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YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

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LETTERS

FROM

THE BACKWOODS

ADIRONDAC. BY .
THE REV. J. T. HEADLEY Ul

NEW YORK:
JOHN S. TAYLOR,
"143 NASSAU STREET.
1850.

Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by
JOHN S. TAYLOR,
in tlie Clerk's OfBce of the District Court for the Southern District
of New York.

CONTENTS.

LETTER I.
MOUNT TAHAWUS,  13
LETTER II.
LOG DRIVING, . . . . . .21
LETTER III.
ASCENT OF MOUNT TAHAWUS— DIFFICULTIES OF
THE WAY— GLORIOUS PROSPECT FROM THE TOP, 31
LETTER IV.
DESCENT FROM MOUNT TAHAWUS, . . .45
LETTER V.
THE INDIAN PASS,  53
LETTER VI.
LONG LAKE, ...... 65
LETTER VII.
TROUT FISHING— MITCHELL, . . . .75

IV CONTENTS.

LETTER VIII.
TROUTING— A DUCK PROTECTING HER YOUNG BY
STRATAGEM— SABBATH IN THE FOREST, . 85
LETTER IX,
LONG LAKE COLONY— A LOON— CROTCHET LAKE, . 95
LETTER X.
SHOOTING A DEER— SUPPER IN THE WOODS— MO
DERN SENTIMENTALISTS — THE INFLUENCE OF
NATURE, ....... 103-
LETTER XI.
FLOATING DEER— A NIGHT EXCURSION— MORNING
IN THE WOODS,  113
-LETTER xn, •
LOST IN THE WOODS— AN OLD INDIAN AND HIS
DAUGHTER — MITCHELL — ADIRONDAC IRON
WORKS, . '  123
LETTER XIII.
THE FIRE ISLANDS,,  133
LETTER XIV.
THE FIRE ISLANDS, . . . . .141
LETTER XV.
THE FIRE ISLANDS,  j51

LETTERS

THE BACKWOODS.

LETTER I.

MOUNT TAHAWUS.

 , June 18.
I CAN scarcely believe, as I stand this evening
and look around on the forest that girdles me in,
and hear naught but the dash of the waterfall at
the base of yonder gloomy mountain, or the rapid
song of the whippowil as it rings like the notes
of a fife through the clear air, that I stood a few
days ago in Broadway, and heard only the surge
of human life as it swept fiercely by. The
change could not be greater if I had been trans-
2

14 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
ferred to another planet. The paved street
changed for the mountain slope — the rattle of
omnibuses and carriages for the rush of streams
and music of wind amid the tree tops — the voices
of the passing multitude for the song of birds
and chirp of the squirrel. It seems but a day
since I stood where the living current rolls
strongest, and felt perfectly at home amid the
walled houses and packed city; yet now as' the
trees shake their green awning over my head,
and the great luminous stars sparkle in the in
tensely clear sky that seems to rest its bright
arch almost on the tops of the tall hemlocks,
New York appears like a past dream. Oh, how
quiet nature is! In New York, everything is in
a hurry. There is not a man there that walks
the streets who seems to be at leisure. Even the
horses catch the hurrying spirit; and everything
goes tearing along as if the minutes were crowded
with great events. But look! See how lazily
that tree swings its green top in the wind — how
quietly the brook goes talking to itself through
the forest — and how leisurely the very clouds
swing themselves over the evening heavens ! Just

MOUNT TAHAWUS. 15
stand here a moment on the edge of this clearing,
and listen to the sounds that rise on the evening
air. The drowsy tinkle of the cow-bell sinks like
long-forgotten music on the heart, while the
scream of the night-hawk far up in the heavens
seems like a voice from the spirit world. Its
.dusky form glances now and then on the eye,
and then is lost in the far upper regions, while
his cry pierces clear and shrill through the gloom,
telling where his pinion still floats him onward.
The smoke of the clearing wreaths in slow and
spiral columns skyward; while the whistle of the
woodman, as he shoulders his axe...and wends his
weary way to his log hut, is the only human
sound that disturbs the tranquillity of the scene.
And now the twilight deepens over all. The fire
of the distant fallow flashes up in the darkness,
and the cry of the boding owl comes like a voice
of warning on the ear. How, under the influ
ences of such a scene, the heart throws oflf link
after link of its bondage, and the soul loses its
sternness and fierce excitement, and becomes
subdued as a child's! The man sinks before
the early dreamer, and dear associations come

16 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
thronging back on the staggering memory like
sad angels, and the spirit reaches forth its arms
after the good and the true. At least it is so
with me ; and the presence of nature changes me
so that I scarcely know myself. A new class of
feelings and emotions is awakened within me —
new hopes ahd new resolutions spring to birth.
I think more of that unseen world towards which
I am so rapidly borne, and of the mysteries' of
the life that surrounds me. In New York, life is
all practical and outward. Action, action, action
is the constant cry, and action it is till thought
gets frightened away.
Ice-cream saloons — crowds on crowds of prome
naders — the rattle of wheels — the ringing of the
fire bells, and one continuous roar rising like the
sea over all, are the contrasts your city now pre
sents to the- scene I have been describing. The
night closes over haunts of vice, dens of infamy,
the gambling house, and the drunken revel. Be
hold how peacefully it here shuts down over the
forest, where the wild bird has gone to sleep be
side its mate, and not a restless unholy spirit is
abroad !

MOUNT TAHAWUS. 17
And then the morning — how diflferent! The
morning in New York is always associated in my
mind with markets. Soon as the sun mounts the
dusty heavens. New York seems to open its mouth
and rush for the markets. But here by the forest,
as the unclouded sun wheels with a lordly majestic
motion above the mountain, ten thousand birds
seem to have awakened at once. I would you
could listen a moment. It is a perfect storm of
sound. From the soft warble of the robin to the
shrill scream of the woodpecker, there is. every
variety of note, and yet all in accord. I said
nature was quiet, and every moving thing at lei
sure ; but I was mistaken. These birds seem to
be in a hurry, as if they had not time to utter
all their music ; and they pour it forth in such
rapid, thrilling strains, that the ear is perfectly
confused. Ah! there are other times when nature is not
tranquil ; for now, while I am writing, a dark
shadow has fallen on my paper, and as I look up
I see the sun has left the blue sky, and buried his
burning forehead in a black thunder cloud that is
heaving, gloomy as midnight, over the mountain.
2*

18 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
The lightning searches its bosom, as with an as
sassin's knife, and the deep low growl that follows
is like the slow waking up of wrath. The distant
tree tops rock two and fro in the gathering blast,
and a hush like death is. on everything. Still I
love it. I love the strong movement of those black
masses. They seem conscious of power and of
the terror of their frown, as it darkens on the
crouching earth. It is black as midnight; but
I know before long the sunbeams will burst forth
like- the smile of GoS, the birds break out in sud
den thanksgiving, and the blue sky kiss the green
mountain in delight.
Thus does nature change — yet is ever beautiful
in her changes, t did not design, when I com
menced this letter, to fill it up with such a diary of
my feelings ; but the truth is, when I first get into
the country^ at least into the backwoods, I wish
to do nothing for the first two or three days but
lie down on the hillside, and look at the trees and
sky, and think of the strange contrast between
the life I have just left and the one that sur
rounds me. It takes some tirae to adjust myself
to it — quite a preparation — before I can enter on

MOUNT TAHAWUS. 19
that active life of fishing, tramping, and camping
out in the woods, which my health demands ; and
it is but natural you should have my transition
state. At least, it is natural I should write out
that which is uppermost in me.
I expect soon to start for the Adirondac Mount
ains, at whose broken terminations I now rest. I
have some things to say about Long Lake and
Mr. Todd's colony there, which will put your
readers right respecting it. You know, two years
ago, that Mr. Todd took me up rather sharply in
your paper on account of some statements I made
respecting that country. I made no reply then;
but I will now show that I was not only right in
every particular, but that every prediction I then
made of the fate of the colony has already proved
true.

LOG DRIVING. 21

LETTER II.

LOG DRIVING.

Backwoods, July ^tJi.
Did you ever witness a log driving? It is one
of the curiosities of the backwoods,_where streams
are made to subserve the purpose of teams. On
the steep mountain side, and along the shores of
the brook which in spring time becomes a swollen
torrent, tearing madly through the forest, the
tall pines and hemlocks are felled in winter and
dragged or rolled to the brink of the streams.
Here every man marks his own, as he would his
sheep, and then rolls them in, when the current
is swollen by the rains. The melted snow along
the acclivities comes in a perfect sheet of water
down, and the streams rise as if by magic to the
tops of their banks, and a broad, resistless current

22 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
goes sweeping like a live and gloomy thing through
the deep forest. The foam-bubbles sparkle on the
dark bosom' that floats them on, and past the
boughs that bend with the stream, and by the
precipices that frown sternly down on the tumult.
The rapid waters shoot onward like an arrow, or
rather a visible spirit^ on some mysterious errand,
seeking the loneliest and most fearful passages
the untrodden wild can furnish. I, have seen the
waves running like mad creatures in mid ocean,
and watched with strange feelings the moonlit
deep as it gently rose and fell like a human bosom
in the still nightj but there is something more
mysterious and fearful than these in the calm yet
lightning-like speed of a deep, dark river, rushing
all alone in its might and majesty through the
heart of an unbroken forest. You cannot see it
till you stand on the brink, and then it seems so
utterly regardless of you or the whole world with-
5ut, hasting sternly on to the accomplishment of
some dread purpose ! ^
But such romance as this never enterg the head
of your backwoodsman. The first question he
puts himself, as he thrusts his head through the

LOG DRIVING. 23
branches and looks up and down the current, is
— "Is the stream high enough to run logs?" If
it is, then fall to work : away go the logs, one after
another, down the bank, and down the mountain,
with a bound and a groan, splash into the water.
The heavy rains about the first of July had so
swollen the stream near which I am, located, that
all thoughts of fishing for several days were aban
doned, and the log drivers had it all to themselves!
So, strolling through the forest, I soon heard the
continuous roar that rose up through the leafy
solitudes, and in a few moments stood on a shelv
ing rock, and saw the lark-swift stream befpre me
as it issued from the cavernous green foliage above,
and disappeared without a struggle in the same.
green abyss below. I stood for a long time lost
in thought. How much like life was that current
in its breathless haste — how like it, too, in its
mysterious appearance and departure ! It shot
on my sight without a token of its birth-place, and
vanished without leaving a sign whither it had
gone. So comes and goes this mysterious life of
ours — this fearful time-stream, sweeping so noise
lessly and steadily on. And there where that

24 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
i bubble dances and swims, now floating, calmly
though swiftly, along the surface, and now caught
in an eddy, and whirled in endless gyrations
round, and now buffeted back by the hard rock
against whose side it was cast, is another life
aymbol. Such am I and such is every man —
bubbles on the dread time-stream ; now moving
calmly over the waters of prosperity — now caught
in the eddies of -misfortune, till, bewildered and
stunned, we are hurled against the rocks of dis
couragement; yet, ever afloat, and ever borne
rapidly on, we are moving from sight to be swal
lowed up in that vast solitude from whose echoless
depths no voice has ever yet returned. Life, life!
how solemn and mysterious thou art ! I could
weep as I lean from this rock and gaze on the
dark rushing waters. Thought crowds on thought,
and sad memories come sweeping up, and future
forebodings mingle in the solemn gathering, and
emotions no one has ever yet expressed, and feel
ings that have .struggled since time began for ut
terance, swell like that swollen water over my
heart, and make me inconceivably sad here in the
depths of the forest.

LOG DRIVING. 25
How long I might have stood absorbed in this
half-dreamy, half-thoughtful mood, I know not,
had I not heard a ^hout below ine. Passing down,
I soon came to a Steep bank, at the base of which
several men were tumbling logs into the stream.
I watched them for some time, and was struck
with the coolness with which one would stand half
under a perfect embankment of logs, and hew
away to loosen the whole, while another with a
handspike kept them back. Once, after a blow,
I saw the whole mass start, when " Take care !
take care!" burst in such startling tones from my
lips, that the cool chopper sprung as if stung by
an adder ; then, with a laugh at his own foolish
fright. Stepped back to his place again. The man
with the handspike never even turned his head,
¦ but with a half grunt, as much as to say " Green
horn from the city," held on. It was a really
exciting scene — the mad leaping away of those
huge logs, and their rapid, arro'v«'y-like movement
down the streams At length I off with my coat,
and, laying my gun aside, seized a handspike, and
was soon behind a huge log, tugging and lifting
away. I was on the top of a high bank, and
3

26 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
when the immense timber gave way, and bounded
with a dull sound from rock to rock, till it struck
with a splash into the very centre of the current,
my sudden shout followed it. As that log struck
the water, it buried itself out of sight, and then,
as it rose to the surface for a single moment, it
stood perfectly still in its place except that it rolled
rapidly on its axis — ^the next moment it yielded to
the impetuosity of the current, and darted away
as if inherent with life, and moved straight to
wards a precipice that frowned over the water be- »,
low. Recoiling from the shock, its head swung
off with the stream, and away it shot out of sight.
The stream gets full of these logs, which often
catch on some rock or projecting root, and accu
mulate till a hundred or more will be all tangled
and matted together. There they lie,' rising iand
falling on the uneasy current, while a driver
slowly and carefully steps from one to another,
feeling with his feet and handspike to see where
the drag is. When he finds it, he loosens it, per
haps with a single blow, and away the whole roll
ing tumbling mass moves. Now look out, bold
driver; thy footing is not of the most certain kind.

LOG DRIVING. 27
and a wild and angry stream is beneath thee. Yet
see how calmly he views the chaos ! The least
hurry or alarm, and he is lost. But no ; he moves
without agitation ; now balancing himself a mo
ment as the log he steps upon shoots downward,
now quickly passing to another as it rolls under
him, he is gradually working his way towards the
shore. He has almost succeeded in reaching the
bank, when the whole floating mass separates so far
that he can no longer step from one to another,
and, after looking about a moment, he quietly seats
himself astraddle of one and darts like a flerce
rider down the current. These logs are carried
twenty and thirty miles in this way, passing from
small streams to larger ones, through lakes and
along rivers, and are finally brought up at the
wished-for point by stringing poles across' the
river, which stops their further descent. Several
different men have clubbed together to drive the
stream, and here they pick out each his own, by
the mark he has given it, just as you have seen
farmers, in a confused flock of sheep, select their
own, saying ever and anon, "This is mine, cropped

28 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
in both ears and slit in the right," &c. When
the logs get fastened together on rocks, &c.,'it is
called a "jam." I saw one of these the other day
upon a huge mass of rocks, over which the water
never flows except in the highest freshet ; and I
should think there were four or five thousand of
them there thrp'jrn into all shapes and attitudes —
the most chaotic-looking mass you ever beheld.
This "driving the river," as it is called, is
one of the chief employments of your backwoods
man in spring time, and it is curious to see
what an objec-t of interest the river becomes. Its
rise and fall are the chief topics of conversation.
So goes the world. New York has its objects of
interest — the country village itS' — and the settler
on the frontier his ; each filled with the same
anxieties, hopes, fears, and wishes — overcome by
the same discouragements and misfortunes, and
working out the same fate'; — man still with that
mysterious sout and restless heart of his, greater
than a king, and immortal as an angel, yet ab
sorbed with straws and maddened or thrown into
raptures by a little glittering dust.

LOG DRIVING. 29
My next will be from the heart of Hamilton
county, and I shall have something to say of Long
Lake colony.

3*

ASCENT OF MOUNT TAHAWUS. 31

LETTER III.
ASCENT OF MOUNT TAHAWUS — DIFFICULTIES OF THE
WAY — GLORIOUS PROSPECT FROM THB TOP.
I HAD finally resolved to ascend this mountain,
the highest in the Empire State, and the highest
in the L^nion with the exception of Mount Wash
ington. The hunter Cheney told me that not a
human foot had pressed its lordly summit for six
years, and that it would require three days to as
cend it and return. It was fifteen miles to the
top, through a pathless wilderness, across rivers
and amid tangled thickets, and over swamps that
would task the powers of the strongest man. As
he looked at my pale visag&'and slender feame,
he intimated that I could not accomplish the as
cent. I told him I could, and what was more, I
could do it all in a day and a half, passing only
one night in the woods instead of two. He said

32 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
it was impossible ; that it had never been done"
but once in that time, and then it was performed
by l^mself and another man from -necessity, and
that he did not get over it for a week after.
Notwithstanding these discouragements, our lit
tle party concluded to start ; and so, on Friday
morning, before the leaves had shaken the dew
from tEeir fingers, we stretched off in Indian file,
Cheney the hunter leading. With a hatchet in his
hand, and a pack filled with pork and venison and
bread on his -back, he appeared a fit leader for
such a vagabond-looking company as we were.
Next came B  n, carrying a tea-kettle in his
hand, while I Jbllowed close after, with a long
stick in my hand to steady me in leaping chasms
and climbing precipices, and a green Scotch
blanket, rolled up and fastened, by a rope around
my shoulders, to cover me with at night. The
rest came straggling along, each with something _
in his hand necessary for our dinner or night's
lodging in the woods. After moving in this way
about six miles, we came to some burnt logs and
a rude bier, on which a dead man had lain all
night. Mr. Henderson, a wealthy gentleman of

ASCENT OF MOUNT TAHAWUS. 33
Jersey City, and who owned a portion of the Adi
rondac Iron Works, had shot himself accidentally
with a pistol a short way from this spot, and here
he had been brought, to wait for daylight to guide
those who bore him through the woods. His little
boy, eleven years old, was with^im, and "There,"'
said the hunter, pointing to a log, " I sat all night,
and held the poor fellow in my arms, ufltil at
length he sobbed himself to sleep." A little £»,?-
ther on, we came to a small pond beside which
stood a rock where the accident happened. " I
stood there," said Cheney, pointing across the
pond, " with the little boy by my side, and was
busy in preparing a raft on which y^p might take
some trout for supper, when I heard a shot. I
looked across, and saw Mr. Hefiderson flinging
his arms rapidly towards heaven,^nd fhen across
his breast, exclaiming, ' I am shot !' His Ijttle
son fainted, and fell at my feet. As soon as I
could, I hurried to the spot; and found Mr. Hen
derson sitting on the ground, supported by his
friend, and going fast." He committed his soul
to his Maker, told his son to be a good boy and
give his love to his mother, and in a few minutes

34 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
more passed the mystery of mysteries, and entered
on the scenes of the boundless hereafter. He was
a man of noble character and generous disposition,
and loved by all who knew him. It is singular to
observe how often men fall victims to that which
they most dread and most guard against. Mr.
Henderson was nervously afraid" of firearms; so
much so that he could not see a man passing along
the street with a gun on his shoulder, without
¦going out to inquire if it was loaded. He carried
the pistol solely as a means of defence in the
woods, and in laying it down on a rock, struck the
lock while the muzzle was pointed directly towards
him. PoorXlheney stood and sighed over the
spot, and shook his head mournfully, exclaiming,
" Oh, he was a noble man !" It was affecting to
witness silbh dtep and lasting feeling in a'man
whq had spent half his life in the woods. You
•can well imagine that it was with silent- and
thoughtful "Steps, and some sad fprebodings, we
again entered th* bosom of the forest.
But I will not enter into the details of this
tedious t^mp. I cannot make you see the dark
spruce foTrest, with its carpet of moss, and paths

ASCENT OF MOUNT TAHAWUS. 35
of wild deer and bears trodden hard by their fre
quent passage from the mountains to the
streams ; nor induce you to follow with your eye
that crooked river that seems, since we last
crossed it, to have stolen round and lain in am
bush in our path, so suddenly and unexpectedly
does it again appear before us. But, after wad
ing it half a dozen times, just stand .here a
moment on the bank of a new stream, and look
through those huge hemlocks into that awful
mountain gorge. That lonely sheet of water,
spreading there so dark and yet so still, is Lake
Colden, and looks, amid those savage and broken
hnis, like Innocence sleeping on the lap of Wrath.
How peaceful and how lonely it seems in its soli
tude! — and it shall linger in the memory like
som^half-sad, half-pleasant dream.
From this we struck across to the Opalescent
River — so called from the opalescent stones,.
some of \?Taich are very beautiful, that are found
in its channel — and followed ita rocky bed five
miles int(J the mountains. Now wading across,
and now leaping from rock to rock, afid again
striking out into the thick forest, to get around a

36 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
deep gulf or cataract, we pressed on till one
o'clock, when we hallooed each other together,
and began to prepare for dinner. Some ©Id and
shivered trees, which the floods of spring had
brought down and lodged against the rocks,
served us for fuel. Over the crackling fire we
hung our tea-kettle, which we filled from the
limpid stream that crept in rivulets around our
feet, and, placing some large slices of pork on
the ends of sticks which we held in the bl^ze,
soon had our dinner under full headway.
Amid the laughter and freedom inseparable
from a life in the woods, we whiled away an
hour, then shouldered again our knapsacks and
pressed on. The sky, which was clear and beau
tiful in the morning, had drawn a veil over its
face, and the clouds, thickening every moiffent,
gave omen of a stormy night and gloomy day to
come. When we set out, we expected to encamp
at the base of the main peak over iffl^ht, and
ascend next morning; but I told Cheney we must
be on the top before sunsety for in the' morning
impenetrable clouds might rest upon it, and all
our labor be lost. We were weary enough to

DIFFICULTIES OF THB WAY. 37
«
halt, and a more forlorn-looking company you
never "^aw than we were, as we straggled like a
flock of sheep up the bed of the stream. At
length it began to climb the mountain in cata
racts, and we after it. It was now nearly three
o'clock, and we had been walking since seven in
the morning. Wearied and completely fagged
out, it seemed almost impossible to make the
ascent. Up, up, at an angle of nearly forty-five
degrees — flogged and torn at every step by the
long, thorn-like branches of the spruce trees-
leaping from rock to rock, or crawling from some
cavity into which we had fallen through the
treacherous moss, we panted on, striving in vain
to get even a sight of the summit that mocked
our hard endeavors. One hunter with us several
times gave out completely, and we were compelled
to stop and wait for him. Crossing now a bear-
track, and now coming to a bed where a moose
had rested the night before, we at length saw the
naked cone, forming the extremest summit of the
mountain. There it stood, round, gray, cPld,
and naked, in the silent heavens. A deep gully
lay between us and it, filled with spruce trees
4

38 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
about three feet high, and growing so close
together as, to form a perfect matting, Tirough
these it was almost impossible to force our way,
and indeed, in one instance, I walked a consider
able distance on the tops, without touching
ground. This difliculty being surmounted, next
came the immense cone of rock, bending its awful
arch away into the heavens, seemingly conscious
of its majesty and grandeur. Up this we were
coinpelled to go, a part cf the time, on all fours ;
but at length, at four o'clock, we stood on the
bald crown. The sun, though stooping to the
western horizon, seemed near the zenith, and not
to move one minute of a degree downward on its
path. But how shall I describe the prospect
below and around ? I have stood on the Alps,
and looked off on a sea of peaks, and remained
awe-struck amid the -majesty and terror around
me — feeling as if 4 were treading on the margin of
Jehovah's mantle. But the bright snow-cliffs and
flashing glaciers gave life and animation to the
scene, while here all was green, dark, and sombre.
Those are not peaks around tfs, but huge mis
shapen masses, pushing their gigantic proportions

GLORIOUS PROSPECT FROM THB TOP. 39
heavenward — now formed of black rock that
undulates along the summit like a frozen wave,
and now covered with low dark fir trees, that
seem like a drapery of mourning over some sleep
ing or dead monster. All around is wilder than
fancy ever painted or described. Scarce a hand's
breadth of cultivated land in the whole motion
less panorama. _ There, far, far below, stretching
away for miles, is a deep dark lane through the
forest, telling where a, swift river is sw^piiig
onward, but not a murmur rises up to this still
spot, nor a flash of its bright waters escapes from-
the sullen woods that shut it in. To your left is
Mount Mclntyre, black as night, and rising from
the sea of forest below like some monument of a
past worldlP.-There', too, is Mount Colden, and
further on White Face, witjithe immense scar on
its forehead; and there, andlhere»— but it is vain
even to count the summits tkat seem to have
been piled here in some awful hurry of nature.
As you thus stand with your face to the south,
the whole range of the Green Mountains, from
Canada to where they sink into Massachusetts
stretches in one grand bold pencil-stroke along

40 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
the sky. Far away to the southeast, a storm is
raging, and the clouds lift and heave along the
dark bosom of the mountain, like the foldings of
a vast curtain stirred by the wind. At the base,
and losing itself in the distance, spreads away
Lake Champlain, with all its green islands on its
bosom. From this immense. height and distance,
the elevated banks disappear, and the whole
beautiful sheet appears like water flowing over a
flat country. Burlington is a mere toy-shop in
the hazy distance. Turning to the west and
southwest, you overlook all that primeval wilder
ness of which Long Lake is the centre ; and how
grand and gloomy is the scene-^-an interminable
forest, now descending in a bold sweep to the
margin of some lake, and now climbigg and over
stepping the lordly mountain in its progress.
Summit overlaps summit, ridge intersects ridge,
and all flowing away together, in one wild majes
tic sea, towards the western horizon. The only
relief to this solitude is the lakes that dot the
bosom of the forest in every direction. But
there is one as far as the eye can reach, which,
either from its overshadowed position, or the

GLORIOUS PROSPECT FRoM THE TOP. 41
natural hue of its water, is black as ink. It
looks in its still and dark aspect like the pool of
death ! But what a tremendous gulf surrounds
you, as you thus stand nearly six thousand feet
in the air, on this isolated dome ! On one side,
were the forest comes boldly up to the base, an
avalanche of earth has swept, cutting a lane for
itself through the strong trees, like the scythe
of the mower through the grass.
But just take one more sweep of the eye around
the horizon before those clouds which com& dash
ing so like spirits through the gulfs, leaving a
night-cap on every summit in their progress, shall
obstruct the vision. You take in an area of nearly
four hundred miles in circumference just by. turn
ing on your heel. Oh, how thought crowds on
thought, and emotion struggles with emotion, as
you stand and gaze on this scene where the Al
mighty seems to have wrought with his sublimest
power ! Cities and kingdoms — the battling of
armies— the struggles of the multitude, and the
ambition and strifes of men, sink away into insig
nificance. The troubles of life seem small, and
its petty anxieties and cares are all forgotten.
4*

42 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
God and nature seem one, and sublimity and power
their only attributes. One cannot refrain from
asking himself unceasingly, did His strong arm
heave those mountains on high and lay their deep
foundations ? Did His hand spread this limitless
mantle of green below, sprinkle all these lakes
around, and fill these vast solitudes with life ?
Subdued and solemn, the soul whispers the reply
to its , own inquiries, and involuntarily renders
homage to the Infinite One.
But all scenes must end, and we prepared to
depart. As I came to the brow of a rock and
looked off, I heard a shout below, and there, toil
ing painfully up, I saw a friend, a young clergy
man, who had promised to meet me at Adirondac,
but did not arrive till after we left. He was drip
ping with perspiration ; and I took my green
blanket, and folding him also in it, walked back
over the summit, to give him the view- 1 had been
gazing on for an hour. The freezing blast swept
with piercing power over us ; but, though my teeth
were chattering with cold, I enjoyed the mute sur
prise and awe of my friend as he stood and gazed
around him.

GLORIOUS PROSPECT FROM THE TOP. 43
At length, approaching night warned us to de
part, for we had yet to build us a hut to sleep in,
and get our supper before dark, and so we bade
the lordly summit good bye,- and clattered furi
ously down its' sides.

DESCENT FROM MOUNT. TAHAWUS. 45

LETTER IV.
DESCENT FROM MOUNT TAHAWUS.
On our descent from Mount Tahawus, we be
gan to look eagerly around for a dry spot where
we might make our encampment. Cheney, who
was at the head of our straggling column, with
his axe in his hand, pushed on at a break-neck
pace, finally halted, and said that we must stop
somewhere immediately, for it was growing dark,
and we should not be able to build our shanty or
cut fuel for the night. The place he chose was
a damp mossy spot, darkly shadowed with fir
trees. It was a gloomy-looking place; but we
were all too tired to make any objection, and so,
in a few minutes, two or three axes were resound
ing through the forest, and crack! crash! went
the trees on every side of us. "Each man must

46 LETTERS J'ROM THE BACKWOODS.
pick his own bed," said our guide ; which meant
that every man must cut what boughs he himself
wanted. I crawled up from the stream where I
had been sitting bathing my feverish hands and
face, and went to work. ' Scattered around, all
were busy hacking off fir tree boughs with their
knives, while the guides and strong men who ac
companied us drew huge trees together for a fire,
and put up a shanty. It was voted to place
nothing but green bou:hs over this for a cover
ing from the dew ; but the dark and sombro
heavens told too well that a storm was at hand,
and I insisted that lark shoul .1 be placed at least
over the spot I occupied. They finally covered
the whole with bark; and it was well they did,
for the rain soon began to come down, and con
tinued to fall the live-long night. But our fire
blazed up cheerfully in the gloom ; the long
trunks were on fire from end to end ; while those
standing near would now and then shoot up a
spiral flame* conspiring to render the scene still
more picturesque. One tree,, standing close by,
threatened to burn off before -toorning, and I
asked the guide if it would not be djyigeroiis to

DESCENT FROM MOUNT TAHAWUS. 47
sleep so near it. He cast his eye up the tall
trunk a moment, and coolly replied, as he slashed
off a piece of roast venison, that "it would fall
t'other way." This was calculating rather closer
than I liked, but one soon learns there is no ap
peal frpm the decision of a hunter. We presented
a singular group as we sat in a semicircle around
our blazing fire, each with his morsel on a chip
before him. At length, however, we turned in.
With a few boughs placed over a green stump
just cut, for a pillow, I rolled myself in my
blanket, and stretched out before the fire. In a
short time, the crackling of the flames and the
low steady patter of the rain on the leaves sung
me to sleep, and my troubles were forgotten.
About midnight, however, I was waked up by an
intense heat, and rousing myself, I looked about
a moment and laughed long and loud. One poor
fellow, who had lain and shivered without any
thing over him in the damp air, had got up and
piled on such a quantity of dry fuel, that it was
roasting hot. A row of men lay stretched out
before me like pickled herring, and it was incon
ceivably ludicrous to see them turn and twist in

48 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
their sleep to escape the heat. First on one side
and then on the other, they kept rolling about,
until at length one started up, and looking a
moment at the fire, shot like a bolt into the
woods. Another and another followed in speech
less silence, until the whole shanty was empty of
every one but myself. I lay at the extreme end,
and hence could safely watch operations. ¦*
The morning, the welcome morning, at length
came, though with a heavy fog, and we again took
up our line of march through the wet woods, and
at noon emerged into the little clearing where are
stationed the Adirondac Iron Works. " Oh, but
weary wights were we" — nearly every man of us,
from the hunter down, more dead than alive. I
was struck, on this expedition, and indeed on seve
ral others, with the kindness of Mr. B  n, a
tall, powerful man, with one of those frames of
iron which encase a feeling and generous heart.
He seemed to take special charge of me, offering
continually to ease me of my load, and at night
always insisting I should have the best spot in
which to sleep. Some of the time I suffered se
verely in the woods from sickness, and then there

DESCENT FROM MOUNT TAHAWUS. 49
was nothing he would not do for me. I never be
fore received kindness which so won upon me, and
the remembrance of which fills me with more
grateful feelings.
The next day was the Sabbath, and though
eighty or a hundred workmen are congregated
here, there iS no- Sabbath to them except that
which the lordly hills have— solemn and majestic,
it may be, but with no preacher but nature. We
persuaded W  d, tired as he was, to preach ;
and word was sent round to the few inhabitants.
They came together in a little unplastered room,
and listened attentively to two certainly most ex
cellent discourses. It was pleasant to keep Sab
bath amid the old hills. It was a beautiful day,
and deep silence rested on the mountains and
forest, and the voice of prayer went up with the
great hymn of nature. And oh,, how quietly and
sadly the Sabbath evening came down on that
lonely spot, and how brightly the great stars looked
with their luminous eyes over the mountain heights!
My heart went back to my friends, and I lay dowd
and dreamed of those I loved.
There was one thing, however, I did not like.
5

60 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
The agent of these iron works, a Scotchman by
birth, and his wife, were the only professors of
religion in this spot, and yet he charged my friend
W  d for keeping him over the Sabbath. If
two sermons were not worth a day's board, he can
not value the Gospel very highly. His tax for the
support of religious services would be rather small,
one would suspect, and it was the least he could
do to give the man who had labored for his good
and those under him a free house and an open
heart. I had much rather he would have added
the amount to my bill, for he was a gentlemanly
man, and treated us with great kindness.
Some may ask what kind of animals roam these
forests. First, there is the moose, the tallest of
American wild animals, being found sometimes
eight feet high. They are commonly hunted in
the spring on snow shoes. The snow usually falls
here to the depth of four and five feet ; and in
the early spring, after a thaw and subsequent
frost, a stiff crust is formed which will sustain the
hunter on his snow shofes, while it cuts dreadfully
the legs of the moose. Hence they do not travel
at this season, but, as the hunters call it, "yard.'^

DESCENT FROM MOUNT TAHAWUS. 51
That is, one, or two, or three together, will beat
down the snow around them in some retired damp
place and browse as they beat. Another will
take a low hill, covered with those trees producing
buds fit to eat, and while' the snow is moist begin
to travel round and round it, cutting it all up
into winding paths. He will not stop to eat: but
when the snow becomes frozen, he follows the
path he has made, browsing as he goes. When
found in this position, he cannot run, for the deep
snow and sharp crust are too much for him, and
he falls an easy victim to the rifle of the hunter.
Deer are frequently killed in the same way, and
the woods are full of them. The wolf then has
his feast, for his soft spreading paw sustains him
as he glides over the crust, while the sharp hoof
of the poor deer cuts through at every step, and
he is easily overtaken. The lears buried under
the snow, or rocks, or roots of trees, sleep out the
long winter. Panthers are now and then met,
but they are shy of man, and their sinister faces
seldom intrude on his march through the forest.
Otters and sables are found, and the American
eagle here soars in his native freedom, lord of the

52 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
mountain crag. Many a savage fight occurs in
this wilderness between the hunters and wild ani
mals. A cow moose, with her calf beside her,
will fight either dogs or men with desperate fero
city, and a wounded deer will sometimes turn at

The lakes and streams are full of flsh — trout of
the finest quality; and as long as one keeps by
the water-courses, he need not fear starvation.
It is impossible, however, to get food on the
mountains. There all is still,' solemn, and de
serted, and one moves amid the gigantic forms of
nature as . if he were treading on the ruins of a
past world. The thunder breaking over their
summits is the only sound that disturbs their re
pose. The river borne in their bosom seems afraid
to speak aloud till it has reached the valley below;
while the forest folds them in with its drapery of
green in majestic silence. The only bold thing
there is the wind, which shakes their green crests
with a despotic hand, and shouts aloud or -whis
pers low, as suits its own erratic mood. .

THE INDIAN PASS. 53

LETTER V.

THE INDIAN PASS.

The only object remaining for me to visit, be
fore I returned again to civilized life, was the
famous Indian Pass — probably the most remark
able mountain gorge in this country. On Monday
morning, a council was called of our party to de
termine whether we should visit it. A teamster
from the settlements had agreed to come for us
this day, to take us out the next; but some of our
number, fearing his inability to get through the
woods in one day, proposed we should abandon all
further expeditions, and make our way homeward.
But the Indian Pass I was determined to see,
even if I remained behind alone, and so we all
together started off, some of us still lame from
our excursion to Mount Tahawus. It was six
5*

54 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
miles through the forest, and we were compelled
to march in single file. Now skirting the margin
of a beautiful lake, now creeping through thick
ets, and now stepping daintily across a springing
morass, we stretched forward until we at length
struck a stream, the bed of which we followed
into the bosom of the mountains. » We crossed
deer paths every few rods, and soon the two
hounds our hunter had taken with him parted
from us, and their loud deep bay began to ring
and echo through the gorge.* The instincts with
which animals are endowed by their Creator on
purpose to make them successful in the chase is
one of the most curious things in nature. I
watched for a long time the actions of one of these
noble hounds. With his nose close to the leaves,
he would double backwards and forwards on a
track, to see whether it was fresh or not, then
abandon it at once if he found it too old. At
length, striking a fresh one, he started off; but
the next moment, finding he was going back in
stead of forwards on the track, he wheeled and
came dashing past on a furious run, his eyes
glaring with excitement. Soon his voice made

THE INDIAN PASS. 55
the forest ring, and I could imagine the quick
start it gave to the- deer, quietly grazing, it might
have been, a mile away. Lifting its beautiful
head a moment, to ascertain if that cry of death
was on his track, he bounded away in the long
chase and bold swim for life. Well, let them pass :
the cry grows fainter and fainter, and they, the
pursued ahd pursuer, are but an emblem of what
is going on in the civilized world from which I
am severed. Life may be divided into two parts —
the hunters and the hunted. It is an endless
chase, where the timid and the weak constantly
fall by the way. The swift racers come and go
like shadows on the vision, and' the cries of fear
and of victoi»y swell, on the ear and die away, only
to give place to another and another.
Thus musing, I pushed on, until at length we
left the bed of the stream, and began to climb
amid broken rocks, that were piled in huge chaos
up and up as far as the eye could reach. My
rifle became such a burden, that I was compelled
to leave it against a tree, with a mark near it to
deterraine its locality. I had expected, from paint
ings I had seen of this Pass, that I was to walk

66 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
almost on a level into a huge gap between two
mountains, and look up on the precipices that
toppled heaven-high above me. But here was a
world of rocks, overgrown with trees and moss
over and under and between which we were com
pelled to crawl and dive and work our way with
so much exertion and care that the strongest soon
began to be exhausted. Caverns opened on every
side, and a more hideous, toilsome, break-heck-
tramp I never took. There was a stream deep
down somewhere, but no foot could follow it, for
it was a succession of cascades, with perpendicular
walls each side, hemming it in. It was more like
climbing a broken and shattered mountain than
entering a gorge. At length, however, we came
where the fallen rocks had made an open space
amid the forest, and spread a fearful ruin in its
place. Near by was a huge rock, that, in some
former age, had been loosened from its high bed,
and hurled with the strength of a falling world,
below. It was a precipice .of itself, from which
to fall would have been certain death. This was
"the Church" our guide had spoken of, and it
did lift itself there like a huge altar, right in

THE INDIAN PASS. 57
front of the main precipice, that rose in a naked
wall a thousand feet perpendicular. The top of
this "church" could be reached on one side, and
thither we clambered and lay down to rest our
selves, while from our very feet rose this awful
cliff, that fairly oppressed me with its near and
frightful presence. Majestic, solemn, and silent,
with the daylight from above pouring all over its
dread form, it stood the impersonation of strength
and grandeur. I never saw but one precipice -
that impressed me so, and that was in the Alps,
in the Pass of the Grand Scheideck. I lay on
my back, filled with strange feelings of the power
and majesty of the God who had both framed and
rent this mountain asunder. There it stood still
and motionless in its grandeur. Far, far away
heavenward rose its top, fringed with fir trees that
looked, at that immense height, like mere shrubs
— and they, too, did not wave, but stood silent
and moveless as the rock they crowned. Any
motion or life would have been a relief — even the
tramp of the storm, for there was something fear-
%ful in that mysterious, profound silence. How
loudly God >speaks to the heart when it lies thus

58 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
awe-struck and subdued in the presence of his
works. In the shadow of such a grand and ter
rible form, man seems but the plaything of a mo
ment, to be blown away with the first breath.
Persons not accustomed to scenes of this kind
would not at first get an adequate impression of
the magnitude of the precipice. Everything is
on such a gigantic scale — all the proportions so
vast, and the mountains so high about it that the
real individual greatness is lost sight of. But that
wall of a thousand feet perpendicular, with its
seams and rents and stooping cliffs, is one of the
few things in the world daguerreotyped on my
heart. It frowns on my vision in mj solitary
hours, and with feelings half of sympathy, I
think of it standing there in its lonely majesty :
"Has not the soul, the being of your life,
Received a shook of a-wfijl consciousness.
In eome calm season, when those lofty rocks,
At night's approach, bring do-wn th' unclouded sky
To rest upon the circumambient -walls ;
A temple framing of dimensions vast,
And yet not too enormous for the sound
Of human anthems, choral song, or burst

THE INDIAN PASS. 59
Sublime of instrumental harmony,
To glorify th' Eternal ! What if these
Did never break the stillness that prevails
Here — if the solemn nightingale be mute,
And the soft woodlark here did never chant
Her vespers ! Nature fails not to provide
Impulse and utterance. The whispering air
Sends inspiration from the shadowy heights,
And blind recesses of the cavern'd rocks ;
The little rills and waters numberless.
Insensible by daylight, blend their notes ^
With the loud streams ; and often at the hour
When issue forth the first pale stars, is heard.
Within the circuit of the fabric huge,
One voice — one solitary raven, flying
Athwart the concave of the dark blue dome,
Unseen — perchance above the power of sight —
An iron knell ! with echoes from afar.
Paint and still fainter."
I will only add that none of the drawings or
paintings I have seen of this Pass give a correct
idea of it.
We turned our steps homeward, and reached
the Adirondac Iron Works at noon, having
traveled twelve miles, a part of the way on our
hands and knees. After dinner, it was resolved

60 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
to push on and meet our teamster, who, we were
afraid, would be compelled to encamp in the forest
alone with his team. Getting our guide to .row
us five miles down Lake Sandford, we bade him
good-bye, and, shouldering our knapsacks, started
off. I had received a fall in the Pass whieh stun
ned me dreadfully, and made every step like driv
ing a nail into my brain. Losing my footing, I
had fallen backwards, and gone" down head fore
most among the rocks — a_few feet, either side,
and this letter had probably never been written.
We-expected every moment to meet' our teamster,
but were disappointed, and thus traveled on until
twilight began to gather over the forest, ad
monishing us to seek a place of rest for the night. '
We had now gone sixteen miles from the Adiron-
dacs, which, added to the twelve' miles to and
from the Pass, made a severe day's work df it.
Twilight brought us to the Boreas River, and here
we found a log shanty which some timber cutters
had put up the winter before and deserted in the
spring. It was a lonely-looking thing, dilapi
dated and ruinous, with some straw below, and a
few loose boards laid across the logs above. We

THE INDIAN PASS. 61
kindled a blazing fire outside, and divided our last
provisions among us, then sought our repose. As
I said, only a few boards were laid across the logs
above, leaving the rest of the loft perfectly open.
By getting on to a sort of scaffolding, and reaching
up to the timbers, we were able to swing ourselves
up on the few loose boards that furnished a scanty
platform. After I had succeeded in reaching
this perch, I helped the others up ; but Rev. Mr.
W  d was rather too heavy, and, just as he
had fairly landed on the boards, one gave way,
and down he went. I seized him by the collar, ,
while he, with one hand fastened to my leg and
the other grasping the timber, succeeded in arrest^
ing his fall, and thus probably saved himself a .
broken limb. We lay in a row, on our backs,
along this frail scaffolding, filling it up from end
to end, so that if the outside ones should roll a
single foot in their sleep, they would be precipi
tated below. A more uncomfortable night I
never passed, and I lay and watched the chinks
in the roof for daylight to appear, till it seemed
that morning would never come. I resolved
6

62 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
never again to abandon my couch of leaves for
boards and a ruined hut, through which vermin
swarmed in such freedom. At length the wel
come light broke slowly over the mighty forest,
and I turned out. Huge stones and billets of
wood hurled on the roof soon brought forth the
rest of our companions, and we started off. We
had nothing to eat, and seven weary miles were
before us before we could obtain a breakfast.
The clear morning air could not revive me, and I
pushed on, more dead than alive. At length we
emerged into a clearing, and there in a log hut
sat our teamster, quietly eating his breakfast.
The day before, he had started through the
forest, but becoming frightened at the wildness
and desolateness that increased at every step, he
turned back. Hungry, cross, and weary, we sat
down to breakfast, and then stowed ourselves
away into a lumber wagon, and rode thirty miles
to our respective stopping-places. The little set
tlement seemed like a large village to me, and
the inhabitants the most refined people I had
ever met. Several days' rest restored me, and

THB INDIAN PASS. 63
then I began to feel my system rally, and be
came conscious of strength and vitality to which
I had been a stranger for six months.

LONG LAKE. 65

LETTER VI.

LONG LAKE.
V

Long Lake, My.
You have heretofore had a good many letters
from Long Lake, descriptive of its scenery, capa
bilities of its land, the interesting colony on its
borders, &c. With regard to the scenery, there
can be but one opinion — it is unrivaled. Long
Lake is one of the most beautiful sheets of water
I ever floated over, and its framework of mount
ains becomes the glorious picture. I never saw a
more" beautiful island than "Round Island," as it
is called, situated near midway of the lake. As
you look at it from above or below, it appears to
stand between two promontories, that, with their
green and rounded points, are striving to reach it
as they push boldly out into the water ; while with
6*

66 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
its abrupt high banks, from which go up the lofty
pine-trees, it looks like a huge green cylinder,
sunk there endwise in the waves. I wish I owned
that island. It would be pleasant to be possessor
of so much beauty. I said once, through your
paper, that this never could be a good farming
country, in the common acceptation of that term ;
and I was asked if I had seen this, and that, and
the other lake. I now repeat my former assertion,
and say, as then, that this might become a good
wool-growing region, or dairy country, but nothing
more. It is, in the first place, the most mountain
ous portion of this State ; indeed, I do not believe
there is in the Union a territory three hundred
miles in circumference so terribly rough and wild
as this. It is not only mountainous, but has the
disadvantage of being the source of nearly all the
waters of northern and eastern New York, and
hence has less alluvial soil than equally rough dis
tricts lying along large rivers. All mountainous
regions have more or less interval land, -with a
rich, deep soil ; but here the intervals are lahes.
Water occupies the place ordinarily appropriated
to towns and meadows. There is good land here.

LONG LAKE. 67
no doubt, and large tracts which are arable, and
would be fruitful; but the question is, what pro
portion does this bear to that which cannot be cul
tivated ? I have seen fields of waving grain in the
vale of Chamouni, and thousands of cattle grazing
in rich pastures in Grindelwald, and long stretches
of meadow in the valley of Mey ring en; but it
would be ridiculous to call the Alpine district a
good farming country, for all that. I venture to say
that there are three hundred acres in this region
a plough will never touch, to one that it will. Be
sides, it is a cold climate here, and the summers
are short. Neither corn nor wheat can be relied
on as a crop. Grass, rye, oats, and potatoes^may
be grown, and these are all.
Now here is a colony, called the Long Lake
Colony, about which much has been said, much
sympathy excited, and on which more or less
money has been expended. And what is its con
dition? It has been established for many years,
and by this time it ought to furnish some induce
ments to the farmer who would locate here, nearly
fifty miles from a post-office or store, and half,
that distance from a good mill. But what is the

68 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
truth respecting it? Not a man here supports
himself from his farm; and I can see no gain
since I was here two years ago. Some of the
best men have left, and those that remain depend
on the money (some seven hundred dollars) fur
nished by the State for the making of roads, to
buy their provisions with. The church which was
organized some time since was never worthy of
the name of one; the few men who composed it,
with some few exceptions, being anything but
religious men. I was told by one of the chief
men here that one man now constituted the entire
"Congregational Church of Long Lake." There
are no meetings held on the Sabbath, not even a
Sabbath school. As I went from house to house,
I saw books Scattered round belonging to the
Long Lake Library, marked, some of them, with
the names of the donors; but they seemed to me
thrown away. The truth is, the people here, as
a general thing, would not give a ftirthing for any
religious privileges, indeed would rather be with
out them; and instead of this colony being a
centre from which shall radiate an immense popu
lation, covering the whole of this wild region, it

LONG LAKE. 69
will drag on a miserable existence, composed, two-
thirds of it, by those who had rather hunt than
work. I do not mean to disparage this central
region of New York; but I would divest it of
the romance of dreamers, and the falsehoods of
land speculators. If settlers could have picked^
out their own farms at Long Lake, and clustered
around the lower extremity, they might have done
well; but these lands, which are tolerably fair,
speculators have retained, selling the poorer por
tions at a low price to tempt buyers. It is in
contemplation to drive a rail-road through this
entire region, reaching from Lake Champlain to
Bonville near Rome. This, though ruinous to the
stockholders, would be of great advantage to the
land, by bringing whatever it could produce near
market. I would like to see this desolate country
settled; but it never will be till the west is all
occupied. An overplus population will subdue it,
nothing else. Crowding may drive farmers here,
but no gentler means. Say what men will, it is
an awfully rough, cold, and forbidding country to
the farmer. The Swiss from the Alps, or the
Scotch from the Highlands, might pitch their

70 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
abodes here, and stay — necessity. alone will keep
the rest; and when this forest-covered territory
shall "support a million of people," the State of
New York will show a census equal to that of the
whole Union at present. As I have said, I would
not discourage a single man from doing his part
towards subduing this region; but I would that
every one should know precisely what he has to
expect. Still I should not have made these re
marks, had not some statements of mine been
contradicted, and I often been questioned as to
their truth. Many have wondered that I, did not
maintain what I asserted; but I chose .rather to
defer it till I again visited Long Lake. And
now, when I see no missionary here) no -church,
no meetings on the Sabbath, and no prayer-meet
ings — not even a school, and many of the best
men gone, and the wilderness no more encroached
on than before — I feel that my former conclusions
were sound, and my predictions true.
Notwithstanding the forbidding aspect things
present, I believe, as I have always said, that this
might be made a tolerable dairy country. It may
be too cold for sheep; but if not,. wool enough

LONG LAKE. 71
might be grown here to supply the world. It
needs enterprising settlers — men who go to build
their fortunes, not to save themselves from star
vation ; who take pride in cultivating society, and
have some ambition to establish schools and
churches. The truth is, this land should never
have gone out .of the hands of government into
those of speculators, who seek their own interests
entirely in the way they dispose of it. Had it
been left open for every man to choose a portion
from, the best would have been taken first, and
the poorer soil been gradually encroached upon
by the increase of population around flourishing
settlements. Now the worst is first occupied, be
cause first placed in the market at a reasonable
price, and it will not support the buyer. He who
comes into this region must expect to work hard
with little recompense, see a rough stony farm re
ject his labor, and make up by economy what he
lacks by acquirement.
Still, this is a glorious region to the hunter
after the picturesque and grand in nature. I know
nothing equal to it this side of the Alps. These
lofty mountains, folding their summits so calmly

72 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
and solemnly away against the sky — these beau
tiful lakes in their green inclosures sparkling in
the sun — these countless islands and winding
rivers make it a land bf beauty and sublimity, that
once seen is ever after remembered. Still, much
of its interest is owing to its very wildness. The
shores of these lakes look beautifur because a
mantle of foliage sweeps down to the very margin
of the waters ; biit where they are cultivated,
rocks and stones present a sterile aspect to the
beholder. Cut down the trees, and two-thirds of
all the beauty of this region would depart. There
would be no sloping shores, carrying the rich
meadow or waving grain to the water's edge, as
on the Cayuga and Skaneateles Lakes, but in their
place abrupt banks, covered with rocks that no
cultivation could cover.
But it is with singular feeling one fresh from
the city stands here and looks around on tKe in
terminable forests, and remembers that it is a
hard day's work to get out to civilized life, and yet
that his feet are on the soil of New York, and a
few roods of ground divide him from the waters
of the Hudson. It is no small job to get here,

LONG LAKE. 73
and to one not accustomed to the woods it is abso
lutely frightful. Several companies from New
York, after penetrating half-way into the forest,
have become alarmed and disheartened, and turned
back, and I am not surprised at it. A young man
with me, brought up in the country, but along
the Cayuga Lake, could not refrain from expres
sions almost of alarm. " How savage!" he would
say; " it is really horrible, day after day, and
nothing but woods.'' And how solemn it is to
move all day through a majestic colonnade of
trees, and feel that you are in a, boundless cathe
dral whose organ notes swell and die away with
the passing wind like some grand requiem. Still
more exciting is it to lie at midnight by your camp-
fire, and watch the moon sailing up amid the
trees, or listen to the cry of the loon, wild and
lonely, on the wild and lonely lake, or the hoot
of the owl in the deep recesses of the forest.

TROUT FISHING. 75

LETTER VII.
TROUT FISHING — MITCHELL.
Long Lake, July 10.
I SPOKE in my last of the farming capabilities
around Long Lake, and of the colony there, which
seem to be about on a par — neither being very
great or very enticing. My remarks, however,
did not refer to the land beyond Long Lake on
the farther slopes as they stretch to the Black
River country. This region I have but slightly
visited, and am told it is more level and fertile
than that portion I have been describing. Pro
fessor F. Benedict, of Vermont University, has
gone over this entire section of the State, and he
tells me the land is very different around Raquet
Lake, and so on West. His knowledge of the
country is extensive, and he has made the most
correct surveys of its great chain of lakes ever

76 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
executed — better even than that contained in the
geological report of the State.
But my mind was soon off the land and on the
scenery. I did not come here to speculate in
town lots, to found a colony, or subserve the in
terests of landowners. Being after health, I
sought the fatiguing tramp and coarse fare of the
woods. It was a hot day as we emerged from
the woods on to the shore of Long Lake, and the
sun came down with such scorching power that I
marked Friday, July 10th, in my calendar, to
see if the temperature was correspondingly high
in New York and the settlements. Well, this
burning day I rode in a lumber wagon through
the woods over roots and rocks seven miles, walk
ed seven miles, and rowed a boat eleven miles — a
good day's work for an invalid fresh from the
doctor's hands. Along the road you would see
trees at certain intervals, marked H, which, after
vainly attempting to account for, I finally inquired
the reason of. " Oh, it means Highway," was the
reply. This rather comical way, however, of in
forming one he was on the highway, is not, after
all, or rather was not, without its use. When the

TROUT FISHING. 77
first rude path was cut, a man would not have
deemed himself on a public road if he had not
been told of it in some way. As we passed along,
we would come upon fires built over a huge rock
in the middle of the track, compelling us to take
a semicircle in the woods. On inquiring the cause
of this to me singular procedure, I was told that
men were working on the road, and in the absence
of drills, took this method of breaking the rocks
to pieces. Being sandstone, the fire slowly crum
bled them apart, so that the crowbar or handspike
could remove them. I thought of Hannibal, and
his fire and vinegar on the rocks of the San Ber
nard pass, and men seemed going back to their
primitive state. Instead of cutting down the trees
that stood in the way, they hewed off the roots,
and then hitching a rope to the tops, pulled them
over with oxen. And thus they work and toil
away here in the depths of the forest, all heedless
of the great world without. How strange it seems,
to behold men thus occupied, living contentedly,
fifty miles from a post-office or village, and hear
their inquiries about the war with Mexico, asking
of events that had been quite forgotten in New
7*

78 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
York! They have their ambition, but its ©bject
is a few acres of well-cultivated land, or the repu,-
tation of a good hunter; and they have their
troubles, but they are born and, die in the bosom
of the forest. Men toiling for a bare subsistence,
for the coarsest fare, poorest dwellings, and mea
gre comforts of civilized life, always set me musing,
and this veiled life of ours grows still more myste
rious, and man, god-like, immortal man, strangely
like a mere animal.
But on the broad lake, before a brisk breeze,
and bending to my oars, these thoughts soon left
me. The tiny waves rocked our cockle-shell of a
boat like a plaything amid the bubbles, while a
bush I had erected in the centre made it fairly
foam through the water as the swift blast came
down through the mountain gorges. Far away
to the southwest, the golden sky shone glorious,
and over its illuminated depths the fragmentary
clouds went trooping as if joyous with life, while
to the northwest, towards which our frail craft
was driving, the heavens were black as midnight,
and the retiring storm-cloud looked dark and
fierce as wrath, retreating, though still uncon-

MITCHELL. 79
quered. The sun was hastening to the ridge"' bf
the sky-seeking mountains, and his departing
beams threw in still deeper contrast the under
side of the clouds. But still the waves kept danc
ing in the light, as if determined not to be
frowned out of their frolic, and it was with no
little pleasure I watched the awful-looking mass
that covered the northern heavens yield to the
glorious, balmy, yet swift careering breeze that
came sweeping the heart of the lake. I was
after Mitchell, th 5 Indian, whom I had formerly
taken with me, and who, I was told, was on a
fishing excursion, with his father and sister and
some others, in Cold River. At length, just as
we were glancing away from tbe head of a beau
tiful island, I saw a boat coming towards us im
pelled against the wind by the steady strokes of
a powerful rower. As it shot near, I beheld the
swarthy and benevolent face of Mitchell. He
lay on his oars scarcely a minute to hear my
salutation, and my proposition, when he pointed
to a deep bay a mile distant, around which
stretched a white line of sand, and again bent to
his oars. I followed after, for I knew there was

80 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
his camp, and soon after our boats grated on the
smooth beach, and we were sitting beside a bark
shanty and discussing our future plans. But
^hose few barks piled against some polos were not
er.ough to cover us, and soon every one was at
work peeling spruce trees or picking hemlock
boughs f;r our couch. The cloudless sun went
proudly, nay to me triumphjntly, to his royal
couch amid the mountain summits, and as twilight
it deepened over the wild landscape, our camp-fire
shot its cheerful flame heavenward, and we lay
scattered around amid the trees in delightful
indolence. Already my system began to rally in
thj presence of nature, and though a miser
able invalid, with the bronchitis to boot, I felt
that I could lay my head beneath the forest
and sleep without a fear.
Mitchell had caught some trout — right noble
ones — and those, with the contents of our knap
sacks, promised us a noble supper. The trout
were rolled in Indian meal, and fried in a little
pan we had with us, except a few that were spit
ted on long sticks, that, with one end stuck in the
ground, with the other held their tempting bur-

MITCHELL. 81
dens above the smoke and flame. I split off a
new fresh chip for a plate on which I spread my
delicious trout, with a piece of hot johnny-cake
by his side, and, placing my back against a
stump, held him with one hand, while my good
hunting-knife peeled off his salmon-colored sides
in most tempting, delicious morsels. I ate with
an appetite and keen relish I had been a stranger
to for months, and then asked Mitchell if we could
not get a deer before going to bed. He said yes,
if the wind went down so that we could float
them. This floating deer I will describe in an
other place, for there, was no stirring out to-night.
The wrathful little swells came rushing furiously
against the unoffending beach, and the tall tree-
tops swayed to and fro and sighed in the blast,
and our roughly-fanned fire threw its sparks in
swift eddies heavenward, and all was wild, so
lemn, and almost fearful. No boat must leave the
beach to-night, and so, carefully loading our rifles
and setting them up against the trees, we began
to prepare for our night's repose. Some with
their heads under the bark shanty, their feet to
the fire, iPthers in the open forest, with their heads

82 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
across a stick of wood, lay stretched their full
lengths upon the earth. I lay down for awhile,
but the wind that had increased at the going down
of the sun now blew furiously, and crash went a
tree in the forest, sounding for all the world like
the dull report of distant cannon. I could not
sleep, and so, rising from my couch of boughs, I
went out and sat down on the ground, and Inoked
and listened. The steady roar of the waves on
the beach below mingled with the rush of the
blast above, while the tall trees rocked and swung
on every side, and flung out their long arms into
the night, their leafy tresses streaming before
them, a'hd groaned on their ancient foundations
with a deep and steady sound that filled my heart
with emotions at once solemn and fearful. Sopae-
times I thought one of those gigantic forms must
fall in the struggle and crush some of our com
pany into the earth, and then again my soul
would bow to the lordly music till that great
primeval forest seemed one vast harp, their
trunks and branches the mighty wires, and that
strong blast, the fierce -and fearless hand that
swept them,. Nqw faint and far in the distance

MITCHELL. 83
I could catch the coming anthem, till swelling
fuller and clearer in its rapid march, it at length
went over me with a roar that was deafening,
then died away, like a retiring wave, on the far
tree tops. Sometimes my awakened imagination
would compare the sound to a troop of horse
whose steady tramp, at first low and indistinct,
soon shook the earth with its tread, then sud
denly and fiercely sweeping by, gradually lost
itself in the distance. The steeds of the air were
out, and their successive squadrons, as they went
trampling over the bending tree tops, made the
forest tremble. God seemed near, there in the
solitude and night, and his voice seemed speaking
to me. How calm the sleepers around me lay in
the firelight, reposing as quietly amid this wild
uproar as if naught but the dews were gently
distilling, and yet how helpless they seemed in
their slumbers ! God alone was their keeper,
and I never felt more deeply the protection of
that parental hand than here at midnight.
The moon at length arose on the darkness,
and the wind lulled gradually into silence. I
threw myself on the ground, and Watched the

84 . LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
bright orb as it slowly mounted the heavens, till
finally weariness prevailed, and I slept. The
crack of a rifle startled me from my repose before
an hour had passed by, and I sprang to my feet.
That was a rude waking to one not accustomed
to a hunter's life, but nothing but a poor rabbit
had suffered. One of the young men had shot
him as he was stealing around the camp fire, at
tracted by the food we had left scattered about.
The welcome morning at length came, and a
little after daylight we were afloat, steering for
Cold River, in order to take some trout for
breakfast.

TROUTING. 85

LETTER VIII.
TROUTING— A DUCK PROTECTING HER YOUNG BY
STRATAGEM — SABBATH IN THE FOREST.
The morning broke clear and beautiful over
our encampment, and two boats of us started for
Cold River to take some trout for breakfast. The
Indian and myself went ahead, hoping to surprise
some deer feeding in the marshes, but were dis
appointed. Reaching the foot of the lake, we
shot noiselessly down the Rackett River, till we
came to a huge rock that rose out of the bed of
the stream, when we turned off and began to
ascend Cold River. This latter stream, for some
distance, sends a noiseless current over a smooth
and pebbly bed, while the water is almost as clear
as the air above you. Everything on the bottom
is as visible as if it were on the shores ; and when
the sun is up, it is impossible to take a trout,
8

86 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
though the stream is full of them. When we
reached it, the surface was covered with foam
bubbles, made by the constant springing of the
trout after flies. They had absolutely churned it
up, and for a while our hooks brought them to
the surface fast ; but we were too late. The sun,
rising over the forest, shed such a flood of light
on the water, and indeed through it, to the very
bottom, that scarcely a fish could be coaxed from
his hiding-place. Our boats and ourselves threw
strong shadows on the water, sufficient to frighten
less wary fish than trout. We, however, took
enough for breakfast, and started for home. By
the way, is it not a little singular that fish should
eat their own flesh? The first one we caught
served as bait for the others.
As we were returning, Mitchell left the main
stream and entered a narrow and shallow channel,
that, by making a circuitous route, reached the
lake close beside the river. Passing silently along,
we ronsed up a brood of ducks among the reeds.
The mother first took the alarm, and, seeing at a
glance that she could not escape with her young,
left them and fluttered out directly ahead of our

A DUCK PROTECTING HER YOUNG. 87
boat. She then began to make a terrible ado,
striking her wings on the water, and screaming,
and darting backwards and forwards, as if dread
fully wounded and could be easily picked up with
a little effort. I instinctively raised my rifle to mj
shoulder; then, thinking the shot might frighten
the deer we were after, I turned to Mitchell and
inquired if I should fire. " I guess I wouldn't,"
he replied; "she has young ones." My gun
dropped in a moment. I stood rebuked, not only
by my own feelings, but by the Indian with me.
I was shocked that this hunter, who had lived for
80 many years oa the spoils of the forest, should
teach me tenderness of feeling. That mother's
voice found an echo in his heart, and he would
not harm one feather of her plumage; nor could
the bribe be named that would then have induced
me to strike the anxious, affectionate creature.
As I watched her thus sacrificing herself to save
her young, provoking the death-shot in order to
draw attention from them, I wondered how I could
for a single moment have wished to destroy her.
I leaned over the boat and watched her move
ments for nearly half a mile. She would keep

88 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
just ahead of us, sailing backwards and forwards,
now striking her wings on the water, as if strug
gling with all her strength to fly, yet unable to
rise, and now screaming out as if distressed to
death at her perilous position, yet cunningly mov
ing off in the mean time, so as to allure us after
in order to increase the distance between us and
her offspring. While we were near the nest, she
swam almost under our bows; but, as we con
tinued to advance, she grew more timorous, as if
beginning to think a little more of herself. I
could not blame her for this, for she had hitherto
kept within reach of certain death if I had chosen
to fire. But it was curious to see in what exact
prpportion her care for herself increased . as the
danger to her offspring lessened. She would rise
and fly some distance, then alight in the water,
and wait our approach. If she sailed out of sight
a moment, she would wheel and look back, and
even swim back, till she saw us following after,
when she would move off again. The foolish thing
really, believed she was outwitting us, and, I have
no doubt, had many self-complacent reflections on
the ease with which ducks eould humbug human

A DUCK PROTECTING HER YOUNG. 89
beings. After we had proceeded in this way
about half a mile, she rose from the water, and,
striking the Rackett River, sped back by a cir
cular sweep to her young. As her form disap
peared round a bend of the stream, I could not
help murmuring, "Heaven speed thee, anxious
mother!" Ah, what a clftttering there was amid
the reeds when her shadow darkened over the
hiding-place, and she folded her wings amid her
offspring, and listened with matronly dignity to
the story each one had to tell!
All this, however, was speedily forgotten as we
emerged on the lake, whose bosom was sw^pt by
a strong wind, against which we were compeUed
to force our tiny skiffs as we pulled for our camp.
It was now nine o'clock, and I never wiaited with
so much impatience for a meal as I did for the
johnny-cake that was slowly roasting amid the
ashes. We had but one pan, and until the cake
was done we could not cook our trout, and so,
stretched under the shadow of a huge stump, with
my chip-plate in my hand, I lay and watched the
crackling flames with all the philosophy I could
muster. At length e^rything was ready, and
8*

90 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
with a piece of johnny-cake on a chip, and a trout
on top of that, I slashed away with an appetite an
epicure would give a small fortune to possess.
After breakfast, we had no dishes or forks to
clean, but, throwing them both away, wiped our
knives on a chip', and in a moment were ready for
a start. It was SaturdSy, and the heavens, which
had been so clear the night before, now began to
gather blackness, and the burdened wind moaned
through the forest, or went sobbing over the lake,
that was every moment fretting itself into greater
excitement, and everything betokened a gloomy
and tempestuous day. We were fourteen miles
from a human habitation, and I expected that day
to have gone thirty miles further into the forest
and spent the Sabbath ; but the storm that was
approaching made the shelter of a log-cabin seem
too inviting) and I changed my mind. To row
fourteen miles against a head wind and sea was
no child's play, and for one I resolved not to do
it. So, making a bargain with Mitchell, the In
dian, I wrapped my oil-skin cape about me, and
laying my rifle across my lap, ensconced myself
in the stern oFthe boat, and made up my mind to

SABBATH IN THB FOREST. 91
a drencher. The black clouds came rushing over
the huge black mountains, and the rain began to
fall in torrents. Now hugging the shore to escape
the blast, and now sailing under the lee of an
island, we crawled along until at length, late in
the afternoon, we found ourselves comfortably
housed. The log hut of Mitchell, in which I spent the
Sabbath, was in the centre of two or three acres
of cleared land ; all the rest was forest. ^ During
the day, I was struck with the sense of propriety
and delicacy of feeling shown by him. Sunday
must have been a weary day to him ; yet he en
gaged in no sports, performed no work, that I
saw, inappropriate to it. In the afternoon, how
ever, he took down his violin, and for a moment I
felt pained, expecting such music as would dis
tress one to hear on the Sabbath. He, however,
refrained from all those tunes I knew he preferred,
and played only sacred hymns, most of them Me
thodist ones. I could not imagine where he had
learned them ; but this silent respect to my feel
ings made me love him at once, and, as I hummed

92 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
them over with him, I conceived a respect for him
I shall never lose.
The day went out in storms, and, as I lay down
that night on my rough couch, I could hardly be
lieve I was in the same State of which New York
was the capital, whose hundred spires pierced the
heavens. I have been thus particular, and mean to be in
future, because in no other way can "you get a
correct idea of the daily life one is compelled to
lead who would penetrate these untrodden wilds
of the Empire State. It is nonsense to talk of
dignity and the impropriety of a man's carrying
a rifle and fishing tackle, and spending his time
in shooting deer and catching trout. Such folly
is becoming to him only who sits on the piazza of
a hotel at Saratoga Springs at the expense of
twelve dollars a week for his health. I love na
ture and all things as God has made them. I
love the freedom of the wilderness and the absence
of conventional forms there. I love the long
stretch through the forest on foot, and the thrill
ing, glorious prospect from some hoary mountain
top. I feel my soul lift amid such scenes, and

SABBATH IN THE FOREST. 93
throw off the chain that has been rusting around
- it, and I think better of man and worse of his
mad chase after straws and baubles. I love it,
and I know it is better for me than the thronged
city, and better for my wasted health and ex
hausted frame than " all the poppies and madri-
goras of the world."

LONG LAKE COLONY. 95

LETTER IX.
LONG LAKE COLONY — A LOON — CROTCHET LAKE.
Taking Mitchell with me, we embarked on
Monday in his birch bark canoe for Crotchet and
Rackett Lakes. Paddling leisurely up Long Lake,
I was struck with the desolate appearance of the
settlement. Scarcely an improvement had been
made since I was last here, while some clearings
had been left to go back to their original wildness.
Disappointed purchasers, lured by extravagant
statements, had given np in despondency, and left;
and I was forcibly reminded, as I passed along, of
a remark Dr. Todd made me last summer. Speak
ing of his Long Lake Colony, I mentioned that
its prospects were rather gloomy. " Yes," said he ;
"the best people are all going away; in a short
time, there will be nobody left but hunters. It

96 LETTERS PROM THE BACKWOODS.
won't be settledfor a century." It must have been
with extreme regret he was forced to come iig, this
conclusion, after having taken so much interest in
it, and appealed so much tp the sympathy of the
public, and obtained so much mpney enly tp be
thrpwn away. " It won't be settled fpr a cen
tury !" Time encugh yet, then, to arouse attention
to this section of our country. I have no doubt his
latter conclusions are more just an,d sound th3,n
his former ones, though I think them somewhat
erroneous. I believe this wilderness will be en
croached upon in less time than that. Perhaps
!¦ .^ • ¦ ¦ ¦ Ti
sixty or seventy years will be sufficient to give us
so crowded a population as tp force settlements
into this desolate interior of the State. Still I
agree with him that the prospects are gloomy.
The church, too, has gone down; not a solitary
conversion from all the labor expended here. Still,
this was to be expected. A church formed of such
materials ought to go to pieces. Eyen the last
remaining member, certainly not the most enlight
ened or circumspect Christian I have ever met,
told me that it was no more than he expected — ,

A LOON. 97
that no one there supposed the men would " hold
ont." But our light canoe soon left the last clearing;
and curving round the shore, we shot into the
Rackett or Racquette River, and entered the bo
som of ithe forest. As we left, the lake, I saw a
;loon some distance up the inlet, evidently anxions
to get out once more into ppen water. These birds
(about the. size of a.goose), you know, cannot rise
from the water except by a long effort and against
a strong damp wind, and depend for safety on
diving and swimming under water. At the ap
proach of danger, they go under like a duck,, and
when yon, next see theni, they are perhaps sixty
rods distant, and beyond th% reach of ypur bullet.
If cornered in a small body of water, they will
sit and watch your motions with a keenness and
certainty that are wonderful, and dodge the flash
of a percussion Ippk gun all day long. The mo
ment they see the blaze from the muzzle they dive,
and the huUet, if well aimed, will strike the water
exactly where they sat. I have shot at them again
uand again,, with a dead: rest, and those watching
ifcWQuld see the ball jach, time. strike directly in the
9

98 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
hollow made by the wake of the water above the
creature's back. There is no killing them except
by firing at them ^hen they are not expecting it,
and then their neck and head are the only vulner
able points. They sit so deep in the water, and
the quills on their backs are so hard and compact
that a ball seems to make no impression on them.
At least, I have never seen one killed by being
shot through the body. Such are the means of
self-preservation possessed by 'this curious bird,
whose wild and shrill and lonely cry on the water
at midnight is one of the most melancholy sounds
I ever heard in the forest.
This loon, of which I was jiist now speaking, I
wished very much to kill, in order to 6arry his
skin to N?w York with me, and so, after firing
at him in vain, I asked Mitchell if we could not,
both of us together, manage to take him. He
told me to land him where the channel was nar
row that entered Long Lake, and paddle along
towards where the loon was, and drive him out.
As I approached him, he dived, and, knowing .that
he would make straight for the lake, I watched
the whole line of his progress with the utmost

A LOON. 99
care; but, though my range took in ijearly the
third of a mile, I never saw him again. After a
while, I heard the, crack of a rifle around the
bend of the shore, and hastening there, I found
Mitchell loading his gun. He said the loon just
raised his head above water, opposite where he
stood, but he missed him, and the frightened bird
did not appear again till it rose far out in the
lake. I mention this circumstance merely to show
the habits of this, to me, most singular bird of our
northern waters. I forgot to say that, although
it cannot rise from the water except with great
difficulty, and never attempts Jo escape danger
neither can it walk on the shore. Diving is
about the only gift it possesses, which it uses, I
must say, with great ability and success.
Paddling up Racket River, we at length came
to Buttermilk Falls, around which we were com
pelled to carry our canoes. So in another place
we were compelled to carry them two miles,
around rapids, through the wopds. Nothing can
be more comical and out of the way than a party
thus passing through the forest. First, a yoke

100 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
is placed across the guide's neck, on which the
boat is placed bottom side up, covering the poor
fellow down to the shoulders, and stiicking out
foi'e and aft over the biped below ih ^ch a way
as to make him appear half-human, half-supef-
natural, or rather MW-natural. But it was no
joke to me to carry my part of the freight. Two
rifles, one overcoat, one tea-pot, one 'lantern, one
basin, and a piece of pork, were my portion.
Sometimes I had a change, namely, two oars and
a paddle, balanced by a tin pail, in place of a
rifle. Thus equipped, I would press on for a
while, and then stop to see the procession — each
poor fellow staggering under the Weight he bore,
while in the long intervals appeared the two in
verted beats, walking thrpugh the woods on two
human legs in the most surprising manner imagi
nable. Though tired and fagged out, I could
not refrain from frequent outbursts of laughter
that made the forest ring again. But there was
no other way of getting along, and each one had
to become a beast of burden. It was a relief to
launch again; and when at last we struck the
river just after it leaves Crotchet Lake, and

CROTCHET LAKE. 101
gazed on the beautiful sheet of water that was
rolling and sparkling in the sunlight ahead, an
involuntary shout burst from the party. A flock
of wild ducks, scared at the sound, made the
water foam as they rose at our feet and sped
away. Stemming the rapid waters with our light
prows, we were soon afloat on the bosom of the
lake. The wind was blowing directly in our
teeth, making the miniature waves leap and
danc^ around us as if welcoming us to their
home. A white gull rose from a rock at our side
— a fish-hawk screamed around her huge nest on
a lofty pine-tree on the shore, as she wheeled
and circled above her offspring — a raven croaked
overhead — the cry of loons arose in the distance
— and all was wild yet beautiful. The sun was
stooping to his glorious bed amid the purple
mountains, whose sea of summits was calmly
sleeping against the golden heavens — the cool
breeze stirred a world of foliage on our right —
green islands, beautiful as Elysian fields, rose
out of the water as we advanced — the sparkling
waves rolled merrily under as bright a sky as
ever bent over the earth — and for a moment I
9*

102 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
seemed to have been transported into a new
world. I never was more struck by a scene in
my life. Its utter wildness, spread out there
where the axe of civilization has never struck a
blow — -the evening — the sunset — the deep purple
of the mountains — the silence and solitude of the
shbres, and the cry of birds in the distance, com
bined to r:n er it one of enchantment to me.
My feelings were more excited, perhaps, by the
consciousness that we were without any definite
object before us — no place of rest, but sailing
along looking out for some good, point of land on
which to pitch our camp.
Mitchell made no replies to our inquiries, but
kept paddling along among the lily pads until he
made for a point near the Rackett River, an^
mooring our boats to the shore, began to prepare
for the night.

SHOOTING A DEER. 103

LETTER X.
SHOOTING A DEER — SUPPER IN THB WOODS —
MODEBN SENTIMENTALISTS — THE INFLUENCE OF
NATURE. After we had pitched (not our tent, but) our
sharfty, we began to cast about for supper. I
told Mitchell I copld not think of eating a piece
of salt pork for supper, and we must get gome
tKout. So, rigging our lines on poles we cut on
the shores of the lake, and taking our riflis with
us, we jumped into our bark canoe, and pushed
for some rapids in the Rackett River, where it
entered Crotchett Lake. As we were paddling
carefully along the edge of a marsh that put out
into the water, Mitchell, who was at the stern,
suddenly exclaimed, " Hist ! I see the head of
a deer coming down to feed." I sometimes

104 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
thought he could smell a deer, for he would often
say he saw one before both its ears had fairly
emerged from the bushes. " Shoot him," said he
to me. " I can't," I replied ; " I am too tired :
shoot him yourself." So, stooping my head to
let the ball pass over me, I watched him as he
took aim; and it was a sight worth seeing. The
careless, indolent manner so natural to him had
disappeared as if by magic, and he stood up in
the stern of the boat as straight as his own rifle,
while his dark eye glanced like an eagle's.
Every nerve in him seemed to have been sud
denly touched by an electric • spark, and as he
now stooped to elude the watchfulness of the
deer, and now again stood erect with his rifle
to his shoulder, he was one of the most pictur
esque- objects I ever saw. The timorous animal
was feeding on the marsh, and ever and anon
lifted her head as if she scented danger in the
air. Then Mitchell's would drop like a flash,
and gently lift again as the deer returned to her
feed. She was about twenty rods off, and now
stood fairly exposed amid the grass. It was a
long shot for arm's length, and a tottlish

SHOOTING A DEER. 105
boat to stand in, but he resolved to try it.
Slowly bringing his rifle to his face, he stood' for
a moment as motionless as a pillar of marble,
while his gun seemed suddenly to have frozen in
its place, so still and study did it lie in his
bronze hand. A flash — a quick sharp report,
and the noble deer bounded several feet into the
air, then wheeled and sprang into Hke forest.
He had shot directly over my head, and the mad'
bound of the aninial told too weli that the unerr
ing bullet had struck near the life. Rowing
hastily to the spot, we could find no traces of the
deer; but Mitchell, with his eye bent on the
ground, paced backward and forward without-
saying a word. At length he stopped, and, peer
ing down amid the long grass, said, " Here is
blood.'' How he discovered it is a perfect
mystery to me, for the grass was a foot long and
very thick, while the blood spot was but a drop
which had fallen on the roots of a single blade.
I never should have noticed it, and if I had,
should have considered it a mere discoloration of
the leaf, fac-similes of which occurred at every
step. The keen hawk eye of the Indian hunter.

106 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
however, could not be deceived, and he simply
remarked, " He is hit deep or he would have bled
freer," and struck on the trail. But this baffled
even the Indian, for the marsh was covered "with
deer tracks,,, and the bushes into which the
wounded one had sprung were a perfect matting
of laurels and low shrubs. There was no more
blood to be found, and we were perfectly at fault
in our search. At length, tired and disappointed,
I returned to the boat and stood waiting the re
turn of Mitchell, when the sharp crack of his
rifle again rang through ^the forest, followed soon
after by a shrill whistle. I knew then that a deer
had fallen, and hastened to the spot. There lay
the beautiful creature stretched on the moss,
with the life-blood welling from her throat, and
over the body, watching, stood Mitchell leaning
on his rifle. Unable to find the trail, he had
made a shrewd guess as to the course the animal
had taken, and, making a circuit, finally came
upon her, lain down to die. At his approach,
she sprang to.her feet, ran a few rods, fell again
exhausted,^ when the deadly aim of Mitchell

SUPPER IN THE WOODS. 107
planted a bullet directly back of her ear, and her
career was ended.
Satisfied with our game, we gave np our fishing,
and, dragging the body to the boat, put back to
our cainp. The rest of our company stood on
the shore waiting our return. They had heard
the shots, and were expecting the spoils. Some,
no doubt, will think'thls very cruel, and congratu
late themselves on their kinder natures. I have
seen such people, and heard them expend whole
sentences of sentimentality upon the hardheart-
edness that could take the life of such an innocent
creature, who very coolly wrung the necks of
chickens every night for their breakfast, and de
voured with great gusto the shoulder of a lamb
for dinner. They slay without remorse the most
harmless, trusting creatures that haunt their mea
dows, or sport upon their lawns, and take food
from their hands, and yet are shocked at the idea
of killing a deer or shooting a wild pigeon. They
kill God's creatures, not from necessity,- but to
gratify their palates and minister to their luxuri
ous tastes. But if any one supposes we shot this
noble dee fpr sport, he must have a very vague

108 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
idea of the toils, we had endured that day, or of
onr keen appetites. A man of great sentimentality
might eat boiled eggs and toast with his coffee for
breakfast, rather than sanction the death of an
animal by. partaking of flesh. I say he might diO
it, though I have never seen an instance of such
great self-denial; but J doubt whether, if he were
a day's journey from a human habitation, hungry
and tired, with the prospect of nothing but a piece
of salt (jjork, toasted on the end of a stick for
supper and breakfast, he would hesitate to eat a
venison steak. -But. I like to have forgotten. The
pork, too, was the flesh of an animal, tand it would
be difficult, to convince a hog that he had not as
good a right to. life as a deer. At all events, we
enjoyed the venison, though perhaps the senti
mentalist might gay we were punished in the end,
ifor it made us all outrageously sick. We either
.Rcooked it too soon (for in twenty minutes from
the time the deer fell, a part of .her was roasting) ;
or we ate it too rare (for we were too hungry to
wait till it was perfectly.done) ; or we ate too
much (for we were hungry as famished wolves);

MODERN SENTIMENTALISTS. 109
or probably did all three 'things together, which
quite upset me.
But after the things («. e. the chips) were
cleared away, I stretched myself on the ground
under a tree whose dark trunk shone in the light
of the cheerful fire, and began to muse on the
day that had passed. How is it that a scene of
quiet beauty makes so much deeper an impression
» than a startling one ? The glorious sunset I had
witnessed on that sweet Jake — the curving and
forest-mantled shores — the green islands — the
mellow mountains, all combined to make a scene
of surpassing loveliness ; and now, as I lay and
watched the stars coming out one after another,
and twinkling down on me through the tree tops,
all that beauty came back on me with strange
power. The gloomy gorge and savage precipice,
or the sudden storm, seem to excite the surface
only of one's feelings, while the sweet vale, with
its cottages and herds and evening bells, blends
itself with our very thoughts and emotions, form
ing a part of our after existence. Such a scene
sinks away into the heart like a gentle rain into
the earth, while a rougher, nay, sublimer one,
10

110 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
comes and goes like a%udden shower. I do not
know how it is that the gentler influence should
be the deeper and more lasting, but sd it is. The
still small voice of nature is more impressive than
her loudest thunder. Of all the scenery in the
Alps, and there is no grander on the earth,
nothing is so plainly daguerreotyped on my heart
as two 0^: three lovely valleys I saw. Those
heaven-piercing summits, and precipices of ice,*
and awfully savage gorges, and fearful passes,
are like a grand but indistinct vision on my
memory ; while those v§iles, with their carpets of
green sward, and gentle rivulets, and perfect
repose, have become a part of my life. In
moments of high excitement or turbulent grief,
they rise before me with their gentle aspect- and
quiet beauty, hushing the storm into repose, and
subduing the spirit like a sensible presence. Oh,
how I love nature ! She has ten thousand voices
even in her silence, and in all her changes goes
only from beauty to beauty. And when she
speaks aloud, and the music of running waters —
the organ note of the wind amid the pine-tree
tops — the rippling of waves — the song of birds,

THE INFLUENCE OP NATURE. Ill
and tfie hum of insects, fall on the ear, soul and
sense are ravished. How is it that even good
men have come to think so little of nature, as if
to love her and seek her haunts and companion
ship were a waste of time? I have been as
tonished at the remarks sometimes made to me
on my long jaunts In the woods, as if it were
almost wicked to cast off the gravity of one's
'profession, and wander like a child amid the
beauty which God has spread out with such a
lavish hand over the earth. Why, I should as
soon think of feeling reproved for gazing on the
midnight heavens gorgeous with stars, and fear
ful with its mysterious floating worlds. I believe
that every man degenerates without frequent
communion with nature. It is one of the open
books of God, and more replete with instruction
than anything ever penned by man. A single
¦tree standing alone, and waving all day long its
green crown in the summer wind, is to me fuller
of meaning and instruction than the crowded
mart or gorgeously-built city.
But Mitchell has arisen from his couch of
leaves, where he has been reclining silent and

112 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
thoughtful as his face, and is looking up to the
sky and out upon the lake, and I kno-w some
thing is afoot.

FLOATING DEER. 113

LETTER XI.
FLOATING DEER — A NIGHT EXCURSION — MORNING
IN THB WOODS.
As I said in my last, Mitchell looked up to the
sky and out upon the lake a moment, and then,
in that quiet way so characteristic of his race,
said, " If you want to go after a deer, it is time
we started." It took but five minutes to load my
rifle, put on my overcoat, and announce myself
ready. Lifting our bark canoe softly from the
rocks, we launched it on the still water, and, step
ping carefully in, pushed off. Previously, how
ever, Mitchell requested me to try one of my
matches, to see if the damp had effected them.
You know that deer-floating amid backwoods
men is very like deer-stalking in Scotland. In
the warm summer months, especially in June, the
10*

114 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
deer come down from the mountains at nigh^ to
feed on the'marshes that line the shores of the
lakes and rivers. While they are thus feeding, If
you pass along without making a noise, you can
hear them as they step about in the edge of the
water, or snort as they scent approaching danger.
The moment you become aware of the proximity
of one, strike a light and fix it firmly in the bow
* of your boat, or in a lantern on your head, and
advance cautiously. The deer, attracted by the
flame, stops and gazes intently upon it. If he
hears no sound, he will not stir till you advance
close to him. At first, you catch only the sight
of his two eyes, burning like fireballs in the gloom ;
but as you approach nearer, the light is thrown
on his red flanks, and he stands revealed in all his
beautiful proportions before you. The candle
serves, at the same time, to distinguish the ani
mal, and give you a clear view of the sights along
your gun-barrel ; and he must be a poor shot who
misses at five rods distance. The night must be
dark and still, and no moon rise over the water.
This night, the only spot good for deer had
been so trampled over by us, before dark, that

FLOATING DEER. 115
thejf would not come out upon it, and we floated
on for a long time without hearing anything. I
never before saw such an exhibition of the stealthy
movements of an Indian. The lake was as still
and smooth -as a polished mirror, and our frail
canoe-floated over it as if impelled by an invisible
hand. I knelt at the bow with my rifle before
me, while Mitchell sat In the stern as still as a
statue, yet urging the boat on by some strange
movement of the paddle, which I tried in vain to
comprehend. He did not even make a ripple on
thp water, and I could tell we were moving only
by marking the shadow of trees we crossed, or the
stars we passed over. Though straining every
nerve to catch a sound, I never once heard. the
stroke of his paddle. It was the most mysterious
ride I ever took. We entered the mouth of a
river whose shores were dark with the sombre fir-
trees, while ever and anon would come more clearly
on the ear the roar of a distant waterfall. It was
so dark I could make out nothing distinctly on
shore ; and the island-like tufts that here and
there rose from the water, the little bays' and
rocky points we passed, asBumed the most gro-

116 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
tesque shapes to my fancy, till I had all the feel
ings of one suddenly transported to a fairy land.
Now the silent boat would cross the shadow of a
lofty pinp-tree that lay dark and calm in the
water below, and now sail over a bright constella
tion that sparkled in our path ; while the scream
of a far-off loon came ringing like a spirit's cry
through the gloom. Oh, how bright lay the sky,
with Its sapphire floor beneath us I .and how black
was the fringe of shadow that encroached on its
beauty, and yet added to it by contrast ! The
silent night around me, the strangeness of the
place, and the far removal from human habita
tions, were enough in themselves; but the dim,
impalpable objects on shore, just distinct enough
to confuse the senses, added tenfold mystery to
the scene. I seemed moving through a boundless
world of shadows, with nothing clear and natural
but the bright constellations below me.
Thus we passed on for a mile, without a whis
per or sign having passed between us. At length
the canoe entered what seemed at first a deep bay,
but soon changed to the mouth of a gloomy ca
vern. I leaned forward, striving in vain to make

A NIGHT EXCURSION. 117
out the misshapen objects before me ; but the more
I looked, the more confused I grew, while, to add
to my bewilderment, suddenly the dim outlines I
was struggling to make out began to vanish, as if
melting away in the darkness. At first, I thought
the whole had been a structure of mist, and was
dissolving in my sight ; but, casting my eyes
beneath me, I saw we were receding over the stars.
Then I understood it all. Mitchell, without
making a sound,- had drawn the boat slowly back-
'W'ards, causing the objects before me to fade thus
strangely from my sight. He knew the ground
perfectly well, and could enter every bay and in
let as accurately as in broad daylight.
Pursuing our way up the channel, I was at
length startled by a low "hist!" The next mo
ment I heard the tread of a deer on the shore,
and the light canoe darted through the water till
I could hear the low ripple of the water around
the bow. "Light up !" said Mitchell, in a whis
per. As quietly as possible, I kindled a match,
and lighting a candle, put it in a lantern made to
fit the head like a hat, and clapping it In the
place of my cap, cocked my rifle and leaned for-

118 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
ward. The bright flame flared out upon the sur
rounding gloom, and all was hush as death. But
as we advanced towards where the deer was stand
ing, the boat suddenly struck the dry limbs of a
spruce-tree, that had> fallen in the water. Snap, -
snap went the brittle twigs, one of them piercing
our bark canoe. We backed out of the dilemma
as quick as possible ; but the sound had alarmed
:,, the deer, and I could hear his long bounds as he
. cleared the bank and made off into the forest.
, After cruising about a little while longer, we
put back and crossed the lake to a deep bay on
the farther side. But the moon now began, to
show her silver disk over the fir-trees, and our
¦^last remaining chance was to find a deer in the
bay before the silver orb should climb the lofty
pines that folded it In. But in this, too, we were
disappointed ; and, the unclouded light now flood
ing lake and forest, we turned wearily towards
our camp-fire, that was blazing cheerfully amid«
the trees on the farther shore. Just then a merry
laugh came floating over the water from oiir com
panions there, breaking the silence which had en
chained us, and for the first time we spoke. ,My

A NIGHT EXCURSION. 119
limbs were almost paralyzed, from having been
kept so long in one position, and I was sick and
weary. Still I would not have missed that mys
terious boat ride, and the strai^ge sensations it
had awakened, to have been saved from thrice the
inconvenience it had occasioned me. It was one
of those new things in this stereotyped life of ours,
imparting new experiences, and giving one, as it
were, a deeper insight into his own soul.
At length we stretched ourselves upon the
boughs, and were soon fast asleep. I awoke, how
ever, about midnight, and found our fire reduced
to a few embers, while the rain was coming down
as if that were its sole business for the night. It
is gloomy in the woods without a fire ; and I never
seem so companionless as when in the still mid
night I awake and find nothing but the dark forest
about me, cheered by no light. A bright crack-
iling flame seems like a living thing, keeping
awake on purpose to watch over you.
Leaving my companions, whose heavy breath
ings told how profound were their slumbers, I
sallied out in search of fuel. But there was no
thing but green fir-trees, that would not burn, to be

120 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
found; and, after striking my axe into several,
and getting my lower extremities thoroughly wet,
I returned and lay down again, and slept till
morning. With the.- first dawn, I was up, and,
taking the Indian's canoe, pushed off in search
of a deer. The heavj^ fog lay in masses upon the
water, and the damp morning was still and quiet
as the night that had passed. I floated about
till the sun rose over the mountains, turning the
lake into a sheet of gold, and sending the mist in
spiral wreaths skyward, and then slowly paddled
my way back to camp. As I was thus floating
tranquilly along over the water, I heard, far up
the lake, where it lost itself in the mountains, two
distinct and heavy reports like the discharge of
firearms. Who could be in that solitude besides
ourselves ? was the first inquiry. I mentioned
the circumstance when I reached the camp, and
found that my companions, who had been busy-
in preparing breakfast, had also heard the re
ports. Mitchell, just then returning ff om an ex
pedition after a fish-hawk, which he brought back
with him, heard them also, and very quietly re
marked they were not rifle shots. His quick ear

MORNING IN TEE WOODS. 121
never deceived him. "What, then, were they?"
I inquired. "Trees," he replied. "But," said
I, " there -is not a breath of air this morning,
while it blew very hard yesterday afternoon."
" They always fall," he replied, "before a storm.
It will storm by to-morro-w." There was some
thing sad in thinking of those two trees thus
falling all alone on a still and beautiful morning,
foretelling a coming tempest. Sombre omens
these, and mysterious, as becomes the untrodden
forest. Mitchell had shot an immense fish-hawk, break
ing only the tip of its wing, so as to prevent it
from flying. He brought it and set it down
before the fire, when the fearless bird drew him
self proudly up and steadily faced us down,
without attempting to run away. His savage
eye betokened no fear, and, when any one of us
approached him, his leg would be lifted and his
talons expanded ready to strike. I was never so
struck with the boldness of a bird in my life. At
length Mitchell caught him and placed him on a
rock by the edge of the lake. For a moment, the
noble bird forgot his wound, and, spreading his
11

122 LETTERS FROM- THE BACKWOODS.
broad wings, leaped from his resting-place. But
the broken pinion refused to carry him heaven
ward, and he fell heavily in the water. I saw
Mitchell bring his rifle to his shoulder, and the
next moment a bullet crushed through the head
of the poor creature, and its sufferings were over.
Such are the incidents of a life in the woods,
and thus do the days and nights pass — not with
out meaning or instruction. Not merely the
physical man is strengthened, but the intellectual
also, by these long furloughs from close applit
cation, and this intimate companionship with
nature. A man cannot move in the forest with-
out'thinking of God, for all that meets his eye is
just as it left his mighty hand. The old forest,
as it nods to the passing wind, speaks of him;
the still mountain points towards his dwelling-
place, and the calm lake reflects his sky of stars
and sunshine. The glorious sunset and the blush- '
ing dawn, the gorgeous midnight and the noon
day splendor, mean more in these solitudes than
in the crowded city. Indeed, they look differ
ently— ithey are different.

LOST IN THE WOODS. 123

LETTER XII.
LOST IN THE WOODS — AN OLD INDIAN AND HIS
DAUGHTER — MITCHELL — THB ADIRONDAC IRON
WORKS.
In the 'WoonsrJ-ugust.
It was with weary forms and subdued hearts
we turned the prows of our boats down the lake,
and left the place of our encampment, probably,"
for ever. No one who has not traveled in the
woods can appreciate the feelings of regret with
which one leaves the spot where he has pitched
his tent only for a single day or night. The
half-extinguished firebrands scattered around, the
broken sticks that for the time seemed valuable
as silver forks, and the deserted shanty, all have
a desolate appearance, and it seems like forsaking
trusty friends to leave them there in the forest
alone.

124 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
The morning was sombre and the wind fresh as
we pulled down the lake and again entered the
narrow river that pierced so adventurously the
dark bosoin of the forest. The fatiguing task of
carrying our boats was perfoj-med over again,
with the additional burden of the deer we had
but partially consumed. At one carrying-place,
P. took two rifles and an overcoat as his part of
the freight, and started off in advance. We were
^each of us too much engaged with our own affairs
to notice the direction he took, but supposing, of
course, he was ahead, pushed on. But as we
came to the next launehlng-place, he was no
where to be found. " He has gone on, I guess,"
said one, "to the next carrying-place." We
shouted, but the echo of our own voices was the
only reply the boundless forest sent back, and
one was dispatched ahead to ascertain whether
our conjecture was true. The report was soon
brought back that P. was nowhere to be found.
I, by this time, began to feel somewhat alarmed,
for the lost one was my brother; and, taking
Mitchell with me, hastened back towards Ihe spet
where he had parted from us. I shouted aloud,

LOST IN THB WOODS. 125
but the deep waterfall drowned my voice, and its
sullen -roar seemed mocking my anxious halloo.
I then fired my rifle, but the sharp report was
followed only by its own echo. Mitchell then dis
charged his, andj after waiting anxiously awhile,
we heard a shot far up the river. Soon after,
" bang — bang" went two more guns in the same
direction. The poor fellow had heard our shot,
and, fearing -we might not hear his in return and
so take a wrong direction, just stood and loaded
and fired as fast as he could. When we found
him, he was pale as marble, and looked like one
who had been in a state of perfect bewilderment.
On leaving us, instead of going down stream, as
he should have done, he had gone directly up.
After awhile he came out on the bank of a
strange river. As it was on the wrong side of
him to be the one we had floated down, he
thought he must have crossed over to another
stream, but finally concluded it would be the
safest course to retrace his steps. This he was
doing to the best of his ability when he heard
our rifle shots. We scolded him for his stupidity
in thus causing us alarm and delay, which he
11*

126 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
very coolly remarked 'was neither very just nor
sensible, and then trudged on.'
Towards night, B — t-n and myself arrived
with Mitchell at his hut, where we found his
aged Indian father and young sister waiting his
return. " Old Beter," as he is called, had come,
with his daughter, a hundred and fifty miles in
a bark canoe, to visit him. The old man, now
over eighty years of age, shook with palsy, and
was constantly muttering to himself in a lan
guage half-French half-Indian, .while his daugh
ter, scarce twenty years old, was silent as a
statue. She was quite pretty, and her long hair,
which fell over her shoulders, was not straight,
like that of her race, but hung in wavy masses
around her bronzed visage. She would speak to
none, not even to answer a question, except to
her father and brother. I tried in vain to make
'her say No or Yes. She would invariably turn to
her father, and he would answer fpr her. This
old man still roams the forest, and stays where
night overtakes him. It was sad to look upon his
once-powerful frame, now bowed and tottering,
while his thick gray hair hung like a huge mat

AN OLD INDIAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 127
around his wrinkled and Seamed visage. His
tremulous hand and faded eye could no longer
send the unerring rifleiball to its mark, and he
was compelled to rely on a rusty fowling-piece.
Everything about him was in keeping. Even his
dog was a mixture of the. wolf ind dog, and was
the quickest creature I ever saw moVe. Poor
old man, he will scarcely stand another winter, I
fear — and some lonely night. In the lonely forest,
that dark-skinned maiden will see him die, far
from human habitations ; and her feeble arm will
carry his corpse many a weary mile, to rest
among his friends. As I have seen her decked
out with water-lilies, paddling that old man over
the lake, I have sighed over her fate. She seems
-wrapped up in her father, and to have but one
thought, one purpose of life — the guarding and
nursing of her feeble parent. The night that
sees'her sitting alone by the camp-fire beside her
dead pare^nt will witness a grief as intense and
desolate as ever visited a more cultivated bosom.
God help her in that dark hour. I can coneeivd
of no sadder sight than that forsaken maiden, in
some tempestuous night, sitting all alpne "in the

128 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
heart of the boundless forest, holding the dead
or dying head of her father, while the moaning
winds sing his dirgb'^and the flickering fire sheds
a ghastly light on the scene. .jSorrow in the
midst of a wilderness seems doubly desolate.
How strong is hafbit. That old man cannot be
persuaded to sit down in peace beneath a quiet
*roof, ministered to and cherished as his wants
require, but still clings to his wandering life, and
endures hunger, cold an(^ "fatigue, and wanders
houseless and homeless. He still hunts, though
his shot seldom strikes down a deer ; and he still
tf e&ds the forest, though his trembling limbs but
half fulfil the'ir office, and his aged shoulders
groan under the burden of his light canoe. I
saw him looking at a handful of specimens of
birch bark he had collected, and was balancing
which to choose as material for a new boat.- He
still looks forward to years of hunting and days
of toil, when the barque of life is' already touchy*
ing those dark waters that roll away from this
world and all that it contains.
After spending a night with Mitchell, we bade
him good-by, and started for the Adirondac

^^ MITCHELL. 129
Mountains, where it was necessary to. have an
other guide. He rowed us across the lake, and
accompanied us several mijee^. on our way, as if
loth to leave us. I gave him a canister of pow
der, a pocket compags, and a small spy-glass, to
keep as mementos of- me, and shook his honest
hand with as mucLj^gret as I ever did that of a
white man. I shall long remember him. He is a ,
man of deeds and not of words — kind, gentle,
delicate in his feelings,i honest and true as steel.
I would start on a journey of a thousand miles
in the woods with him alone, -without the slight
est anxiety, although I was burdened down -v^Ith
money. I never lay down beside a trustier heart
than his, and never slept sounder than I ha,ve
with one arm thrown across his brawny chest.
We had started In the morning for a clearing
between twenty and thirty miles distant, but after
we had performed fourteen miles of it, and found
ourselves beneath the roof of a comfortable log-
house, we . concluded to stay over night. The
next morning, bright and early, we resumed our
march, and at noon reached this solitary clear
ing'' which overlooks the whole wild, gigantic and

130 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
broken mass of the Adirondac Mountains. Far
over all towered away the lordly peak of Tahawas,
nick-named Mount M^rcy. Its cone-shaped sum
mit arose out of a perfect sea <^ mountains, and
as I gazed on it I half regretted my determina
tion to ascend it. I never looked op an Alpine
height with such misgivings. It was, however,
more than twenty miles distant, and a nearer
view might diminish the difficulties that from this
i-
point seemed insurmountable. Four miles more
through the woods brought us to Lake Sandford,
where we found |he hunter Cheney, who took us
in his boat five miles further on, to the Adirondac
Iron Works. These iron works are twenty-five
miles from any public road, in the very heart of
the forest. Mr. Henderson, of Jersey City, first
visited them. He was told by an Indian of their
existence, and gave him two hundred dollars to
be conducted to them. The mountains around
are solid ore, of a very good quality; but the
carting of provisions in, and the iron out, eats up
all the profits ; so that though two or three hun
dred thousand dollars have been expended on the
works, not one dollar has been made. It is a

ADIRONDAC IRON WORKS. 131
lonely place, and the smoke of a furnace, and
the clink of the hammer, are strange sights and
sounds there. ' .
But of these,.illore anon'.'-' '

THE FIRE ISLANDS. 133

LETTER XIII.

THE FIRE ISLANDS.

How true it is that " half the world does not
know how the other half lives." Sixty miles
from New York exists a different race of people,
who never see a city paper, and only know of
what is going on in this great Babel from those
who visit them or those who take their game to
market. There is a large population living on
and about the barren Fire Islands whose whole
means of livelihood is the game they kill. These
men do not hunt for sport, but as a business ; and
the amount of wild fowl annually slaughtered' on
the southern shore of Long Island, for the New
York market, is enormous. A descendant of an
old family here, which has owned a large territory
on the south shore ever since New York was a
12

134 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
colony of England, told me that two families,
generation after generation, have had the lease
of two islands of barren rocks, for the sole pur
pose of killing the wild" fowl that frequent them.
They allo-v^no others to hunt about them. These
hunters pay no attention to the railroad, and
make no use of it for the transportjition of their
game to market. They keep a wagon going, con
stantly to and from New York, as they did years
ago. When winter sets in, and game beco.mes
.scarce, many of them go south, in a sloop of
their own, or hire a passage in some vessel, and
shoot on the Chesapeake Bay, about Charleston
and Mobile, supplying the southern market with
game. But, before speaking further of this peculiar
class of people, I will give a sort of diary of my
visit. We were on a visit to a friend on the south
shore, and late in the afternoon drove up to the
century-old edifice, that stood facing the ocean
with its time-worn front. This old family man
sion is the relic of another one which stood here
wlren New York was a colony, and the owner of
it governor under England. It is overgrown with

THE FIRE ISLANDS. 1S5
vines, and standing as it does in full sight of the
sea, presents a most venerable appearance.
After dinner, we rode over to the old Indian
tavern, " Connetiquoit" (I think that is the
right spelling), where gentlemen from New York
stop in their hunting expeditions in this region.
Two deer had been killed during the day, and
one of them lay stark and stiff before the door as
we drove up; Poor fellow ! the fleet limbs that
were winged with speed in the morning, would
never bound through the forest again.
The rain beginning to descend in torrents,
we turned our horses' heads homewards, and
there, by a blazing wood fire, such as you find
in the new settlements alone, composed ourselves
for the evening. It was Saturday night, and a
gloomy night it was. The heavens were Black as
Erebus, while a strong southeast wind came from
its long track on the Atlantic, and howled with
an ominous sound around the old dwelling in
which we were seated. I rose and went to the
door, and looked out upon the sea. No other
building' was in sight, and the solitude of the
scene was heightened by the murky heavens, the

136 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
moaning blast, and the deep prophetic voice of
the surge as it rolled heavily on the shore. The
music of the sea always finds an answering chord
in the human heart, ^especially heard at night
when the gathering storm is sounding its trumpet
and summoning the reluctant waves to the coming
conflict. There Is a sullen threatening sound in
the roar of the ocean heard at such a time, which
flUs the heart with gloomy forebodings, and brings
before the vision the proud barque, reeling to and
fro in the tempest, with her masts bent and bowed,
. and her«rent sails streaming to the blast, and the
form of the sailor clinging to the parting shrouds,
and all the tumult and terror of a shipwreck. As
I stood listening to the Atlantic speaking to the
shore that hurled back its blow, the flame of a
lighthouse five miles distant, on one of the Fire
Islands, suddenly flashed up in the surrounding
darkness. Round and round in its circle it slowly
swept, now lost In the surrounding gloom, as it
looked away from me towayds the vexed Atlantic,
and now blazing landward through the driving
rain. That lantern had almost a human look as
it slowly revolved on its axis. It seemed keeping

THB FIRE ISLANDS. 137
watch and ward over sea and land — now casting
its flaming eye over the deep to see what vessels
were tossing there, and now looking down on the
bay and land to see ho-# "it fared with them in
the stormy night. I love a lighthouse, with its
constant guard over human welfare. After a long
voyage at sea, baffled by calms and frightened by
storms, when I have caught the friendly flame of
the lighthouse welcoming me back to the green
earth — the first to meet me and to greet me-^I
have felt an affection for it as if it were a living
thing. That steady watch-fire burning over the
deep, through the long tempestuous night, for the
sake of the anxious mariner, is not a bad emblem
of the watch and care of the Deity over his crea
tures, tossed and benighted on the sea of life.
How long I ga^ed on that revolving light 1
know not, but it was the last thing my eye fell
on as I turned to my couch, and I thought, as I
left it blazing through the tempest, that it

" — ^— ^ looked lovely as Hope,
That star on life's tremulous ocean."
I slept this first night in the ''haunted room."
12*

138 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
I like BO mysterious a cognomen to rooms and
staircases in old castles and dilapidated buildings:
it is in harmony with the place. A fine, elegant
mansion here on the ocean shore would not have
possessed half the interest this old time-worn
building did. This "haunted room" derived its
sobriquet from a sound frequently heard by those
who slept in it, as if carriage wheels were rolling
up to the door. This sound had often waked up
the owner of the masaslon, and roused him to look
out and see what visitors were coming at so late
an hour of the night. The frequent recurrence of
this rattling of wheels had' ceased to be an object
of remark, and was attributed by the family to
rats or some other similar cause.
But not long since, a young lady visiting the
family was placed in this room without any
mention being made of the mysterious sounds
sometimes heard in it. She had expected friends
during the day, who had not come, and conse
quently their arrival was not anticipated till the
following day. But at midnight ("the witching
hour" when ghosts awake and fairies walk their
nightly rounds) she was roused from her slumbers

THE FIRE ISLANDS. 139
by the rapid roll of carriage wheels over the hard
ground. Supposing her friends had come, she
jumped from bed and hastened to the window.
The bright round moon was shining down, making
the woods and fields around almost as light as
day. She looked up the road, but no carriage
was in sight, and naught but the still moonlight
sleeping over the scene met her gaze. She turned
back astonished, when the rattling of wheels again
shook the room. Supposing iJew that the carriage
had gone round to the back door, she ran through
the hall and raised the window to "greet her
friends, but naught but the quiet moonlight was
there also. She was now thol^ughiy alarmed,
and hastened back to her room, when the rapid
roll of wheels again met her ear. This crowned
the mystery, and she gave a shriek and went
into hysteric fits. Since then, it has been called
"the haunted room."
I slept none the less soundly for these stories,
not being given to superstitious fears. I am more
afraid of man than I am of his ghost, and of his
spirit than of all the other spirits and mysterious
forms of air that walk the earth or sea. Besides,

140 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
I should not have got up had a dozen carriages
arrived ; for if the fairies or more sullen ghosts
choose to take a drive such a wild and stormy
night as that, they were welcome to tbeir taste.
I had certainly no objection to their taking their
own mode of amusing themselves, provided they
kept out of doors.
But it is strange how strong the superstitious
feeling is in man. Some df the best and strong
est-minded men I have ever known have been
subject to fears that a child should be ashamed
of. To see the moon over the left shoulder will
bring bad luck, and a jpurney commenced on
Friday will end unfortunately. So do men, sen
sible men, talk. A few rats between the walls,
or confined air creeping through some aperture
in the building, will drive a lady into convulsions.

THE FIRE ISLANDS. 141

LETTER XIV.

THE FIRE ISLANDS.

" It was Sabbath morning, when I arose and
threw open the shutters. The mist-covered ocean
lay like a sleeping giant before me, stretching his
arms up into the land, and the drizzling rain came
down without a sound. Out by the barn, a negro
was feeding a flock of black turkeys, while three
or four goats had mounted an old wagon, trying,
apparently, to imagine It was a rock. The poor
creatures, having nothing else to climb, and un
able to restrain their propensities, mount the
fences, wagons, or anything that looks like an
eminence. After breakfast, we packed ourselves into a
close-covered Rockaway, and started fpr the
church, some five miles off. It was built at the

142 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
private expense of the lady I was with, and was
the only place of public worship for miles around.
The Methodists had preaching, now and then, in
a school-house in the woods, which we passed on
our way to church. The church to which we
were bound is a little box of a thing, capable of
holding perhaps two hundred people. The storm
had kept many at home, and the congregation on
this day amounted to perhaps sixty or seventy.
The sermon was a mere expansion of the story of
the woman who was cured of ari issue of blood.
The preacher was a yourig man of ordinary intel
lect. He was also somewhat embarrassed, which
spoiled the delivery of the sermon. The simple
narrative of the New Testament he took for an
outline sketch, which he filled up to suit his
imagination. But there was something primitive about this
place of worship that interested me; and as I
came out and looked on the faded forest on one
side, and the far-receding ocean on the other,
while all was silent and still around, it did not
seem possible that I was within a few hours' ride
of New York and its Babel-like confusion. It

THE FIRE ISLANDS. 143
seemed like shoving the western frontier up to
the city, and from its wild borders looking down
Broadway, and through the magnificent churches.
Monday morning was cold and blustering. A
chill west wind swept the ocean, and raged around
the dwelling, till every shingle and clapboard
seemed drumming against the timbers to keep
its fingers warm. The fragmentary clouds went
trooping fiercely over the intensely bright sky;
the sea was covered with foam, and the deep
voice of the waves came riding inland on the
blast; whife a schooner, dragging Its anchor,
drove rapidly along the shore, its naked masts
reeling to and fro in the gale, around whlch'^he
sea-gulls swept in rapid circles. Our friend said
that some hunters were to drive deer that day,
and he wished us to see the manner in which it
was done. The cold, fierce blast did not give
as a very cheerful welcome out of doors, but we
bundled up and started. The call of the master
brought the hounds in full chase after us, and
we rode over to the hunters' rendezvous, and
were soon in the woods. The common way of
hunting the deer on Long Island is to start

144 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
several packs of hounds in different directions,
and then station men along a stream near, in
places where the deer are found by experience
generally to come when they take to the water
to throw the dogs off the scent. I was placed in
the heart of the forest, on a good point of obser
vation, beside the stream whose current swept the
shrubs and flags that almost buried it from sight.
Standing on a hoard to keep my feet dry, I turned
to the sun to get the fMl benefit of his beams, for
I was well-nigh frozen. Here I stood, hour after
hour, with naught but the roaring of the blast
through the pine-trees overhead to break the soli
tude of the scene. Scathed and blighted trunks
threw out their long withered arms, and swayed
them about as if reaching blindly after something
,in the alf, and groaned on their aged roots; while
the tufted tips of the pine and hemlock bowed
and sprung as if curtseying to the wind. The
deep cry of the hounds, as they opened on the
track, had soon died away on the blast, and I
had nothing to do but stand and watc-h the fo
rest as the swaying tree-tops traced all kinds of
diagrams on the sky. Suddenly, one tall pine-

THE FIRE ISLANDS. 145
tree seemed to swing to a passing gust as if its
foundations were yielding ; then, sallying back as .
if to collect its energies for the terrible leap
before it, it stretched heavily forward, and came,;
with a crash that shook the banks, to the g;i;abnd.
The fall of a lordly but blighted tree, all alpne in
the depths of the forest, is one of the most lonely
things in nature. As if it were not enough that
its green crown should wither among its fellows,
and its glory depart, it m||t stoop from its proud,
erect position, and lie prone on the earth. Its
great heart is at last broken, and it buries its
mighty forehead In the earth. A falling tree
seems always a conscious being to me. With
these thoughts, however, was mingled a little
personal concern for myself, and I began to
measure rather anxiously the distance between
me and several old trees that the wind seemed
determined to rock out of their places. I calcu
lated with the nicest precision the exact length of
several that bowed towards me, in a salutation
I could have dispensed with, . and the direction
others would probably take. No more fell, how
ever, and at one o'clock I turned my steps out of
13

146 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
the forest. I had seen and heard nothing during
the day but the shaking trees and the fierce blast.
Arrived at the place of rendezvous no one had
seen a deer; but on one of the stands two suc-
ce^ye sh(^ts had been heard, and the gentleraan
placed there had not come in. He soon ap
peared, however, but bringing nothing with him.
He was a gentleman of rank in Europe, and was
equal to business plans that embraced a conti
nent; but a deer could unnerve him. He had
never seen one of these noble animals, in all its
wildness and beauty, face to face, until this day. .
Sitting on the bank, a beautiful doe had entered
the stream before hira without seeing him, and
there, at the distance of five rods, stood for five
minutes, looking with its wild yet gentle eyes
towards his place of ambush. With a double-
barreled gUn, loaded with forty buck shot, he
fired at her. With a sudden bound she cleared
the bankj and sped unharmed away.
The effect of a noble deer, on one who has
never seen one in the forest, is most singular.
The gentleman with whom I stopped told some
anecdotes of- New Yorkers, that were almost in-

THE FIRE ISLANDS. 147
credible. A fine deer throwing his proud antlers
through the forest, as he outstrips the wind in
his flight, is a beautiful sight. To kill one, as he
thus springs away in all the pride of freedom,
seems downright cruelty; and one's heart always
relents when the deed is done, unless long prac
tice has rendered him accustomed to it. But the
hunter laughs at such sentiment, and can see no
difference between killing a deer and a lamb.
A gentleman who had never seen a deer in his
native forest, told me that, being stationed in a
place with his gun where one was expected to
pass,, he saw him approach and retire without
molestation. He heard a crashing through the
under-brush, and the next moment a noble buck
bounded past him, with all that beauty and
strength for which the deer is remarkable. He
gazed on him as he rose and fell In his long
bounds through the forest, in such perfect a,d-
miration, that he forgot he had a gun.- It never
occurred to him that such a noble animal was tp
be shot, until he was out of his reach. " Why,"
said he, "I could not have killed him if my life
had depended on it."

148 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
The Instinct with which God has endowed the
deer for self-preservation seems sometimes like
the cunning and reason of man. A gentleman,
an old hunter, told me that not long since he
chased a doe all day through these woods without
success, and was perfectly astonished at the cun
ning she exhibited in baffling her pursuers. The
hounds aroused her early in the morning, when
she bounded away, living thpm far behind.
After running an hour or so she laid down to
rest till the dogs, followed close by the hunter,
on a full gallop through the woods, came up,
when she again started off. She managed in this
way till noon, and then adopted a different ex
pedient. Coming to a public road, she walked up
and down it In the same track several times, and
then sprang with a long leap into the forest.
The dogs, when they arrived, ran up and down
the road, making the forest ring with their deep
bay, perfectly baffled. But when the hunter
came up, knowing the cunning of the animal, he
began to beat about the bushes, and soon set the
hounds on the track. Following close after, he at
length got sight of her galloping slowly through

THE FIRE ISLANDS. 149
an open field, apparently not in the least fright
ened, keeping her enemies at a safe distance
behind her as she stretched over the plain. Still
unable to throw them from the track, she dashed
into a flock of sheep, and began to chase them
over the field. Scattering them hither and thither
in confusion, she soon got the dogs pursuing them,
and then boldly pushed again for the forest. But
the hunter being'at hand to assist the dogs, they
were soon again in hof pursuit. As the last
resort, after doubling a while through the woods,
she dashed towards the ocean, and following an
inlet along its margin at low-water mark (it was
low tide), swam boldly out into the bay, and,
taking a long semicircle, landed on a distant
point, and sought for the last time the shelter of
the forest. When the hounds came up, the rising
tide had obliterated nearly all the tracks, and, it
being now dusk, the chase was given up, and the
noble deer that had struggled so bravely for life
was saved. It would have been downright cruelty
to have slain her after such an effort to live. It
would have seemed like slaying a rational being.
What a world this is ! — one half pursuers, the
13*

150 LETTERS FROM THE BA<JKW00DS.
other half pursued: half straining every nerve to
save life, the other half equally intent on destroy
ing it. Thus instinct battles instinct, and passion
passion, and has done since the fall cursed the
earth.

TfiE PIRE ISLANDS. - 151

LETTER XV.

THE FIRE ISLANDS.

I WILL trouble you with only this letter from
the Fire Islands. The morning after our un
successful deer expedition, the huntsmen started
out again. It was. an Indian summer day in ap
pearance and teraperature. Not a breath of air
shook the withered leaves that drooped frora the
branches, while the smoky atmosphere drew a veil
over the sky and earth, ^giving a soft and dreamy
aspect to nature. It was one of those days when
sound is transmitted to a great distance, and the
whole copcave seeras a great whispering gallery,
save that while it transmits it also dulls every
sound. Again I stood in the depths of the forest
beside the stream ; but how changed had every
thing become. There was no motion, no wild

152 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
swaying to and fro of the distracted branches,
no struggle of the old trees to keep their ancient
foundations. The stream slipped by with a gentle
murmur, kissing the flags that stooped over it,
while even the light tread of the "chick-a-dee-
dee" could be heard on the dry leaves. Not a
cloud was on the sky, while the mn. looked drow
sily down through the murky atmosphere, and all
was silent, as a great forest without wind always
is, for ¦ W*^ '
" The streams were staid and the maples still."
It was a fine morning for the huntsman, who de
lights above all things in the cry of the hounds
as they open on the track. As the forest this
morning rang and echoed with their deep baying
as they struck the fresh track, I did not wonder
at the excitement often witnessed in the chase,
and involuntarily there carae to my mind the
opening lines of the Lady of the Lake :-r- '
The stag at eve had drunk his fill
Where danced the moon on Morna's rill,
And deep his midnight lair had made
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ;

THE FIRE ISLANDS. 153
But when the sun his beacon red
Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head.
The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay
Resounded up the rocky way ;
And faint from farther distance borne
Were heard the clanging hoof and horn.
Several deer were driven this morning, but
none killed, as most of the hunters were gentle
men from New York, to whom the sight of a deer ¦>
was a new object, and what the hunters call the
"buck fever" is not an uncommon thing with
them. The exhibitions they, frequently make is
very ludicrous. It was here Mr. Delraonico, of
the famous eating-house of New York, was found
dead. A shot was heard during the day on the
stand which he occupied, and after the hunters
had all eome in he was raissing. On going to
the spot, he was found fallen with his face in the
water. His gun, partly reloaded, lay beside hira.
He had evidently seen a deer and fired at him
and missed. The excitement had brought on an
epileptic fit, and before he had finished re-charg
ing his gun he had fallen. " Having pitched for-

154 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
ward into the water, he was drowned before he
could recover from the fit.
A Frenchraan from the city, standing here one
day, saw a large buck corae leaping down the
streara, tossing his huge antlers in the air. With
out firing, he threw down his gun and gave chase,
thinking in his siraplicity that the deer could not
possibly get through the tangled woods with his
branching horns, and he could take hira alive.
As I stood beside the. stream, from the distant
sea came the constant dull report of firearms.
It was an excellent day for duck shooting on thp
water, and up and down the shore, for eight or
ten miles, it was an incessant explosion of fire-.
arms. Those who supply the New York market:
with ducks have a curious way of taking them.
A box just large enough to contain and float a,
man as he lies on his back is pushed four or five
miles out to sea in some bay, supported by two,
fiat boards that spread out like wings on either
side, to break the waves that would, otherwise
dash over it. Anchoring this in some convenient
spot, they lie down, and throwing out their decoy.
duck (made of wood), attract every flock that

THE FIRE ISLANDS. 155
passes by to the spot. As they wheel around
and stoop to the water, the unseen hunter fires
his huge double-barraled gun into their midst.
In a good day, he frequently kills a hundred
birds. At length I strolled away by myself. Intending
to take a long semicircle through the forest and
strike the ocean some four or five miles distant.
It was one of those days in which I love to
wander alpne ^'by' stream or wave" or through
the sombre autumn woods, and let the poetry, the
thoughtfulness, and even the sadness of natafe
sink into my spirit. Sometimes I would be ankle
deep in the withered leaves as I strolled on, I
scarcely knew or cared whither. Coming at
length to an arra of the sea that -"'stretched far
Inland, I followed it down for a mile or two to
the main shore. It was low tide, and so, with
the aid of tight boots, I was able to cross the
marshes wiiich the rising sea floods, and stood at
last on the smooth sand beach, along which I
wandered for more than a mile.
Stand here a moment with me, and look off on
the solemn ocean. Not a breath of air is abroad.

156 LETTERS FROM THB BACKWOODS.
and the mighty waters spread away like an end
less mirror from your feet. The smooth ripple
comes with a slow and sluggish movement, and
lays its gentle lip without a murmur on the
beach ; while flocks of wild fowl glance by through
the hazy atraosphere, like messengers from the
distant deep, where it melts and blends into the
smoky horizon. Not a human habitation Is in
sight, and, as you stand and muse, you cannot
but think of that other " vast ocean" in which
you are "to sail so soon."
But listen a moment! Miles out on the slum
bering water, lost in the smoky atmosphere, comes
the Incessant report of firearms. Scores of these
"batteries" are anchored there. The Incessant
firing they keep up seems like the cannonading
between two battle ships that are at the work of
death. The dull and heavy sound is increased
in volume on the sea, and, by the state of "the
atmosphere, and the uninterrupted bom! bom!
from the distant mist-wrapped ocean, awakens
strange feelings In one just from the stir and
tumult of city life. There is not an interval of
ten seconds between these explosions. Sometimes

THE FIRE ISLANDS. 157
there are several discharges at once, like a whole
broadside, and then a' rolling fire like that which
goes from stem to stern of a ship, and then a
straggling shot jarring the atraosphere with its
report. As a sort of interlude to all this, from
an unseen Island, three or four miles distant, rises
a confused and constant scream from myriads of
sea fowl congregated there — keeping up one of
the wildest concerts I ever listened to. Rising
as It does out of the mist, and, as it were, in
response to the constant explosion along the sea,
like the cries of the wounded and dying on a field
of battle, and just as twilight is deepening over
the water, it imparts inconceivable wildness and
mystery to the scene. In the midst of this mighty
solitude, I stood absorbed and impressed beyond
measure, and lingered till the increasing darkness
and the rising tide adraonished rae it was time to
return. A new world of thought and eraotion
had been born within rae in the few hours I had
mused on that solitary shore.
How irapressive nature is In all her aspects!
Whether she looks In one's face from the smiling
landscape of a New England valley, or humbles
14

158 LETTERS i?ROM THE BACKWOODS.
one amid the glaciers and snow-fields and shud
dering abysses of Alpine solitudes, or saddens the
heart with the murmur of waves and broad ex
panse of the mysterious sea, she presents the
same attractions and has the same chastening
effect. I never shall forget that afternoon stroll
by the ocean around the Fire Islands.
The next raorning, we were to leave for the
city. The sky was overcast as I rose- and looked
out on the ocean. It seemed preparing for one
of those warm, quiet, drizzling rains. The atmo
sphere in such a state always has great refracting
po-wer from the moisture it contains, and I was
struck with the appearance of buildings on the
Fire Islands. Usually, they seemed (as they
really did) to stand up some of them several feet
from the shore, but now I could see distinctly the
shining surface of the water beyond their founda
tions. Where the island was low, it appeared
now to be cut in two, and the bright water passed
entirely through to the ocean beyond. The light
house, which was elevated on a rock, now sat in
the sea, if there was any reliance to be placed
in one's eyes. Through a powerful spy-glass I

THE FIRE ISLANDS. 159
could distinguish the water on three sides of It as
distinctly as I could see the lighthouse itself, and,
had I not been inforraed otherwise, should have
had no doubt the building stood In the water, and
that the island here and there was really divided.
This deception was owing to the refracting power
of the atmosphere. The rays of light were re
flected strongly from the polished surface of the
water, while so few came from the dusky beach as
to make It invisible to the eye. The atmosphere
refracting the rays from this smooth surface lifted
it up from its real level and threw It apparently
above the land. At least this is my explanation,
and it is rational and philosophical, whether true
in this case or not. The lady of the mansion
told me that she had frequently seen ships at
sea directly over the island, wJien no part of the
ocean is visible over it, even from the top of the
house. This reminds me of the report that, in a
peculiar state of the atmosphere. Lake Ontario
has been seen from Rochester lying calm and
distinct against the distant horizon. At sea, I
have heard captains relate havif^seen ships that
were not visible from deck, mast downwards in

160 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS.
the clouds. Mentioning this circumstance to the
lady, she said she had witnessed the same singular
appearance several times from her house. The
explanation of this phenomenon I will leave to
some one else.
It was with regret I bid the hospitable, intelli
gent, and generous Inmate of the mansion adieu,
and turned again towards the city. I know of no
life more desirable than that of a large landholder
whose residence Is fixed on sorae such picturesque
spot as this.

THE END.