour revenir des Outaouacs dans
le pays des Iroquois. Cependant la crainte que ce sauvage eut de retomber
entre les mains des Antastoes luy fit dire à M. Jolliet qu'il falloit qu'il quittast
son canot et marchast par terre plustost qu'il n'eust fallu, et mesme sans
cette terreur du sauvage, M. Jolliet eust pu venir par eau jusques dans le
lac Ontario, en faisant un portage de demi-lieue pour éviter le grand sault
dont j'ay déjà parlé, mais entin il fut obligé par son guide de faire
cinquante lieues par terre, et abandonner son canot sur lebord du lac Erié."
</p><p>
It is singular that so important a relation in the history of our region
has never been published in English. De Galinée's original MS. Journal is
preserved in the Bibliothèque Nationale, in Paris. It was first printed in
French by M. Pierre Margry in 1879; but five years prior to that date Mr.
O. H. Marshall of Buffalo, having been granted access to M. Margry's
MS. copy, made extracts, which were printed in English in 1874. These
were only a small portion of the Abbé's valuable record. The Ontario
Historical Society has for some time contemplated the translation and
publication of the complete Journal—a work which students of the early
history of the lake region will hope soon to see accomplished.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Probably that now known as Patterson's Creek.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> A minot is an old French measure; about three bushels.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Evidently at Four or Six Mile Creek.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Probably what the English call scurvy-grass.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Otherwise Fort Frontenac, now Kingston, Ont.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Sullivan to Jay, Teaogo (Tioga), Sept. 30, 1779.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> I first struck the trail in London, among the Colonial Papers preserved
in the Public Records Office. Subsequently, in the Archives Department
at Ottawa, I found that trail broaden into a fair highway. Something
has been gleaned at Albany; more, no doubt, is to be looked for at
Washington; but it is an amazing fact that our Government is far less
liberal in granting access for students to its official records than is either
England or Canada. But the Niagara region was British during the Revolution,
and its history is chiefly to be sought in British archives. Especially
in the Haldimand Papers, preserved in the British Museum, but of
which verified copies are readily accessible in the Archives at Ottawa, is
the Revolutionary history of the Niagara to be found. Besides the 232
great volumes in which these papers are gathered, there are thousands of
other MSS. of value to an inquirer seeking the history of this region; especially
the correspondence, during all that term of years, between the commandants
at Fort Niagara and other upper lake posts, and the Commander in
Chief of the British forces in America; between that general and the Ministry
in London, and between the commandants at the posts and the Indian
agents, fur traders and many classes and conditions of men. For the
incidents here recorded I have drawn, almost exclusively, on these unpublished
sources.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> A snow is a three-masted craft, the smallest mast abaft the mainmast
being rigged with a try-sail. Possibly, on the lakes where shipyards were
primitive, this type was not always adhered to; but the correspondence
and orders of the period under notice carefully discriminate between
snows and schooners.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> See "What Befel David Ogden," in this volume.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> "A Narrative of the Captivity and Sufferings of Benjamin Gilbert and
his Family; Who were surprised by the Indians, and taken from their
Farms, on the Frontiers of Pennsylvania, in the Spring, 1780. Philadelphia:
Printed and sold by Joseph Crukshank, in Market-street, between
Second and Third-streets. M DCC LXXXIV." 12mo, pp. iv-96.
It was reprinted in London (12mo, pp. 123) in 1785, and again (12mo, pp.
124, "Reprinted and sold by James Phillips, George-Yard, Lombard
street") in 1790. A "third edition, revised and enlarged," 16mo, pp. 240,
bears date Philadelphia, 1848. Of a later edition (8vo, pp. 38, Lancaster,
Pa., 1890) privately printed, only 150 copies were issued. The work was
written by William Walton, to whom the facts were told by the Gilberts
after their return. (Field.) Ketchum made some use of the "Narrative"
in his "Buffalo and the Senecas," as has Wm. Clement Bryant and
perhaps other local writers. See also "Account of Benjamin Gilbert,"
Vol. III., Register of Pennsylvania. A reissue of the original work,
carefully edited, would not only be a useful book for students of the
history of Buffalo and the Niagara region, but would offer much in the
way of extraordinary adventure for the edification of "the general
reader."</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Ketchum says he could not have done so. ("History of Buffalo," Vol.
I., p. 328.) But Ketchum was misled, as many writers have been in ascribing
the leadership to Brant. My assertion rests on the evidence of
contemporary documents in the Archives at Ottawa, especially the MS.
"Anecdotes of Capt. Joseph Brant, Niagara, 1778," in the handwriting of
Col. Daniel Claus. Wm. Clement Bryant published a part of it in his
"Captain Brant and the Old King,"<i> q. v.</i></p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> What became of all the scalps brought in to Fort Niagara during these
years, and delivered up to the British officers, if not for pay, certainly
for presents? The human scalp, properly dried, is not readily perishable,
if cared for. Very many of them—from youthful heads or those white
with age, the long tresses of women and the soft ringlets of children—became
the property of officers at this post. Little is said on this subject
in the correspondence; we do not see them with flags and other trophies
in the cathedrals and museums of England. What became of them?</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> In another letter to Lord George Germaine, dated Nov. 20, 1780, we
have a few additional particulars. It is probably the fullest account of
this calamity in existence. "It is with great concern," wrote Haldimand,
"I acquaint your Lordship of a most unfortunate event which is just
reported to me to have happened upon Lake Ontario about the 1st.
[Nov., 1780.] A very fine snow [schooner] carrying 16 guns, which was
built last winter, sailed the 31st ultimo from Niagara and was seen several
times the same day near the north shore. The next day it blew very hard,
and the vessel's boats, binnacle, gratings, some hats, etc., were found upon
the opposite shore, the wind having changed suddenly, by Lt. Col. Butler
about forty miles from Niagara, on his way from Oswego, so there cannot
be a doubt that she is totally lost and her crew, consisting of forty seamen,
perished, together with Lt. Col. Bolton of the King's Regiment, whom I
had permitted to leave Niagara on account of his bad state of health, Lt.
Colleton of the Royal Artillery, Lt. Royce and thirty men of the 34th Regiment,
who were crossing the lake to reinforce Carleton Island. Capt.
Andrews who commanded the vessel and the naval armament upon that
lake was a most zealous, active, intelligent officer. The loss of so many
good officers and men is much aggravated by the consequences that will
follow this misfortune in the disappointment of conveying provisions
across the lake for the garrison of Niagara and Detroit, which are not
near completed for the winter consumption, and there is not a possibility
of affording them much assistance with the vessels that remain, it being
dangerous to navigate the lake later than the 20th inst., particularly as the
large vessels are almost worn out. The master builder and carpenters are
sent off to repair this evil."</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> "The Falls of Niagara, or Tourist's Guide," etc., by S. De Veaux.
Buffalo, 1839.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> Capt. Parrish became Indian agent, but Capt. Jones held the office of
interpreter for many years. "Their councils [with the Indians] were held
at a council house belonging to the Senecas situated a few rods east of the
bend in the road just this side of the red bridge across Buffalo Creek on
the Aurora Plank Road, then little more than an Indian trail; but much of
their business was transacted at the store of Hart & Lay, situated on the
west side of Main Street, midway between Swan and Erie streets, and on
the common opposite, then known as Ellicott Square."—MS. narrative
of Capt. Jones's captivity, by Orlando Allen, in possession of William L.
Bryant of Buffalo. Horatio Jones was captured about 1777 near Bedford,
Pa., being aged 14; was taken to a town on the Genesee River, where he
ran the gauntlet, was adopted, and lived with the Indians until liberated
by the Treaty of Fort Stanwix in 1784. The MS. narrative above quoted
is Orlando Allen's chronicle of facts given to him by Capts. Jones and
Parrish, and is of exceptional value.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Brig. Powell to Col. van Schaick, Feb. 13, 1780; Haldimand Papers,
"Correspondence relating to exchange of prisoners," etc., B. 175.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> I cannot better show the real state of affairs at Fort Niagara, towards
the close of the Revolutionary War, than by submitting the following
"Review of Col. Johnson's Transactions," which I copy from the Canadian
Archives. [Series B, Vol. 106, p. 123, <i>et seq.</i>] I do not know that it has ever
been printed. Obviously written at the instigation of Col. Johnson, it is
perhaps colored to justify his administrative conduct; but in any event it
is a most useful picture of conditions at the time. Except for some slight
changes in punctuation in order to make the meaning more readily
apparent, the statement is given verbatim:
</p><p class="ralign">
<span class="smcap">Montreal</span>, 24th March, 1782.
</p><p>
Before Colonel Johnson arrived at Niagara in 1779 the Six Nations lived
in their original possession the nearest of which was about 100 and the
farthest about 300 miles from that post. Their warriors were called upon
as the service required parties, which in 1776 amounted to about 70 men,
and the expenses attending them and a few occasional meetings ought to
have been and he presumes were a mere Trifle when compared with what
must attend their situation when all [were] driven to Niagara, exposed to
every want, to every temptation and with every claim which their distinguished
sacrifices and the tenor of Soloman [solemn] Treaties had entitled
them to from Government. The years 1777 & 1778 exhibited only a
larger number occasionally employed and for their fidelity and attachment
to Government they were invaded in 1779 by a rebel army reported to be
from 5 to 600 men with a train of Artillery who forced them to retire to
Niagara leaving behind them very fine plantations of corn and vegetables,
with their cloathing, arms, silver works, Wampum Kettles and Implements
of Husbandry, the collection of ages of which were distroyed in a deliberate
manner and march of the rebels. Two villages only escaped that
were out of their route.
</p><p>
The Indians having always apprehended that their distinguished Loyalty
might draw some such calamity towards them had stipulated that under
such circumstances they effected [expected] to have their losses made up
as well as a liberal continuation of favors and to be supported at the expence
of Government till they could be reinstated in their former possessions.
They were accordingly advised to form camps around Niagara
which they were beginning to do at the time of Colonel Johnson's arrival
who found them much chagrined and prepared to reconcile them to their
disaster which he foresaw would be a work of time requiring great judgement
and address in effecting which he was afterwards successful beyond
his most sanguine expectations, and this was the state of the Indians at
Colonel Johnson's arrival. As to the state and regulation of Colonel Johnson's
offices and department at that period he found the duties performed
by 2 or three persons the rest little acquainted with them and considered as
less capable of learning them, and the whole number inadequate to that of
the Indians, and the then requisite calls of the service, and that it was
necessary after refusing the present wants of the Indians to keep their
minds occupied by constant military employment, all which he laid before
the Commander in Chief who frequently honoured his conduct with particular
approbation.
</p><p>
By His Instructions he was to apply to Lieut. Colonel Bolton, more
especially regarding the modes of this place and the public accounts &c
from whom he received no further information, than that they were kept,
and made up by the established house at that post, and consider of goods,
orders and all contingencies and disbursements for Indians, ranging
parties, Prisoners, &c. That they were generally arranged half yearly as
well as the nature of them and of the changeable people they had to deal
with would permit; that he believed many demands were therefore outstanding
and that he was glad to have done with passing [i. e., granting of
passes] as it was impossible for him or any person that had other duties to
discharge to give them much attention. At which Colonel Johnson expressed
his concern but was told that the house was established in the
business and thro' the impossibility of having proper circulating cash in
another channell they advanced all monies and settled all accounts and
that that mode had been found most eligable. Colonel Johnson thereupon
issued the best orders he could devise for the preventing abuses and the
better regulation of matters relating to goods payment of expenses, and
proceeding to the discharge of the principal objects of his duty, he, accordingly
to a plan long since proposed, formed the Indians into Companies
and by degrees taught them to feel the convenience of having officers set
apart to each, which they were soon not only reconciled to but highly
pleased with, by which means he gave some degree of method and form to
the most Independent race of the Indians, greatly facilitated all business
with them and by a prudent arrangement of his officers those who were
before uninformed became in a little time some of the most approved and
usefull persons in his department, being constantly quartered at such
places or sent on some services as tended most to their improvement and
the public advantage, whilst by spiriting up and employing the Indians
with constant party's along the frontiers from Fort Stanwix to Fort Pitt
he so harrassed the back settlements, as finally to drive numbers of them
from their plantation destroying their houses, mills, graneries, &c, frequently
defeating their scouting parties killing and captivating many of
their people amounting in the whole to near 900 and all this with few or
no instances of savage cruelty exclusive of what they performed when
assisted by His Majesty's Troops as will appear from his returns. By these
means he presented [? preserved] the spirit of the Indians and kept their
minds so occupied as to prevent their being disgusted at the want of Military
aid, which had been long their Topic and which could then be afforded
according to their requisitions; neither did he admit any point of negociation
during this period of peculiar hurry, for knowing the importance the
Oneidas &c., were off [of] to the rebels and the obstruction they gave to
all means of intelligence from that quarter, he sent a private Belt and
message on pretence of former Friendship for them, in consequence of
which he was shortly joined by 430 of them of [whom] 130 were men who
have since on all occasions peculiarly distinguished themselves, and after
defeating the rebel Invitation to the Indians he by the renewal of the great
covenant chain and war Belt which he sent thro' all the nations animation
to the most western Indians.
</p><p>
Soon after with intention to reduce the vast consumption of provisions,
he with much difficulty prevailed on part of the Indians to begin
some new plantation, that they might supply themselves with grain, &c;
but this being an object of the most serious and National concern, and
urged in the strongest terms by the commander-in-chief, Col. Johnson,
during the winter 1780, took indefatigable pains to persuade the whole
to remove and settle the ensuing season on advantageous terms. He had
himself visited for that purpose but finding that their treaties with and
expectations from Government, combined with their natural Indulgence
to render it a matter of infinite difficulty which would encrease by
delay and probably become unsurmountable he procured some grain from
Detroit and liberally rewarded the families of Influence at additional expence
to sett the example to the rest and assisted their beginning to prevent
a disappointment by which means he has enabled before the end of May
last to settle the whole about 3500 souls exclusive of those who had joined
the 2 farms that had not been distroyed by the rebels and thereby with a
little future assistance, and good management to create a saving of
£100,000 pr annum N. York currency at the rate of provision is worth there
to Government, together with a reduction of rum and of all Indian Expenses,
as will appear from the reduced accounts since these settlements
were made. The peculiar circumstances above mentioned and the constant
disappointment of goods from the Crown at the times they were
most wanted will easily account for the occasional expence. The house
which conducted the Business at Niagara was perpetually thronged
by Indians and others. Lieut. Colonel Bolton often sent verbal orders
for articles as did some other secretaries and sometimes necessity required
it and often they were charged and others substituted of equal
value with other irregularities, the consequence of a crew of Indians
before unknown, of an encrease of duties, and the necessity for sending
them to plant well satisfied.
</p><p>
The number of prisoners thrown upon Colonel Johnson from time to
time and of Indian Chiefs and their families about his quarters was attended
with vast trouble and an Expense which it was impossible to ascertain
with exactness and when he directed the moiety of certain articles of
consumption to be placed to the account of the Crown, he soon found
himself lower. The merchants have since been accused of fraud by a
clerk who lived some time with them, the investigation of which he was
called suddenly to attend and he now finds that many articles undoubtedly
issued have been placed to his account instead of their [the] Crown,
and many false and malicious insinuations circulated to the prejudice of his
character and his influence with the Indians which is rendered the more
injurious by his abrupt departure from the shortness of the time, which
did not permit his calling and explaining to the chiefs the reasons for his
leaving them as [he] undoubtedly should have done, and therefore, and
on every public account, his presence is not only effected [expected], but
is become more necessary among them than ever. This brief summary is
candidly prepared and is capable of sufficient proof and Illustration.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> Site of Rome, N. Y.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> Perhaps more correctly, according to eminent authority (Lewis H.
Morgan), "Ga-nun-da-sa-ga." It was one of the most important of the
Seneca towns, situated near the site of the present town of Geneva. Gen.
Sullivan destroyed it in September, 1779, and no attempt was ever made to
rebuild it.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> Except perhaps in the case of Capt. Alexander Harper and his party,
for whom the ordeal was made light, most of the Indians having been
enticed away from the vicinity of the fort; but this was apparently due to
Brant, rather than to the British.—<i>See</i> Ketchum's "History of Buffalo,"
Vol. I., pp. 374, 375.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> I have followed the old narrative in the spelling of these Indian
names, which, no doubt, students of Indian linguistics will discover are
not wholly in accord with the genius of the Seneca tongue.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> Ketchum gives Capt. Powell a better character than this incident
would indicate; and says that he "visited the prisoners among the
Senecas, at Buffalo Creek, several times during the time they remained
there, not only to encourage them by his counsel and sympathy, but to administer
to their necessities, and to procure their release; which was ultimately
accomplished, mainly through his efforts, assisted by other officers
at the fort, which [<i>sic</i>] the example and interest of Jane Moore, the Cherry
Valley captive had influenced to coöperate in this work of mercy." ["History
of Buffalo," Vol. I., p. 376.] I have adhered to the spirit and in part,
to the language, of Ogden's own narrative.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> Address delivered at Fort Niagara, N. Y., at the celebration of the
centennial of British evacuation, August 11, 1896. Amplification on some
points, not possible in the brief time allotted for the spoken address on that
occasion, is here made in foot-notes.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> See Oliver Wendell Holmes's beautiful poem, "Francis Parkman,"
read at the meeting of the Massachusetts Historical Society in memory of
the historian, who died November 8, 1893.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> The first official step towards such fortification was taken by Frontenac.
On Nov. 14, 1674, he wrote to the Minister, Colbert: "Sieur Joliet
... has returned three months ago, and discovered some very fine
Countries, and a navigation so easy through the beautiful rivers he has
found, that a person can go from Lake Ontario and Fort Frontenac in a
bark to the Gulf of Mexico, there being only one carrying place, half a
league in length, where Lake Ontario communicates with Lake Erie. A
settlement would be made at this point and another bark built on Lake Erie.
These are projects which it will be possible to effect when Peace will be
firmly established, and whenever it will please the King to prosecute these
discoveries." [Paris Docs. I., N. Y. Colonial MSS.] Joliet, it must be
remembered, was never on the Niagara; whatever representations he
made to Frontenac regarding it were based on hearsay, very likely on
reports made to him by La Salle at their meeting in 1669; so that priority in
promoting the Niagara route reverts after all to that gallant adventurer.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> In 1896.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> In the palisaded cabin on the site of Lewiston.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> Father Watteaux (also spelled "Watteau," "Vatteaux," etc.) was
first only in the sense of being assigned to a located mission. "Father
Gabriel [de la Ribourde] was named Superior.... Father Melithon
was to remain at Niagara and make it his mission." (Le Clercq, Shea's
translation, Vol. I., p. 112.) "Father Melithon remained in the house at
Niagara with some laborers and clerks." (<i>Ib.</i>, p. 113.) This was in the
summer of 1679; but six months earlier mass had been celebrated on the
New York side of the Niagara by Father Hennepin.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> This statement, which I have elsewhere accepted (<i>See</i> "The Cross-Bearers,"
p. 28 of this volume), is on the usually unimpeachable authority
of Dr. John Gilmary Shea, the historian of the Catholic Church in America.
(<i>See</i> "The Catholic Church in Colonial Days," p. 322.) I find, however,
on referring to the authorities on which Dr. Shea rests his statement
that the particular grant made on the date named—May 27, 1679—was
not at Niagara but at Fort Frontenac. (Hennepin, "Nouvelle Découverte,"
p. 108.) At Frontenac La Salle had seigniorial rights, and could
pass title as he wished; but on the Niagara he had no right to confer
title, for he held no delegated power beyond the letters patent from the
King, which permitted him to explore and build forts, under certain
restrictions.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> This would seem to fix the date of the northeast blockhouse at 1790;
but on examination of other sources of information I discover strong evidence
that the original construction was earlier. The Duke de la Rochefoucault
Liancourt, who visited Fort Niagara in June, 1795, wrote: "All
the buildings, within the precincts of the fort, are of stone, and were built
by the French." ("Travels," etc., London ed., 1799, Vol. I., p. 257.)
This would make them antedate July, 1759, which is not true of the
bakehouse. The Duke may therefore have erred regarding other buildings,
the northeast blockhouse among them; yet had it been but four or
five years old, he would not be likely to attribute it to the French.
Pouchot's plan of the fort (1759) does not show it. I have seen the original
sketch of a plan in the British Museum, dated Niagara, 1773, which shows,
with several buildings long since destroyed, two constructions where the
blockhouses now stand, with this note: "Two stone redoubts built in 1770
and 1771." An accompanying sketch of the southwest redoubt shows a
striking similarity to the southwest blockhouse as it now stands, although
a roadway ran through it and a gun was mounted on top. These redoubts
may have been remodeled by Gother Mann.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> Although I am aware that some American writers, and probably all
Canadian writers who touch the subject, are offering evidence that there
was no "massacre" at Wyoming, I still find in the details of that affair
what I regard as abundant warrant for the designation of "massacre."</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> Haldimand to T. Townshend, October 25, 1782.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> Haldimand to Lord North, June 2, 1782. In the same letter he wrote
"I have lately received a letter from Brig.-Gen. Maclean who commands
at Niagara.... Affairs with the Indians are in a very critical state.
I have ordered and insisted upon Sir John Johnson's immediate departure
for Niagara in hopes that his influence may be of use in preventing the
bad consequences which may be apprehended. I have been assured by
the officers who brought me the accounts of the cessation of arms, via
New York, that Gen. Schuyler and the American officers made no secret
of their hostile intentions against the Indians and such Royalists as had
served amongst them. It is to be hoped that the American Congress will
adopt a line of conduct more consonant to humanity as well as Policy."</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> The full story of the efforts of the United States Government to obtain
possession of Fort Niagara and the other posts on the northern frontier
would make a long chapter. I have barely touched a few features of it.
One episode was the mission of the Baron Steuben to Haldimand, to claim
the delivery of the posts. Washington selected Steuben because of his
appreciation of that general's tact and soundness of judgment in military
matters. The President's instructions under date of July 12, 1783, were
characteristically precise and judicious. Steuben was to procure from
General Haldimand, if possible, immediate cession of the posts; failing in
that, he was to get a pledge of an early cession; "but if this cannot be
done," wrote Washington, "you will endeavor to procure from him positive
and definite assurances, that he will as soon as possible give information
of the time that shall be fixed on for the evacuation of these posts, and
that the troops of his Britannic Majesty shall not be drawn therefrom until
sufficient previous notice shall be given of that event; that the troops of
the United States may be ready to occupy the fortresses as soon as they
shall be abandoned by those of his Britannic Majesty." An exchange of
artillery and stores was also to be proposed. Having made these arrangements
with Haldimand, Steuben was to go to Oswego, thence to Niagara,
and after viewing the situation, and noting the strength and all the military
and strategic conditions, was to pass on to Detroit. Armed with these instructions
from the Commander-in-Chief, Steuben went to Canada, and on the
8th of August met Gen. Haldimand at Sorel. For once, the man who had
disciplined the American Army met his match. His report to Washington
indicates an uncommonly positive reception.
</p><p>
"To the first proposition which I had in charge to make," he wrote to
Washington, Aug. 23, 1783 ["Correspondence of the Revolution," IV.,
41, 42], "Gen. Haldimand replied that he had not received any orders for
making the least arrangement for the evacuation of a single post; that he
had only received orders to cease hostilities; those he had strictly complied
with, not only by restraining the British troops, but also the savages,
from committing the least hostile act; but that, until he should receive
positive orders for that purpose, he would not evacuate an inch of ground.
I informed him that I was not instructed to insist on an immediate evacuation
of the posts in question, but that I was ordered to demand a safe conduct
to, and a liberty of visiting the posts on our frontiers, and now
occupied by the British, that I might judge of the arrangements necessary
to be made for securing the interests of the United States. To this he
answered that the precaution was premature; that the peace was not yet
signed; that he was only authorized to cease hostilities; and that, in this
point of view, he could not permit that I should visit a single post occupied
by the British. Neither would he agree that any kind of negotiation
should take place between the United States and the Indians, if in his
power to prevent it, and that the door of communication should, on his
part, be shut, until he received positive orders from his court to open it.
My last proposal was that he should enter into an agreement to advise
Congress of the evacuation of the posts, three months previous to their
abandonment. This, for the reason before mentioned, he refused, declaring
that until the definite treaty should be signed, he would not enter into
any kind of agreement or negotiation whatever."</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> The inability of the New York State Government to accomplish anything
in the matter at this time is illustrated by the following extract from
Gov. Clinton's speech to the Senate and Assembly, January 21, 1784: "You
will perceive from the communication which relates to the subject that I
have not been inattentive to the circumstances of the western posts within
this State. They are undoubtedly of great importance for the protection
of our trade and frontier settlements, and it was with concern I learnt
that the propositions made by the State for governing those posts were
not acceded to by Congress. It affords me, however, some satisfaction
to find that the Commander-in-Chief was in pursuit of measures for that
purpose, but my expostulations proved fruitless. The British commander
in that Department treating the Provisional Articles as a suspension of
hostilities only, declined to withdraw his garrisons and refused us even
to visit these posts. It is necessary for me to add that it will now be impracticable
to take possession of them until spring, and that I have no
reason to believe that Congress have, or are likely to make any provision
for the expense which will necessarily occur, it therefore remains for you
to take this interesting subject into your further consideration."
</p><p>
To this the Senate made answer: "The circumstances of our western
posts excite our anxiety. We shall make no comment on the conduct of
the British officer in Canada as explained by your Excellency's communication.
It would be in vain. Convinced that our frontier settlements,
slowly emerging from the utter ruin with which they were so lately overwhelmed,
and our fur trade which constitutes a valuable branch in our
remittances, will be protected by these posts, we shall adopt the best
measures in our power for their reëstablishment."</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> "Lt.-Col. Fish," the Governor General's report continues, "gave me
the strongest assurances that the proceedings against the Loyalists were
disapproved by the leading men in the different States, and gave me a
recent instance of Gov. Clinton having [? saving] Capt. Moore [?] of the
53d Regiment from the insolence of the mob in New York."</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> "Lt.-Col. Hull in the American service, arrived here on the 10th inst.
with a letter from Major Gen. Knox, dated New York the 13th June....
I did not think myself, from the tenor of Yr Lordship's letter of the 8th of
April, authorized to give publicly, any reason for delaying the evacuation
of the Posts, tho' perhaps it might have had some effect in quickening the
efforts of Congress to produce the execution of the Article of the Difinitive
Treaty in favor of the Royalists, tho' I held the same private conversation
to Lt.-Col. Hull as I had to Lt.-Col. Fish."—Haldimand to Lord Sydney
Quebec, July 16, 1784.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> Haldimand to Thos. Steile, Esq., of the Treasury; Quebec, Sept. 1, 1784.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a> At the risk of overloading my pages with citations from this old correspondence,
I venture to give the following letter from Lord Dorchester to
Lt.-Gov. Simcoe, so admirably does it illustrate the British apprehensions
at the time. It is dated Quebec, Apr. 3, 1796:
</p><p>
"Circumstances have arisen, which will probably, for a time, delay the
evacuation of the Upper Posts, among which some relating to the interests
of the Indians do not appear the least important. By the 8th article of the
treaty entered into the 3d August last, between Mr. Wayne and them,
it is stipulated that no person shall be allowed to reside among or to trade
with these Indian tribes, unless they be furnished with a license from the
Government of the United States, and that every person so trading shall
be delivered up by the Indians to an American Superintendent, to be dealt
with according to law, which is inconsistent with the third article of the
Treaty of Amity, Commerce and Navigation, previously concluded between
His Majesty and the United States by which it is agreed that 'it
shall at all times be free to His Majesty's subjects and to the citizens of the
United States and also to the Indians, dwelling on either side of the Boundary
Line, freely to <i>pass and repass</i>, by land or inland navigation, into the
respective territories and countries of the two parties on the Continent of
America (the country within the limits of the Hudson Bay Co. only excepted),
and to navigate the lakes, rivers and waters thereof, and freely to
carry on trade and commerce <i>with each other</i>.'
</p><p>
"Previously therefore to the actual execution of the treaty on our part,
it is requisite that we should be convinced that the stipulations entered into
by the United States will also be fulfilled by them; and on a point so
interesting to His Majesty's subjects and more especially to the Indians,
it is indispensably necessary that all doubts and misconceptions should
be removed. His Majesty's Minister at Philadelphia is accordingly instructed
to require an explanation on this subject. Till therefore the same
shall be satisfactorily terminated I shall delay the surrender of the Posts.
These matters you will be pleased to explain to the Indians, pointing out to
them at the same time the benevolent care and regard always manifested
towards them by the King their Father, and particularly the attention that
has been shown to their interests on the present occasion."</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a> Dorchester to Robert Liston (British Minister at Philadelphia), June
6, 1796.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a> Under date of Niagara, August 6, 1796, Peter Russell wrote to the
Duke of Portland: "All the posts we held on the American side of the
line in the vicinity of this province, are given up to the United States
agreeable to the treaty, excepting that of Niagara, which remains occupied
by a small detachment from the 5th Regiment, until the garrison they have
ordered thither may arrive from Oswego. And I understand that they
have not yet taken possession of Michillimackinac from the want of provisions.
I have directed the officers commanding his Majesty's troops in
this Province to make me a return of the effective number that may remain
after the departure of the 5th and 24th Regiments, and of their distribution."
On August 20th he wrote: "The Fort of Niagara was delivered
up to a detachment of troops belonging to the United States of America
on the 11th inst. and the guard left in it by the 5th Regiment has sailed for
Lower Canada." Mackinac, the last of the posts to be surrendered,
did not pass into the hands of the Americans until the following October.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a> This must not be confounded with the wreck of the steamer President,
which was never heard from after the storm of March 13, 1841. The
President of which Mr. Lay wrote was obviously a bark, ship, or other
sailing craft.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a> In one Canadian work, John Charles Dent's "Story of the Upper Canadian
Rebellion," statements are printed to show that the Caroline did not
go over the falls, but that her hull sank in shallow water not far below the
Schlosser landing. There is however a mass of evidence to other effect.
It is striking that so sensational an episode, happening within the memory
of many men yet living, should be thus befogged. The contemporary
accounts which were published in American newspapers were wildly
exaggerated, one report making the loss of life exceed ninety. (There
was but one man killed.) Mackenzie himself is said to have spread these
extravagant reports. He had a gift for the sort of journalism which in
this later day is called "yellow," a chief iniquity of which is its wanton
perversion of contemporary record, and the ultimate confusion of history.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a> By the end of December, 1837, about 600 men had resorted to Navy
Island in the guise of "Patriots." Although this number was later
somewhat increased, the entire "army" at that point probably never
numbered 1,000.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a> There were about 150 Patriots, claiming to be citizens of the United
States, who were taken prisoners in Upper Canada, and transported to
Van Dieman's Land. Among those taken near Windsor, besides Marsh,
were Ezra Horton, Joseph Horton and John Simons of Buffalo, John W.
Simmons and Truman Woodbury of Lockport. Taken at Windmill Point,
near Prescott, was Asa M. Richardson of Buffalo. Taken at Short Hills,
Welland Co., was Linus W. Miller of Chautauqua Co., who afterwards
wrote a book on the rebellion and his exile; and Benjamin Waite, whose
"Letters from Van Dieman's Land" were published in Buffalo in 1843.
Waite died at Grand Rapids, Mich., Nov. 9, 1895, aged eighty-two. It is
not unlikely that some Americans who underwent that exile are still living.
I have seen no list of Americans captured during the outbreak in
Lower Canada.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a> <i>See</i> "Reminiscences of Levi Coffin," p. 253.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a> <i>See</i> "John Brown and His Men," p. 171.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a> <i>See</i> Siebert's "The Underground Railroad," pp. 35, 36.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a> "Narrative of William W. Brown," 1848, pp. 107, 108. Quoted by
Siebert.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a> There is a considerable literature on the specific subject of the Underground
Railroad, and a great deal more relating to it is to be found in
works dealing more broadly with slavery, and the political history of our
country. Of especial local interest is Eber M. Pettit's "Sketches in the
History of the Underground Railroad," etc., Fredonia, 1879. The author,
"for many years a conductor on the Underground Railroad line from
slavery to freedom," has recorded many episodes in which the fugitives
were brought to Buffalo, Black Rock, or Niagara Falls, and gives valuable
and interesting data regarding the routes and men who operated them in
Western New York and Western Pennsylvania.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a> I have drawn these facts from Mrs. Jameson's "Winter Studies and
Summer Rambles in Canada," published in London in 1838. Mrs. Jameson
was at Niagara in 1837, apparently during or soon after the riot. She
called on one of the negro women who had been foremost in the fray.
This woman was "apparently about five-and-twenty," had been a slave in
Virginia, but had run away at sixteen. This would indicate that she may
have come a refugee to the Niagara as early as 1828. William Kirby, in
his "Annals of Niagara," has told Moseby's story, with more detail than
Mrs. Jameson; he reports only one as killed in the <i>mêlée</i>—the schoolmaster
Holmes—and adds that "Moseby lived quietly the rest of his life in
St. Catharines and Niagara." Sir Francis Bond Head's official communication
to the Home Government regarding the matter reports two as
killed.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a> <i>See</i> "A Narrative," by Sir Francis Bond Head, Bart., 2d ed., London,
1839, pp. 200-204.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a> "Letters from the United States, Cuba and Canada," London, 1856,
p. 118.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a> "Canada, Its Defences, Condition and Resources," by W. Howard
Russell, LL. D., London, 1865, pp. 33, 34.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a> Mr. Butler's name does not appear in Siebert's history, "The Underground
Railroad." The "operators" for Erie County named therein
(p. 414) are Gideon Barker, the Hon. Wm. Haywood, Geo. W. Johnson,
Deacon Henry Moore, and Messrs. Aldrich and Williams. For Niagara
County he names Thomas Binmore, W. H. Childs, M. C. Richardson,
Lyman Spaulding. Chautauqua and Wyoming counties present longer
lists, and thirty-six are named for Monroe County. As appears from my
text, the Erie County list could be extended.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a> No doubt an investigator could find a number of former slaves, rich in
reminiscences of Underground days, still living in the villages and towns
of the Niagara Peninsula, though they would not be very numerous, for,
as Aunt Betsy says, "the old heads are 'bout all gone now." Between
Fort Erie and Ridgeway lives Daniel Woods, a former slave, who came by
the Underground. Harriet Black, a sister-in-law of Mrs. Robinson, still
living near Ridgeway, was also a "passenger." Probably others live at
St. Catharines, Niagara and other points of former negro settlement, who
could tell thrilling tales of their escape from the South. There are many
survivors on the Canada side of the Niagara, of another class; men or
women who were born in slavery but were "freed by the bayonet," and
came North with no fear of the slave-catchers. Of this class at Fort Erie
are Melford Harris and Thomas Banks. Mr. Banks was sold from Virginia
to go "down the river"; got his freedom at Natchez, joined the 102d
Michigan Infantry, and fought for the Union until the end of the war.
His case is probably typical of many, but does not belong to the records
of the Underground Railroad.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_61_61" id="Footnote_61_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a> H. Clay to Lewis L. Hodges; original letter in possession of the Buffalo
Historical Society.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_62_62" id="Footnote_62_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a> Anonymous reminiscences published in the Buffalo Courier, about 1887.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_63_63" id="Footnote_63_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a> Apparently the greatest travel, at least over these particular routes,
was during 1840-41. It was a justifiable boast of the "conductors" that a
"passenger" was never lost. In a journal of notes, which was annually
kept for many years by one of the zealous anti-slavery men of that day,
I find the following entry in 1841: "Nov. 1.—The week has been cold;
some hard freezing and snow; now warm; assisted six fugitives from
oppression, from this land of equal rights to the despotic government of
Great Britain, where they can enjoy their liberty. Last night put them on
board a steamboat and paid their passage to Buffalo."</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_64_64" id="Footnote_64_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a> When I knew Frank Henry, he was light-house keeper at Erie. He
died in October, 1889, and his funeral was a memorable one. After the
body had been viewed by his friends, while it lay in state in the parlor of
his old home in Wesleyville, the casket was lifted to the shoulders of the
pall-bearers, who carried it through the streets of the little village to the
church, all the friends, which included all the villagers and many from the
city and the country round about, following in procession on foot. The
little church could not hold the assemblage, but the overflow waited until
the service was over, content, if near enough the windows or the open
door, to hear but a portion of the eulogies his beloved pastor pronounced.
Then they all proceeded to the graveyard behind the historic church and
laid him away. He was a man of an exceptionally frank and lovable
character. Prof. Wilbur H. Siebert mentions him in his history, "The
Underground Railroad from Slavery to Freedom"; but nowhere else, I
believe, is as much recorded of the work which he did for the refugee
slaves as in the incidents told in the following pages; and these, we may
be assured, are but examples of the service in which he was engaged
for a good many years.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_65_65" id="Footnote_65_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a> Afterwards long known as the Lowry Mansion, on Second Street,
between French and Holland streets. It is still standing.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_66_66" id="Footnote_66_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66_66"><span class="label">[66]</span></a> Capt. D. P. Dobbins was for many years a distinguished resident of
Buffalo. As vessel master, Government official, and especially as inventor
of the Dobbins life-boat, he acquired a wide reputation; but little has been
told of his Underground Railroad work. He died in 1892.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_67_67" id="Footnote_67_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67_67"><span class="label">[67]</span></a> I had the facts of this experience from Mr. Frank Henry, and first
wrote them out and printed them in the Erie Gazette in 1880. (Ah, Time,
why hasten so!) In 1894 H. U. Johnson of Orwell, O., published a
book entitled "From Dixie to Canada, Romances and Realities of the
Underground Railroad," in which a chapter is devoted to Jack Watson,
and this experience at the Wesleyville church is narrated, considerably
embellished, but in parts with striking similarity to the version for which
Frank Henry and I were responsible. Mr. Johnson gives no credit for his
facts to any source.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_68_68" id="Footnote_68_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68_68"><span class="label">[68]</span></a> Such an one was the anti-slavery worker, Sallie Holley, who had formerly
taken great pleasure in the sermons of Mr. Fillmore's pastor, the
Rev. Dr. Hosmer of the Unitarian Church. When Mr. Fillmore returned
to Buffalo and was seen again in his accustomed seat, Miss Holley refused
to attend there. "I cannot consent," she wrote, "that my name shall
stand on the books of a church that will countenance voting for any pro-slavery
presidential candidate. Think of a woman-whipper and a baby-stealer
being countenanced as a Christian!"—<i>See</i> "A Life for Liberty,"
edited by John White Chadwick, pp. 60, 69.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_69_69" id="Footnote_69_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_69_69"><span class="label">[69]</span></a> <i>See</i> Seward's "Works," Vol. I., p. 65, <i>et seq.</i></p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_70_70" id="Footnote_70_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_70_70"><span class="label">[70]</span></a> <i>See</i> Chamberlain's "Biography of Millard Fillmore," p. 136.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_71_71" id="Footnote_71_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_71_71"><span class="label">[71]</span></a> For the knowledge that the first mention of Niagara Falls is in Champlain's
"Des Sauvages," we are indebted to the Hon. Peter A. Porter of
Niagara Falls, who recently discovered, by comparison of early texts,
that the allusions to the falls in Marc Lescarbot's "Histoire de la Nouvelle
France" (1609), heretofore attributed to Jacques Cartier, are really quotations
from "Des Sauvages," published some five years before. There is,
apparently, no warrant for the oft-repeated statement that Cartier, in 1535,
was the first white man to hear of the falls. That distinction passes to
Champlain, who heard of them in 1603, and whose first book, printed at
the end of that year or early in 1604, gave to the world its first knowledge
of the great cataract.—<i>See</i> "Champlain not Cartier," by Peter A. Porter,
Niagara Falls, N. Y., 1899.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_72_72" id="Footnote_72_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_72_72"><span class="label">[72]</span></a> Champlain a bien été jusqu'à Mexico, comme on peut le voir dans son
voyage aux Indes Occidentales; mais il ne s'est pas rendu au Pérou, que
nous sachions.—<i>Note in Quebec reprint, 1870.</i> Nor had he been to
Niagara.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_73_73" id="Footnote_73_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73_73"><span class="label">[73]</span></a> Mocosa est le nom ancien de la Virginie. Cette expression, <i>saults
Mocosans</i>, semble donner à entendre que, dès 1603 au moins, l'on avait
quelque connaissance de la grande chute de Niagara.—<i>Note in Quebec
reprint, 1870.</i></p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_74_74" id="Footnote_74_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor_74_74"><span class="label">[74]</span></a> "Lescarbot écrit, en 1610, une pièce de vers dans laquelle il parle des
grands sauts que les sauvages disent rencontrer en remontant le Saint-Laurent
jusqu'au voisinage de la Virginie."—<i>Benj. Sulte, "Mélanges
D'Histoire et de Litterature" p. 425.</i></p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_75_75" id="Footnote_75_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor_75_75"><span class="label">[75]</span></a> The pronunciation of "Niagara" here, the reader will remark, is necessarily
with the primary accent on the third syllable; the correct pronunciation,
as eminent authorities maintain; and, as I hold, the more musical.
"Ni-ag'-a-ra" gives us one hard syllable; "Ni [or better, -nee]-a-ga'-ra"
makes each syllable end in a vowel, and softens the word to the ear.
"Ni-ag'-a-ra" would have been impossible to the Iroquois tongue. But
the word is now too fixed in its perverted usage to make reform likely, and
we may expect to hear the harsh "Ni-ag'-a-ra" to the end of the chapter.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_76_76" id="Footnote_76_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor_76_76"><span class="label">[76]</span></a> Dr. Samuel Johnson, as is well known, was responsible for a number of
lines in "The Traveller." In the verses above quoted the line
</p>
<div class="poem">
<span class="i0">"To stop too fearful and too faint to go"<br /></span>
</div>
<p class="noin">is attributed to him. Thus near does the mighty Johnson, the "Great
Cham of Literature," come to legitimate inclusion among the poets of
Niagara!</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_77_77" id="Footnote_77_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor_77_77"><span class="label">[77]</span></a> This is not necessarily hyperbole, by any means. Before the Niagara
region was much settled, filled with the din of towns, the roar of trains,
screech of whistles and all manner of ear-offending sounds, Niagara's voice
could be heard for many miles. Many early travelers testify to the same
effect as Moore. An early resident of Buffalo, the late Hon. Lewis F.
Allen, has told me that many a time, seated on the veranda of his house on
Niagara Street near Ferry, in the calm of a summer evening, he has
heard the roar of Niagara Falls.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_78_78" id="Footnote_78_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor_78_78"><span class="label">[78]</span></a> Introduced in the Epistle to Lady Charlotte Rawdon. In Moore's day
there was a tiny islet, called Gull Island, near the edge of the Horseshoe
Fall. It long since disappeared.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_79_79" id="Footnote_79_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor_79_79"><span class="label">[79]</span></a> It had prior publication, serially, with illustrations, in the "Portfolio"
of Philadelphia, 1809-'10.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_80_80" id="Footnote_80_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor_80_80"><span class="label">[80]</span></a> Tom Moore's infantile criticisms of American institutions have often
been quoted with approbation by persons sharing his supposed hostile views.
What his maturer judgment was may be gathered from the following
extract from a letter which he wrote, July 12, 1818, to J. E. Hall, editor of
the "Portfolio," Philadelphia. I am not aware that it ever has been published.
I quote from the original manuscript, in my possession:
</p><p>
"You are mistaken in thinking that my present views of politics are a
<i>change</i> from those I formerly entertained. They are but a <i>return</i> to those
of my school & college days—to principles, of which I may say what
Propertius said of his mistress: <i>Cynthia prima fuit, Cynthia finis erit</i>.
The only thing that has ever made them <i>librate</i> in their <i>orbit</i> was that
foolish disgust I took at what I thought the <i>consequences</i> of democratic
principles in America—but I judged by the <i>abuse</i>, not the <i>use</i>—and the
little information I took the trouble of seeking came to me through twisted
and tainted channels—and, in short, I was a rash boy & made a fool of
myself. But, thank Heaven, I soon righted again, and I trust it was the
only deviation from the path of pure public feeling I ever shall have to reproach
myself with. I mean to take some opportunity (most probably in
the Life of Sheridan I am preparing) of telling the few to whom my
opinions can be of any importance, how much I regret & how sincerely
I retract every syllable, injurious to the great cause of Liberty, which my
hasty view of America & her society provoked me into uttering....
</p><p>
"Always faithfully & cordially Yours,
</p><p class="ralign">
"THOMAS MOORE."
</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_81_81" id="Footnote_81_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor_81_81"><span class="label">[81]</span></a> John Neal, or "Yankee Neal," as he was called, is a figure in early
American letters which should not be forgotten. He was of Quaker
descent, but was read out of the Society of Friends in his youth, as he
says, "for knocking a man head over heels, for writing a tragedy, for paying
a militia fine and for desiring to be turned out whether or no." He was
a pioneer in American literature, and won success at home and abroad
several years before Cooper became known. He was the first American
contributor to English and Scotch quarterlies, and compelled attention to
American topics at a time when English literature was regarded as the
monopoly of Great Britain. His career was exceedingly varied and picturesque.
He was an artist, lawyer, traveler, journalist and athlete. He
is said to have established the first gymnasium in this country, on foreign
models, and was the first to advocate, in 1838, in a Fourth-of-July oration,
the right of woman suffrage. His writings are many, varied, and for
the most part hard to find nowadays.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_82_82" id="Footnote_82_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor_82_82"><span class="label">[82]</span></a> Those interested in scarce Americana may care to know that this
"Wonders of the West" is said by some authorities to be the second book—certain
almanacs and small prints excluded—that was published in Canada
West, now Ontario. Of its only predecessor, "St. Ursula's Convent,
or the Nuns of Canada," Kingston, 1824, no copy is believed to exist.
Of the York school-master's Niagara poem, I know of but two copies,
one owned by M. Phileas Gagnon, the Quebec bibliophile; the other in
my own possession. It is at least of interest to observe that Ontario's
native poetry began with a tribute to her greatest natural wonder, though
it could be wished with a more creditable example.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_83_83" id="Footnote_83_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor_83_83"><span class="label">[83]</span></a> It is a striking fact that "The Culprit Fay," which appeared in 1819,
was the outgrowth of a conversation between Drake, Halleck and Cooper,
concerning the unsung poetry of American rivers.—<i>See</i> Richardson's
"American Literature," Vol. II., p. 24.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_84_84" id="Footnote_84_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor_84_84"><span class="label">[84]</span></a> Lord Morpeth made three visits to Niagara. He was the friend and
guest, during his American travels, of Mr. Wadsworth at the Geneseo
Homestead; and was also entertained by ex-President Van Buren and
other distinguished men. His writings reveal a poetic, reflective temperament,
but rarely rise above the commonplace in thought or expression.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_85_85" id="Footnote_85_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor_85_85"><span class="label">[85]</span></a> The lines are not included in ordinary editions of Campbell's poems.
The original MS. is in the possession of the Buffalo Public Library.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_86_86" id="Footnote_86_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor_86_86"><span class="label">[86]</span></a> <i>See</i> "Five Books of Song," by R. W. Gilder, 1894.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_87_87" id="Footnote_87_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor_87_87"><span class="label">[87]</span></a> Dedicatory sonnet in "Younger American Poets, 1830-1890," edited by
Douglas Sladen and G. B. Roberts.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_88_88" id="Footnote_88_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor_88_88"><span class="label">[88]</span></a> The only edition I have seen was printed in the City of Mexico in 1871.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_89_89" id="Footnote_89_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor_89_89"><span class="label">[89]</span></a> <i>See</i> Scribner's Monthly, Feb., 1881.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_90_90" id="Footnote_90_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor_90_90"><span class="label">[90]</span></a> <i>See</i> "Beauties and Achievements of the Blind," by Wm. Artman and
L. V. Hall, Dansville, N. Y., 1854.</p></div>
</div>
<pre>
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