We Paused On The Bridge, And Looked Once More
At The Islets In The Rapids, And Stopped On Bath Island,
Lovely in itself,
but desecrated by the presence of a remarkably hirsute American, who keeps
a toll-house, with the
Words "Ice-creams" and "Indian Curiosities" painted
in large letters upon it. Again another bridge, by which we crossed to the
main land; and while overwhelmed at once by the beauty and the sublimity
of the scene, all at once the idea struck me that the Yankee who called
Niagara "an almighty fine water privilege" was tolerably correct in his
definition, for the water is led off in several directions for the use of
large saw and paper mills.
We made several purchases at an Indian curiosity-shop, where we paid for
the articles about six times their value, and meanwhile our driver took
the opportunity of getting "summat warm," which very nearly resulted in
our getting something cold, for twice, in driving over a stump, he all
but upset us into ponds. Crossing the suspension-bridge we arrived at the
V. R. custom-house, where a tiresome detention usually occurs; but a few
words spoken in Gaelic to the Scotch officer produced a magical effect,
which might have been the same had we possessed anything contraband. A
drive of three miles brought us to the whirlpool. The giant cliffs, which
rise to the height of nearly 300 feet, wall in the waters and confine
their impetuous rush, so that their force raises them in the middle, and
hurls them up some feet in the air. Their fury is resistless, and the
bodies of those who are carried over the falls are whirled round here in a
horrible dance, frequently till decomposition takes place. There is
nothing to excite admiration about the whirlpool; the impression which it
leaves on the mind is highly unpleasing.
Another disagreeable necessity was to visit a dark, deep chasm in the
bank, a very gloomy spot. This demon-titled cavity has never felt the
influence of a ray of light. A massive cliff rises above it, and a narrow
stream, bearing the horrible name of Bloody Run, pours over this cliff
into the chasm. To most minds there is a strange fascination about the
terrible and mysterious, and, in spite of warning looks and beseeching
gestures on the part of Mr. Walrence, who feared the effect of the story
on the weak nerves of his wife, I sat down by the chasm and asked the
origin of the name Bloody Run. I will confess that, as I looked down into
the yawning hole, imagination lent an added horror to the tale, which was
bad enough in itself.
In 1759, while the French, who had in their pay the Seneca Indians,
hovered round the British, a large supply of provisions was forwarded from
Fort Niagara to Fort Schlosser by the latter, under the escort of a
hundred regulars. The savage chief of the Senecas, anxious to obtain the
promised reward for scalps, formed an ambuscade of chosen warriors,
several hundred in number. The Devil's Hole was the spot chosen - it seemed
made on purpose for the bloody project. It was a hot, sultry day in
August, and the British, scattered and sauntered on their toilsome way,
till, overcome by fatigue or curiosity, they sat down near the margin of
the precipice. A fearful yell arose, accompanied by a volley of bullets,
and the Indians, breaking from their cover, under the combined influences
of ferocity and "fire-water," rushed upon their unhappy victims before
they had time to stand to their arms, and tomahawked them on the spot.
Waggons, horses, soldiers, and drivers were then hurled over the
precipice, and the little stream ran into the Niagara river a torrent
purple with human gore. Only two escaped to tell the terrible tale. Some
years ago, bones, arms, and broken wheels were found among the rocks,
mementos of the barbarity which has given the little streamlet the terror-
inspiring name of Bloody Run.
After depositing our purchases at the Clifton House, where the waiter
warned us to put them under lock and key, I hoped that sight-seeing was
over, and that at last I should be able to gaze upon what I had really
come to visit - the Falls of Niagara. But no; I was to be victimised still
further; I must "go behind the great sheet," Mr. and Mrs. Walrence would
not go; they said their heads would not stand it, but that, as an
Englishwoman, go I must. In America the capabilities of English ladies are
very much overrated. It is supposed that they go out in all weathers,
invariably walk ten miles a day, and leap five-barred fences on horseback.
Yielding to "the inexorable law of a stern necessity," I went to the Rock
House, and a very pleasing girl produced a suit of oiled calico. I took
off my cloak, bonnet, and dress. "Oh," she said, "you must change
everything, it's so very wet." As, to save time, I kept demurring to
taking off various articles of apparel, I always received the same reply,
and finally abandoned myself to a complete change of attire. I looked in
the mirror, and beheld as complete a tatterdemallion as one could see
begging upon an Irish highway, though there was nothing about the dress
which the most lively imagination could have tortured into the
picturesque. The externals of this strange equipment consisted of an oiled
calico hood, a garment like a carter's frock, a pair of blue worsted
stockings, and a pair of India-rubber shoes much too large for me. My
appearance was so comic as to excite the laughter of my grave friends, and
I had to reflect that numbers of persons had gone out in the same attire
before I could make up my mind to run the gauntlet of the loiterers round
the door. Here a negro guide of most repulsive appearance awaited me, and
I waded through a perfect sea of mud to the shaft by which people go under
Table Rock.
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