Chapter IV: Part 4

David Morgan, the hero of the story, was upwards of sixty years of age. He owned a small farm about a mile from one of the forts; and on the day of the adventure, not feeling very well, he had sent his son and daughter to feed the cattle, at the deserted barn, and had gone to bed, in the fort. As he slept, he dreamed that he saw his children making towards him, scalped. The fancy was so vivid, that he started from his sleep, and, finding they had not returned, took his gun, and walked out rapidly to find them. He reached the farm in great agitation, but the children were there, and he sat down on a log to recover his composure. He had not sat long, before two Indians came out of the house, and made towards his son and daughter, who were at a little distance, preparing the ground for melons. Fearing to alarm them too much, and thus deprive them of the power of escaping, he kept his seat; and, in his usual tone of voice, apprised them of their danger, and told them to run towards the fort. The savages raised a terrific cry, and started in pursuit: but the old man showing himself at the same instant, they took to the shelter of the trees. Morgan then attempted to follow his children; but in a minute or too, finding that the savages gained upon him, he turned to fire. They instantly sprang behind trees, and the old man did the same, taking aim at one of the Indians, whose refuge, a small sapling, did not entirely cover his body. As he was on the point of firing, the savage felt his exposure, and dropped behind a prostrate log, close at his feet. The next instant the reserved shot took effect, beneath the log, and the Indian rolled over, stabbing himself twice in the breast.

Having disposed of one of his foes, Morgan abandoned the shelter of his tree, and took to flight. The Indian pursued, and the race was continued about sixty yards, when, looking over his shoulder, the old man saw the gun raised, within a few paces of him. He sprang aside, and the ball whizzed harmlessly by. It was now a more equal contest; and Morgan struck at the Indian with his gun, receiving at the same instant a blow from a tomahawk, which severed one of the fingers from his left hand. They closed immediately, and the Indian was thrown; but overturned the old man, with a powerful effort; and, sitting on his breast, uttered his yell of victory, and felt for his knife. A woman’s apron, which he had stolen from the farm-house, and tied around his waist, embarrassed him; and Morgan seized one of his hands between his teeth, and, getting hold, himself, of the handle of the knife, drew it so sharply through the Indian’s fingers, as to wound him severely. In the struggle, they regained their feet, and still retaining his hold on the fingers in his mouth, Morgan gave him a stab, which decided the contest. The savage fell, and, afraid that others of the tribe might be lurking near, the exhausted old man made the best of his way to the fort.

A party immediately went out to the spot where the struggle had taken place, but the fallen Indian was not to be seen. They tracked him by his blood to a fallen tree, where he was endeavouring to stanch his wounds with the stolen apron. On their approaching him, he affected to smile, and endeavoured to conciliate them, crying out, in his broken English, “How do, broder? how do, broder?” There was little mercy in store for him, however. To the shame of our white race, it is recorded that “they tomahawked and scalped him: and afterwards flaying both him and his companion, they converted their skins into saddle-seats and pouches!”

PULPIT ROCK, WHITE MOUNTAINS.

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The name given to this fine fragment of the White Mountains, indicates very fairly the favourite vein of association in the minds of the first Puritan settlers of New Hampshire; but it looks as much like a pulpit as many other rocks in the bold scenery of New England, of which we know at least a dozen by the same name. Settled by the same class of stern religionists as Massachusetts, New Hampshire has not upon its history the same blot of fanaticism. The tragical era of persecution for witchcraft in Massachusetts had no corresponding abomination in New Hampshire. The two or three cases on record are rather amusing—particularly that inserted in the historical collections, under the title of “The Complaint of Susan Trimmings, of Little Harbour, Piscatagua.” The complaint and evidence were as follows:—

“On Lord’s-day, 30th of March, at night, going home with Goodwife Barton, she separated from her at the freshet next her house. On her return, between Goodman Evens’s and Robert Davis’s, she heard a rustling in the woods, which she at first thought was occasioned by swine; and presently after, there did appear to her a woman, whom she apprehended to be old Goodwife Walford. She asked me where my consort was; I answered, I had none. She said, thy consort is at home by this time: lend me a pound of cotton. I told her I had but two pounds in the house, and I would not spare any to my mother. She said I had better have done it; that my sorrow was great already, and it should be greater; for I was going a great journey, but should never come there. She then left me; and I was struck _as with a clap of fire_ on the back, and she vanished towards the water-side, in my apprehension, in the _shape of a cat_. She had on her head a white linen hood tied under her chin, and her waistcoat and petticoat were red, with an old green apron, and a black hat upon her head.”—Taken upon oath, 18th April, 1656.

“Her husband (Oliver) says, she came home in a sad condition. She passed by me with her child in her arms, laid the child on the bed, sat down on the chest, and leaned upon her elbow. Three times I asked her how she did. She could not speak. I took her in my arms and held her up, and repeated the question. She forced breath, and something stopped in her throat as if it would have stopped her breath. I unlaced her clothes, and soon she spake and said, ‘Lord, have mercy upon me, this wicked woman will kill me.’ I asked her what woman? she said, Goodwife Walford. I tried to persuade her it was only her weakness. She told me no; and related as above, that her back was as a flame of fire, and her lower parts were as it were numb, and without feeling. I pinched her, and she felt not. She continued that night, and the day and night following, very ill, and is still bad of her limbs, and complains still daily of it.

“A witness deposed, June 1656, that he was at Goodman Walford’s, 30th March, 1656, at the time mentioned by Mrs. Trimmings, and that Goodwife Walford was at home till quite dark, as well as she ever was in her life.

“_Nicholas Rowe_ testified that Jane Walford, shortly after she was accused, came to the deponent in bed in the evening, and put her hand upon his breast, so that he could not speak, and was in great pain till the next day. By the light of the fire in the next room it appeared to be Goody Walford, but she did not speak. She repeated her visit about a week after, and did as before, but said nothing.

“_Eliza Barton_ deposed that she saw Susannah Trimmings at the time she was ill, and her face was coloured and spotted with several colours. She told the deponent the story, who replied, that it was nothing but her _fantasy_; her eyes looked as if they had been scalded.

“_John Puddington_ deposed that three years since, Goodwife Walford came to his mother’s. She said that her own husband called her an old witch; and when she came to her cattle, her husband would bid her begone, for she did overlook the cattle; which is as much as to say, in our country, _bewitching_.

“_Agnes Puddington_ deposes, that, on the 11th of April, 1656, the wife of W. Evens came to her house, and lay there all night; and a little after sun-set, the deponent saw a yellowish cat; and Mrs. E. said she was followed by a cat wherever she went. John came and saw a cat in the garden—took down his gun to shoot her; the cat got up on a tree, and the gun would not take fire, and afterwards would not stand cocked. She afterwards saw three cats; the yellow one vanished away on a plain ground; she could not tell which way they went.

“_John Puddington_ testifies to the same effect.

“Three other deponents say they heard Eliza, the wife of Nicholas Rowe, say, that _there were three men witches at Strawberry Bank_; one was Thomas Lurpin, who was drowned; another, old Hans; and the third should be ‘nameless,’ because he should be blameless. Goodwife Walford was bound over to the next Court.

“_Court of Associates, June_, 1656.

“Jane Walford being brought to this court upon suspicion of being a witch, is to continue bound until the next court, to be responsive.

“This complaint was probably _dropped_ at the _next term_. Goodwife Walford brought an action of slander in the County Court, 22d of March, 1669, against one Robert Coutch, and laid her damages at one thousand pounds.

“Declaration in an action of slander for saying that the said Jane was a witch, and he could prove her one, which is greatly to her damage.

“Verdict for plaintiff, Walford, five pounds, and costs of court.”

VIEW OF HUDSON, AND THE CATSKILL MOUNTAINS.

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A wedge-shaped promontory, or bluff, pushes forward to the river at this spot; and on its summit, which widens into a noble plain, stands the city of Hudson. The business of the place is chiefly done in a simple street, which runs at eight angles from the river. Its growth at first was remarkably rapid; but the resources of the surrounding country were found inadequate to second its prosperity, and its trade has accordingly been nearly stationary for a number of years. The enterprise of the citizens, however, has found a new source of wealth in the whale fishery.

It is supposed that the Halve-Mane, the vessel in which the great discoverer made his first passage up the Hudson, reached no farther than two leagues above the city which bears his name, and that the remainder of the exploring voyage was made in the shallop. His reception here was in the highest degree hospitable. “He went on shore in one of their canoes, with an old Indian, who was the chief of forty men, and seventeen women; these he saw in a house made of the bark of trees, exceedingly smooth and well-finished within and without. He found a great quantity of Indian corn and beans, enough of which were drying near the house to have loaded three ships, besides what was growing on the fields. On coming to the house, two mats were spread to sit on, eatables were brought in, in red bowls, well made; and two men were sent off with bows and arrows, who soon returned with two pigeons. They also killed a fat dog, and skinned it with shells. They expected their visitors would remain during the night, but the latter determined to return on board. The natives were exceedingly kind and good-tempered; for when they discovered Hudson’s determination to proceed on board, they, imagining it proceeded from fear of their bows and arrows, broke them to pieces, and threw them into the fire.”

On his return down the river, Hudson stopped again for four days opposite the site of the future city. The historical collections give a very particular account of every day’s movements in this interesting voyage. “On the report of those whom he had sent to explore the river,” says the historian, “Hudson found that it would be useless to proceed with his ship any farther, or to delay his return. He had passed several days in a profitable traffic, and a friendly intercourse with the natives; among whom were probably those from each side of the river—the _Mahicanni_, as well as the Mohawks. At noon of the 23d of September, he therefore went down six miles to a shoal: having but little wind, the tide laid his ship on the bar until the flood came, when she crossed it, and was anchored for the night.

“The next day, after proceeding seven or eight leagues, she grounded on a bank of ooze in the middle of the river, where she was detained till the ensuing morning, when the flood, at ten o’clock, enabled Hudson to anchor her in deep water. Thus the ship once more was interrupted in her passage opposite the spot where a city now commemorates the name of Hudson.

“Here he remained, by reason of adverse winds, four days. On the day of his arrival, ‘they went on land and gathered good store of chestnuts;’ but whether on the east or west side of the river, is not mentioned. But the day following they went on land, ‘to walk on the west side of the river, and found good ground for corn, and other garden herbs, with good store of goodly oaks and walnut-trees, and chestnut-trees, yew-trees, and trees of sweet wood, in great abundance, and great store of _slate for houses, and other good stones_.’ Nothing is said of any inhabitants while they were thus visiting the site, which is now that of the village of Athens, opposite Hudson. But, next morning (26th), after the carpenter, mate, and four of the company, had gone on shore to cut wood, while the vessel lay at anchor, two canoes came up the river from the place where they first found ‘loving people,’ (Catskill landing,) and in one of them was the old chief whom Hudson had caused to be made intoxicated at Albany. He had followed our strange visitors thirty miles, to the base of the Catskill mountains, with the double view of again testifying to Hudson the sincerity of his friendship, and of gratifying the love of the marvellous, by relating his own adventures to the mountaineers, and drawing them from their retreat to witness the floating phenomenon. The old chief now introduced with him ‘an old man, who brought more stropes of beads, and gave them to our master, and showed him all the country thereabout, as though it were at his command!’ They tarried, greatly pleased with the unaccountable curiosities they discovered on board. Hudson ‘made the two old men dine with him, and the old man’s wife; for they brought two old women, and two young maidens of the age of sixteen or seventeen years with them, who behaved themselves very modestly.’

“After dinner, and upon exchange of presents, the guests retired, inviting Hudson by signs to come down to them; for the ship was within two leagues of the place where they dwelt.”

The concluding circumstances of this interesting return down the Hudson, will accompany another view in the series.

SCENE AMONG THE HIGHLANDS,
ON LAKE GEORGE.

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Having dwelt upon the scenery of this celebrated Lake in other pages of this work, let us glance here at the events which took place upon its borders during the war between the French and the British colonies, in 1755.

The Baron de Dieskau had arrived from France, in company with De Vaudreuil, Governor General of Canada, bringing with him three thousand regular troops, destined to make war on the English colonies. Landing at Quebec, his first instructions were to reduce Osnego, but intelligence reaching the Governor that a considerable force was collecting at Lake Sacrament (now Lake George) with the probable intention of invading Canada, Baron Dieskau changed his route, and proceeded up Lake Champlain.

The provincial army was commanded by Colonel, afterwards Sir William, Johnson; and it was in alliance with a considerable body of Indians, under the command of the celebrated chief Hendrick, the great Mohawk Sachem. In Johnson’s official report he is called “a valiant warrior, and a faithful friend.”

After a fruitless attempt to surprise and take Fort Edward, Dieskau advanced toward the head of Lake George. On the first intimation of his approach, a council of war was called by Colonel Johnson, and it was determined that a party should go out to meet him. The number of men fixed upon was mentioned by Johnson to Hendrick. The Sachem replied, “If they are to fight, they are too few; if they are to be killed, they are too many.” The number was accordingly increased. General Johnson, also, proposed to divide them into three parties. Hendrick took three sticks, and putting them together, said to him, “Put these together, and you cannot break them; take them one by one, and you will break them easily.” The hint succeeded, and Hendrick’s sticks probably saved the whole army from destruction.

The detached party consisted of twelve hundred, commanded by Colonel Williams. He met the enemy about four miles from Lake George. Dieskau had been informed of his approach by scouts, and arranged his men on both sides of the road in a half-moon, to receive him. The whole country was a forest, and Williams impetuously marched directly into the hollow. At the same instant, a tremendous fire was opened on him in front, and on both his flanks; and Johnson and Hendrick fell among the heaps of the slain, the latter displaying the highest courage and valour. His death was embittered by the disgrace of receiving the mortal wound in his back, and his last breath was spent in lamenting it.

The overpowered detachment fell back in good order upon the entrenchments, and the enemy advanced to the position of General Johnson, which was upon the shore of Lake George. They began the engagement by firing in platoons upon the centre, but did little injury. After an hour or two of manœuvering and skirmishing, the English leaped over their breast-works, and charged upon the enemy. They broke, and fled in every direction; and Dieskau was found by a soldier, resting on a stump, with scarcely an attendant. As he was feeling for his watch to give it to the soldier, the man, thinking he was feeling for a pistol, discharged his musket through his hips. He was carried into camp in a blanket by eight men, with the greatest care and tenderness, but in extreme agony. For some reason or other, the flying enemy was not pursued, and few were taken prisoners. They had fought with great bravery, and had kept the field till one-third of their number was cut down—a thousand being left dead on the field.

On their retreat, the French army was met by a party of provincial militia, amounting in all to a hundred and fifty men. With the loss of only six men, (among whom was the second in command, Captain M’Ginnes,) this small body of men succeeded in driving the French from their ground, and possessing themselves of all the ammunition and baggage of the flying army. His Majesty was so well pleased with the result of this battle, that he created General Johnson a baronet, and Parliament voted him a present of 5000_l._

The Sachem Hendrick had lived a life of unsullied bravery, and died fighting gallantly. He was at this time from sixty to seventy years of age. His head was covered with white locks, and, what is uncommon among Indians, he was corpulent. Immediately before the march, he mounted a rock and addressed his people. He had a voice of great depth and power, and could be heard distinctly half a mile. His eloquence is represented as fiery and impressive to a degree, unusual even among this nation of orators. It is said, that when his death was announced to his son, the young chief gave a single groan; but immediately recovered himself, and striking his hand on his breast, rose with great dignity and said, his father was still alive in his son’s bosom.

Dieskau was conveyed from Albany to New York, and thence to England, where he soon after died.

SCHUYLKILL WATER-WORKS, AT PHILADELPHIA.

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The Water-works of Philadelphia rank among the most noble public undertakings of the world. The paucity of water in the city first set to work the sagacious mind of Dr. Franklin, who, by will, bequeathed a portion of a long accumulated legacy to bring a greater supply of this necessary element from Wissahiccon Creek. This was found, after a while, to be insufficient; and a plan was proposed, and carried into operation, to form a reservoir on the east bank of the Schuylkill, from which water was to be thrown by a steam-engine into a tunnel, conveyed to a central position, and raised by a second engine to a higher reservoir, which supplied all the pipes in the city. An experience of ten years satisfied the corporation that a sufficient supply could not be obtained by this method. The steam-engines were liable to frequent accidents, and the derangement of one stopped the supply of the whole city. After several other futile experiments, the present extensive yet simple water-works were proposed, and three hundred and fifty thousand dollars voted at once by the city corporation for the commencement of the undertaking.

The Schuylkill opposite Philadelphia, is about nine hundred feet in breadth. It is subject to sudden _freshets_, (an American word, unknown in this use in England, and meaning an overflow of a river current,) but its average depth is thirty feet at high water. It was necessary to back the river up about six miles; and a dam was then created by cribs and masonry, running diagonally across, with several ingenious contrivances to prevent damage by ice and spring freshets. A overfall of one thousand two hundred and four feet, forming a beautiful feature of the scenery, is thus created, and a water-power upon the wheels sufficient to raise eleven millions of gallons in twenty-four hours. The reservoirs, elevated above the top of the highest house in the city, crown the ornamental hill which overhangs the river at this place; and water can thus be conveyed to every quarter of Philadelphia, and made to spring, as if by a magic touch, in the highest chamber of the inhabitant. It is of a deliciously soft and pleasant quality; and those who are habituated to wash in the “city of brotherly love,” are spoiled for the less agreeable lavations afforded by other towns in America.

Fair Mount is a beautiful spot; and standing, as it does, just on the skirt of the town, it serves the additional use of a place of pleasant and healthful public resort. The buildings containing the pump-rooms have considerable pretensions to architecture; and the _façades_ and galleries extend along the river, forming a showy object from every point of view, but from the absence of any grand design in the whole, failing of a general fine effect, and presenting what a Londoner would call rather a teagardenish appearance. Steps and terraces conduct to the reservoirs, and thence the view over the ornamented grounds of the country seats opposite, and of a very picturesque and uneven country beyond, is exceedingly attractive. Below, the court of the principal building is laid out with gravel walks, and ornamented with fountains and flowering trees; and within the edifice there is a public drawing-room, of neat design and furniture; while in another wing are elegant refreshment-rooms—and, in short, all the appliances and means of a place of public amusement.

It may as well be remarked here, that this last advantage is less improved in America than it would be in any other country. The Water-works of Fair Mount, though within fifteen minutes’ walk of every citizen’s dwelling in Philadelphia, are (comparatively to its capacities) unfrequented. In several visits made to them in fine weather, we scarce saw more than three or four persons in the grounds; and those seemed looking for other company, more than enjoying the refreshing fountains and lovely prospects around them. As a people, we have no habit of amusement in America. Business and repose are the only two states of existence we know. How far Europeans have the better of us in this respect—how much our morals improve, or our health suffers, from the distaste for places of public relaxation and resort, are questions the political economists have not yet condescended to settle.

VIEW OF THE UNITED STATES BANK,
PHILADELPHIA.

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This is one of those chaste and beautiful buildings which have given the public architecture of Philadelphia a superiority over that of every other city of our country. It needs but that its fair marble should be weather-fretted and stained, to express perfectly to the eye the model of one of the most graceful temples of antiquity. The severe simplicity of taste which breathes through this Greek model, however, is not adapted to private buildings; and in a certain kind of simplicity, or rather of want of ornament, lies the fault found by every eye in the domestic architecture of this city. The chess-board regularity of the streets, so embarrassing to a stranger, as well as tiresome to the gaze, require a more varied, if not a more ornate style. The hundreds of houses that resemble each other in every distinguishable particular, occasion a bewilderment and fatigue to the unaccustomed eye, which a citizen of Philadelphia can scarcely comprehend.

The uniformity and plainness which William Penn has bequeathed in such an abiding legacy to Philadelphia, however, is seen but by a faint _penumbra_ in the dress of the inhabitants, or in their equipages, style of living, and costliness of furniture and entertainment. A faint shadow of original simplicity there still certainly exists, visible through all the departures from the spirit of Quakerism; and it is a leaven of taste and elegance in the ferment of luxury which has given Philadelphia emphatically a character for refinement. A more delightful temper and tone of society, a more enjoyable state of the exercise and mode of hospitality, or a more comfortable metropolis to live in, certainly does not exist this side the water. A European would prefer Philadelphia to every other residence in the United States.

Is it possible to realize, that, on the site of this refined capital, only a hundred and fifty years ago, lived a people in such strong contrast to the above, (save only in hospitality,) as are described by William Penn in the following terms!—

“The natives I shall consider in their persons, language, manners, religion, and government, with my sense of their original. For their persons, they are generally tall, straight, well-built, and of singular proportion; they tread strong and clever, and mostly walk with a lofty chin. Of complexion, black, but by design, as the gypsies in England: they grease themselves with bear’s fat, clarified; and using no defence against sun or weather, their skins must needs be swarthy. Their eye is little and black, not unlike a straight-looked Jew. The thick lip and flat nose, so frequent with the East Indians and Blacks, are not common to them; many of them have fine Roman noses.

“Their language is lofty, yet narrow; but like the Hebrew, in signification full. Like short-hand in writing, one word serveth in the place of three, and the rest are supplied by the understanding of the hearer; imperfect in their tenses, wanting in their moods, participles, adverbs, conjunctions, and interjections.

“Of their customs and manners there is much to be said: I will begin with children. So soon as they are born, they wash them in water; and while very young, and in cold weather, they plunge them in the rivers, to harden and embolden them. The children will go very young—at nine months, commonly: if boys, they go a fishing till ripe for the woods, which is about fifteen; then they hunt, and after having given some proofs of their manhood by a good return of skins, they may marry; else it is a shame to think of a wife. The girls stay with their mothers, and help to hoe the ground, plant corn, and carry burdens: and they do well to use them to that young, which they must do when they are old; for the wives are the true servants of the husbands, otherwise the men are very affectionate to them.

“When the young women are fit for marriage, they wear something upon their heads for an advertisement, but so as their faces are hardly to be seen but when they please. The age they marry at, if women, is about thirteen and fourteen; if men, seventeen and eighteen; they are rarely elder.

“Their houses are mats, or barks of trees, set on poles, in the fashion of an English barn, but out of the power of the winds, for they are hardly higher than a man: they lie on reeds, or grass. In travel, they lodge in the woods, about a great fire, with the mantle of duffils they wear by day wrapt about them, and a few boughs stuck round them.

“Their diet is maize, or Indian corn, divers ways prepared; sometimes roasted in the ashes; sometimes beaten and boiled with water, which they call _homine_; they also make cakes not unpleasant to eat. They have likewise several sorts of beans and peas that are good nourishment; and the woods and rivers are their larder.”

BROCK’S MONUMENT
FROM THE AMERICAN SIDE.

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Lewiston is seldom seen to advantage by the traveller, who, in his eagerness to reach Niagara, if going thither, or in the fulness of his recollections, if returning, pays it very little attention. The village itself is as dull and indifferent-looking a place as one would chance to see; but it stands at the outlet of Niagara river into Lake Ontario, and its neighbourhood on all sides is picturesque and beautiful.

Across the river, on the heights of Queenstown, stands the Monument of General Brock, who died fighting very gallantly on this spot. A slight _resumer_ of the hard-fought battle of Queenstown, which was creditable to the courage and spirit of both countries, will be in place accompanying this view.

The American forces on the Niagara river consisted of about five thousand eight hundred men, under the command of Colonel Van Rensselaer. Eighteen hundred of these were at Black Rock, twenty-eight miles distant, and the remainder at Fort Niagara, under the General’s personal command. Several skirmishes on the St. Lawrence had resulted in favour of the Americans, and the forces at Lewiston were very anxious to have an opportunity for action.

Directly opposite to the camp, on the other side of the river, lay Queenstown, strongly fortified, and garrisoned by a large force, waiting the orders of General Brock, then in Michigan. It was supposed that preparations were making for a general attack on the frontier. The possession of this place was considered very important to the Americans, as it was the port for all the merchandise of the country above, and a depôt of public stores for the line of English posts on Niagara and Detroit rivers. It has besides, an excellent harbour, and good anchorage.

An attack on Queenstown was projected for the night of the 11th of October. It failed, however, in consequence of a tremendous storm, and of the loss of a boat containing all the oars for the ferriage. Better arrangements were completed by the night of the 12th, and on the morning of the 13th, three hundred regular troops, and three hundred militia, were ready at dawn of day to cross to the attack.

The river here is one sheet of violent eddies, and the boating very difficult and laborious. A battery, mounting two eighteen-pounders and two sixes, protected the embarkation, and the boats put off. The enemy had been apprised of these preparations, and a brisk fire of musquetry immediately opened along the shore, on the Canada side, which, from the slow progress of the boats, did great execution. One of the boats was hit by a grape shot, which threw the pilot and oarsmen into such confusion, that they were carried down by the stream and obliged to return, and two others dropped below the landing, and fell into the hands of the enemy. Colonel Van Rensselaer, however, succeeded in landing with about a hundred men, under a tremendous fire, and immediately ascended the precipitous bank of the river. Before reaching the summit, he received four balls, and two of his officers were killed, and three wounded. Retiring under the shelter of the bank, Colonel Van Rensselaer had still sufficient strength to give the order for storming the fort; and about sixty men, commanded by Captain Ogilvie, seconded by Captain Wool, who was previously wounded, mounted the rocks on the right of the fort, gave three cheers, and with three desperate charges obtained entire possession; they then carried the heights, and spiked the cannon.

Reinforcements had by this time crossed the river, and the Americans formed on the heights, under the command of Colonel Christie. General Brock, who was on his way to Queenstown, having been met by an express, arrived with a reinforcement of regulars from Fort George, and immediately led his men into the rear of the captured battery. Captain Wool detached one hundred and sixty men to meet him, but the detachment was driven back. It was reinforced once more, and driven again to the brow of the precipice overhanging the river. An American officer at this time, despairing of the attempt, was about raising a white handkerchief on a bayonet, when Captain Wool tore it off, and ordered the men once more to charge. At this moment, Colonel Christie came up with a reinforcement, and repeating Captain Wool’s orders, the American force, amounting then to about three hundred, pushed forward and entirely routed the British 49th, who were aided by the 41st, and who had hitherto been called the Egyptian Invincibles. General Brock was attempting to rally these two regiments, when he received three balls, and died almost immediately.

The British formed again in an hour or two, and were reinforced by several hundred Indians from Chippeway, and other regiments of their own from other posts. Attempting to re-embark and retreat before a force so much superior, the boats were found insufficient, and the American regiments, after fighting nearly twelve hours, surrendered prisoners of war, to the number of seven hundred.

On the burial of General Brock the succeeding day, the batteries on the American side fired during the ceremony, as a tribute of respect to a gallant soldier.

VILLAGE OF CATSKILL, HUDSON RIVER.

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Catskill is more known as the landing-place for travellers bound to the mountains above, than for any remarkable events in its own history, or any singular beauties in itself. It is a thrifty little village, in which the most prosperous vocations are those of inn-keeper and stage-proprietor, and, during the summer months, these two crafts at Catskill entertain and transport to the hotel on the mountain half the population of the United States—more or less. The crowded steamers stop at the landing on their way up and down; and a busier scene than is presented on the wharf twice in the day, for a minute and a half, could not easily be found.

I have often thought in passing, of the contrast between these numerous advents and the landing of Hendrick Hudson on this very spot, in his voyage of discovery up the river. He found here, he says, “a very loving people, and a very old man,” by whom he and his crew were very kindly entertained. From the first step of a white man’s foot on the soil to the crowded rush of passengers from a steam-boat—from a savage wilderness to the height of civilization and science, it is but a little more than two hundred years of rapid history. Compare the old Indian canoe in which Hudson went from his vessel to the land, with a steamer carrying on its deck near a thousand souls; compare the untutored population which then swarmed upon the shore to the cultivated and refined crowds who come and go in thousands on the same spot, and the contrast is as astonishing as the extinction of the aboriginal race is melancholy.

It is surprising how few details connected with the races that inhabited the older settlements of our country are reached even by the researches of Historical Societies. The materials for the future poets and historians of America, are, in this department, singularly meagre, though it might almost be supposed that the very tracks of the retreating tribes might at this early day be still visible on the soil. Wherever any particulars of the intercourse between the first settlers and the Indians are preserved, they are highly curious, and often very diverting. In a book on the settlements of this country, written by Capt. Nathaniel Uring, who visited it in 1709, there is an amusing story connected with the history of one of the forts, built, by permission of the Indians, to secure the settlers against sudden incursion.

“It happened one day,” says the Captain, relating the story as it was told him by the Governor, “as the carpenter was cutting down a large timber-tree for the use of the fort, that great numbers of Indians stood round it, gazing, and admiring the wonderful dexterity of the carpenter, and greatly surprised at the manner of cutting it; having, before the arrival of the Europeans, never seen an axe, or any such like tools. The carpenter, perceiving the tree ready to fall, gave notice to the Indians by language or signs to keep out of its reach when it fell; but either for want of understanding the carpenter, or by carelessness of the Indians, a branch of the tree, in its fall, struck one of them, and killed him; upon which they raised a great cry. The carpenter, seeing them much out of humour at the accident, made his escape into the fort; and soon after, the Indians gathered together in great numbers about it, and demanded justice of the Europeans for the death of their brother, and desired to have the man who was the occasion of his being killed, that they might execute him, and revenge their brother’s death. The governor endeavoured to excuse the carpenter, by representing to them that he was not to blame, and told them that if their brother had observed the notice given him by the carpenter, he had not been hurt; but that answer would not satisfy the Indians; they increased their numbers about the fort, and nothing less than the execution of the carpenter would content them.

“The Europeans endeavoured to spin out the time by treaty, and thought to appease them by presents, hoping those, and time together, might make them easy; but finding that would not do, and not being able longer to defend themselves against such numbers as besieged them, they consulted how to give the Indians satisfaction.

“The carpenter being a useful man, they considered that they could not spare him without the greatest inconvenience; but seeing there was an absolute necessity of doing something, they found out an expedient, which was this:—there was in the fort an old weaver who had been bed-rid a long time; _they concluded to hang up the weaver, and make the Indians believe it was the carpenter_.

“Having come to this resolution, the governor let the Indians know, that, since nothing else would satisfy them, though their demand was unjust, yet, to show them how ready they were to live in amity and friendship with them, that in the morning they should see the carpenter hanging upon a certain tree in their view.

“In the night they carried the poor old weaver and hanged him in the room of the carpenter, which gave full satisfaction to the Indians, and they were again good friends.”

VIEW FROM GOWAN’S HEIGHTS, BROOKLYN.

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The Bay of New York and Staten Island, are, from this elevated point of view, laid out beautifully beneath the eye, but the picturesque interest of the spot yields to the historic. Directly below these heights was fought the battle so disastrous to the revolutionary forces, between the detachments commanded by Sullivan and Putnam, and the English army, under Generals Howe and Clinton. As the defence of Long Island was intimately connected with that of New York, Washington had stationed a brigade at Brooklyn; and an extensive camp had been marked out and fortified, fronting the main land of Long Island, and stretching quite across the peninsula occupied by the village of Brooklyn. When the movements of General Howe threatened an immediate attack on this position, Major-General Putnam was directed to take the command, with a reinforcement of six regiments; and the day previous to the action Washington passed entirely at Brooklyn, inspecting the works, and encouraging the soldiers.

The Hessians, under General De Heister, composed the centre of the British army at Flatbush. Major-General Grant commanded the left wing, which extended to the coast, and the greater part of the forces under General Clinton. Earl Percy and Lord Cornwallis turned short to the right, and approached the opposite coast of Flatland.

On the night previous to the action, General Clinton was successful in seizing a pass through the heights, leading into the level country between them and Brooklyn. Before this movement was completed, General Grant advanced along the coast, at the head of the left wing, with ten pieces of cannon. As his first object was to draw the attention of the Americans from their left, he moved slowly, skirmishing as he advanced, with the light parties stationed on that road.

This movement was soon communicated to General Putnam, who reinforced the parties which had been advanced in front; and as General Grant continued to gain ground, still stronger detachments were employed in this service. About three in the morning, Brigadier-General Lord Stirling was directed to meet the enemy, with the two nearest regiments, on the road leading from the Narrows. Major-General Sullivan, who commanded all the troops without the lines, advanced at the head of a strong detachment on the road leading directly to Flatbush; while another detachment occupied the heights between that place and Bedford.

About the break of day, Lord Stirling reached the summit of the hills, where he was joined by the troops which had been already engaged, and were retiring slowly before the enemy, who almost immediately appeared in sight. A warm cannonade was commenced on both sides, which continued for several hours; and some sharp but not very close skirmishing took place between the infantry. Lord Stirling being anxious only to defend the pass he guarded, could not descend in force from the heights; and General Grant did not wish to drive him from them until that part of the plan which had been entrusted to Sir Henry Clinton should be executed.

About half-past eight, the British right having then reached Bedford, in the rear of Sullivan’s left, General De Heister ordered Colonel Donop’s corps to advance to the attack of the hill, following himself with the centre of the army. The approach of Clinton was now discovered by the American left, which immediately endeavoured to regain the camp at Brooklyn. While retiring from the woods by regiments, they encountered the front of the British. About the same time the Hessians advanced from Flatbush, against that part of the detachment which occupied the direct road to Brooklyn. Here General Sullivan commanded in person; but he found it difficult to keep his troops together long enough to sustain the first attack. The firing heard towards Bedford had disclosed the alarming fact that the British had turned their left flank, and were getting completely into their rear. Perceiving at once the full danger of their situation, they sought to escape it by regaining the camp with the utmost possible celerity. The sudden rout of this party enabled De Heister to detach a part of his force against those who were engaged near Bedford. In that quarter, too, the Americans were broken, and driven back into the woods; and the front of the column led by General Clinton continuing to move forward, intercepted and engaged those who were retreating along the direct road from Flatbush. Thus attacked both in front and rear, and alternately driven by the British on the Hessians, and by the Hessians back again on the British, a succession of skirmishes took place in the woods, in the course of which, some part of the corps forced their way through the enemy and regained the lines of Brooklyn, and several individuals saved themselves under cover of the woods; but a great proportion of the detachment was killed, or taken. The fugitives were pursued up to the American works; and such is represented to have been the ardour of the British soldiers, that it required the authority of their cautious commander to prevent an immediate assault.

The fire towards Brooklyn gave the first intimation to the American right that the enemy had gained their rear. Lord Stirling perceived the danger, and that he could only escape it by retreating instantly across the creek. After one other gallant attempt, however, upon a British corps under Lord Cornwallis, the brave men he commanded were no longer able to make opposition, and those who survived were, with their general, made prisoners of war.

The British army were masters of the field, but before morning, Washington had won one of his brightest military laurels in the safe withdrawal, unperceived by the enemy, of his defeated and dispirited troops to the opposite shore of New York.

VIEW ON THE SUSQUEHANNA,
(ABOVE OWAGO, OR AT GRAND ISLAND.)

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The spectator in this view looks up the Susquehanna, with the river behind as well as before him; for the mountain on which he stands is almost encircled by the bend with which it turns downward to Owago. It is, perhaps, the best view that could be taken to express the etymology of its name, (Crooked River,) besides being one of singular beauty. I regretted only when the artist was there, that the rafts and arks with which the river is for a great part of the year enlivened, were, from the low state of the water, entirely wanting. The wild navigation of these crafts gives the Susquehanna a picturesque character, which, to do it pictorial justice, should not be omitted in the drawing. Perhaps the amends may be.

BRIDGE AT GLEN’S-FALLS, ON THE HUDSON.

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Few of our readers who will not consider this subject as one of the most picturesque in our collection, and yet many of them we fear have passed over the bridge in our View unconscious of the proximity of so extraordinary a scene as the Falls of the Hudson at this spot.

This was, at least, our own case when first visiting Lake George, from Saratoga; and we would counsel every one to steal a few moments, even if travelling by the stage, to descend from the covered bridge to the rocky bed of the river. Miss Martineau observes—“We were all astonished at the splendour of Glen’s Falls. The full, though narrow Hudson, rushes along amidst enormous masses of rock, and leaps sixty feet down the chasms and precipices which occur in the passage, sweeping between dark banks of shelving rocks below, its current speckled with foam. The noise is so tremendous, that I cannot conceive how people can fix their dwellings in the immediate neighbourhood. There is a long bridge over the roaring floods, which vibrates incessantly; and clusters of saw-mills deform the scene. There is stone-cutting as well as planking done at these mills. The fine black marble of the place is cut into slabs, and sent down to New York to be polished. It was the busiest scene that I saw near any water-power in America.”

Her description is excellent, but, as regards the mills, we cannot agree with her; they certainly add much to the picturesque effect of the scene.

VIEW FROM MOUNT IDA,
NEAR TROY, NEW YORK.

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The scenery in this neighbourhood is exceedingly beautiful. The junction of the Mohawk and Hudson, the Falls of the Cohocs, the gay and elegant town of Troy, Albany in the distance, and a foreground of the finest mixture of the elements of landscape, compose a gratification to the eye equalled by few other spots in this country. “Think,” says one of our noblest and best writers, speaking of a similar scene—“think of the country for which the Indians fought! Who can blame them? As the river chieftains, the lords of the waterfalls and the mountains, ranged this lovely valley, can it be wondered at that they beheld with bitterness the forest disappearing beneath the settler’s axe—the fishing-place disturbed by his saw-mills? Can we not fancy the feelings with which some strong-minded savage, who should have ascended the summit of the mountain in company with a friendly settler, contemplating the progress already made by the white man, and marking the gigantic strides with which he was advancing into the wilderness, should fold his arms and say, ‘White man, there is eternal war between me and thee! I quit not the land of my fathers but with my life! In those woods where I bent my youthful bow, I will still hunt the deer; over yonder waters I will still glide unrestrained in my bark canoe. By those dashing waterfalls I will still lay up my winter’s food; on these fertile meadows I will still plant my corn. Stranger, the land is mine! I understand not these paper rights; I gave not my consent when, as thou sayest, those broad regions were purchased for a few baubles of my fathers. They could sell what was theirs; they could sell no more. How could my father sell that which the Great Spirit sent me into the world to live upon? They knew not what they did. The stranger came, a timid suppliant, few and feeble, and asked to lie down on the red man’s bear-skin, and warm himself at the red man’s fire, and have a little piece of land to raise corn for his women and children; and now he is become strong, and mighty, and bold, and spreads out his parchment over the whole, and says, ‘It is mine.’ Stranger, there is not room for us both. The Great Spirit has not made us to live together. There is poison in the white man’s cup; the white man’s dog barks at the red man’s heels. If I should leave the land of my fathers, whither shall I fly? Shall I go to the south, and dwell among the groves of the Pequots? Shall I wander to the west? the fierce Mohawk—the man-eater—is my foe. Shall I fly to the east?—the great water is before me. No, stranger, here have I lived, and here will I die! and if here thou abidest, there is eternal war between me and thee! Thou hast taught me thy arts of destruction, for that alone I thank thee; and now take heed to thy steps; the red man is thy foe. When thou goest forth by day, my bullet shall whistle by thee; when thou liest down at night, my knife is at thy throat. The noon-day sun shall not discover thy enemy, and the darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest. Thou shalt plant in terror, and I will reap in blood! thou shalt sow the earth with corn, and I will strew it with ashes! thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and I will follow after with the scalping-knife! thou shalt build, and I will burn, till the white man or the Indian shall cease from the land. Go thy way for this time in safety, but remember, stranger, there is eternal war between me and thee!’”

As the same writer afterwards observes, however, the Pilgrim Fathers “purchased the land of those who claimed it, and paid for it—often, more than once. They purchased it for a consideration, trifling to the European, but valuable to the Indian. There is no overreaching in giving but little for that which, in the hands of the original proprietors, is worth nothing.”

VIEW FROM GLENMARY LAWN,
THE RESIDENCE OF N. P. WILLIS.
(AT THE JUNCTION OF THE OWAGA AND SUSQUEHANNA.)

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