Travels In The United States Of America; Commencing In The Year 1793, And Ending In 1797. With The Author's Journals Of His Two Voyages Across The Atlantic By William Priest































































































































































 -  - 

Call you these peals of thunder, but the yawn or bellowing clouds? by
Jove, they seem to me the world's - Page 10
Travels In The United States Of America; Commencing In The Year 1793, And Ending In 1797. With The Author's Journals Of His Two Voyages Across The Atlantic By William Priest - Page 10 of 34 - First - Home

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- "Call You These Peals Of Thunder, But The Yawn Or Bellowing Clouds?

By Jove, they seem to me the world's last groans, and those large sheets of flame it's last blaze!"

I have often traversed the woods by myself at night, and sometimes during _such scenes_; and though I was conscious that all round me proceeded from natural causes, I could not at these times entirely forget,

"All that the _priest_ and all the nurse had taught."

Farewell. - Believe me

Yours very sincerely, &c.,

* * * * *

_Philadelphia, August 10th, 1794._

DEAR SIR,

Having a few weeks vacation at the theatre, we agreed upon a scheme to give three concerts at Lancaster, a town in Pennsylvania, about seventy miles west of this city. Our band was small, but select; and our singers Darley, and miss Broadhurst. We crossed the Scuylkill about two miles below the Falls.

The country, which, from the Atlantic to this spot, is nearly a level, now abruptly swells into hills, and rises as you advance westerly, till you reach the Allegany mountains, the great _back bone_ of America, as the Indians call that chain of mountains. There is then a considerable descent; but that the country rises afterward for many hundred miles is certain from the course of the rivers. No traveller has penetrated so far west, in these latitudes, as to find a river which did not ultimately run into the Atlantic Ocean,

We slept about a mile from the _Pioli_. I took a walk to reconnoitre the field of battle, with one who was present at that horrid affair.

General Wayne was here completely surprised, but had his revenge at Stoney Point.

After St. Claire's defeat, he was appointed by Congress to the command of the continental army in the present indian war. The fatal surprise at the Pioli has been an excellent lesson for him; since his present appointment he has established the most rigid discipline: this is of the utmost consequence in any army; but particularly so in _that_ he commands, as they have to contend with the most subtle and desperate foe on earth, flushed with their late victory over St. Claire. - In a former indian war, an army lay with it's rear and flanks well secured; a river three quarters of a mile broad in its front, and no enemy within fifty miles. A body of Indians, being informed by their scouts of the situation of this army, made a forced march, crossed the river in the night, on rafts hastily constructed, completely surprised the camp before sun-rise in the morning, butchered all before them, and made their retreat good with their scalps and plunder, before the enemy recovered from the general consternation. The system of military tactics Wayne has introduced is admirably adapted to the perilous service, in which he is engaged. He fights the Indians in their own way, and scalps are now taken on both sides. - There is expected to be warm work this campaign; and it is generally imagined Wayne will meet with the fate of Braddock and St. Clare. A few military men I have discoursed with, are of another opinion; they tell me the rifle-men of the western army were recruited from Kentucky, and other remote settlements, and are all experienced _back-woods-men_, who have been great part of their lives in the habits of Indian fighting; that the general is forming a body of cavalry, on principles entirely new, from which much is expected; in short, that Wayne will oblige the Indians to _bury the hatchet_ on his own terms. The Indian war is not popular. It has met with much opposition both in the General Assemblies of the States, and in Congress.

The devastation that has (even within the present century) taken place among the brave and independent aborigines of this continent, is really shocking to humanity[Footnote: The Cherokees are by no means the formidable body of warriors they were 40 years ago. The original possessors of the vast tract of land which forms North Carolina, are reduced to a single family; and several tribes of the eastern Indians actually exterminated.].

I spent the evening at the Pioli, with a surgeon of the american army lately from the scene of action; he gave me a disgusting account of the misunderstanding that subsists between the american citizens on the frontiers, and their neighbours in Upper Canada. It seems the Canadians are accused of assisting the indians in the decisive action against St. Clare.

As many of the descendants of the original french settlers have indian blood in their veins, the charge is not improbable, as far as relates to a few _individuals_, but that they received either the connivance, or protection of _government_, (as the Americans assert) is totally without foundation.

I never take up a western newspaper that does not teem with the most illiberal abuse of the british government. It would therefore be impossible to exonorate certain american citizens from _their share of provocation_, and a wish to blow up the hardly-extinguished embers of the late war. This temper is kept alive by french agents, who use every means of inflaming the public mind, by the most flagrant exaggerations of the late captures, &c.: and so successful have they been in their misrepresentations, that a war with England would at this time be very popular.

_Aug. 30th_. - You can conceive nothing more beautifully romantic, than the appearance of the country during the latter part of this day's journey. The hills, bold, rounding, and lofty, are covered with wood to their very summit. In the midst of this wild scenery is the mighty _Susquana_, above a mile wide, dashing over rocks and precipices, seventy or eighty miles distant from the flow of the tide. A similar body of running water, perfectly clear and transparent, with so many hundred cascades as beautify the Susquana, is perhaps no where else to be met with. Unfortunately these very beauties render the navigation of this noble river impracticable.

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