"I have been there often, and always found
in it a certain charm not found in Niagara." Thanking him for
mapping out the road we were to take, we went to our rooms to
dream of the pleasures that awaited us on the morrow.
Several times during the night we were awakened by loud peals of
thunder, whose terrific explosions sounded at close intervals.
The sharp flashes of lightning leaped and darted their fiery
tongues across the sky, giving us a fine display of electric
signs upon the ebon curtains of the flying clouds.
Dawn came at last with a gray and murky sky, and an atmosphere
filled with mist in which there seemed no promise of relenting;
yet neither the leaden sky, nor the mist-drenched air dampened
our spirits in the least, and we started on our morning journey
with the lines of Riley ringing in our memory:
"There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
There is ever a song somewhere,
There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear
And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray."
Whether the thrush sang or not, it mattered little to us, for
somewhere, falling from gray rocks, hidden away among deep
shadows of pine and maple, its voice hushed to a soothing murmur
as of wind among the pines, Trenton falls was singing its age-
old songs. Then, too, we felt the wordless melody of our own
joyous hearts filled with morning's enthusiasm.
The country around Utica is very beautiful. Toward the north a
short distance beyond the Mohawk river lay the picturesque
Deerfield hills, beginning of the scenic highlands which stretch
away toward the Adirondack mountains and the St. Lawrence river.
A few miles south, the Oriskany and Saquoit valleys opened up
through a beautiful rolling country, which reminded us of the
hills near Verdun, France. To the southeast are Canandaigua and
Otsego lakes, like bits of fallen sky in their pleasant setting
of hills and forests.
"Old Fort Schuyler, erected during the French and Indian war at
a ford in the Mohawk, in what is now the old northeastern part
of the city, determined the location of Utica." Not far from
here lies the main trail of the Iroquois. Here it divided; one
part went to Ft. Stanwix, now Rome, and the other led to Oneida.
Castle. General Herkimer, August, 1777, on his march from what
is Herkimer county to the battle of Oriskany, forded the Mohawk
near the site of the old fort, and though wounded, stopped there
on the return journey. But what about Trenton?
As we were trying to recall our history, which seemed to have
suddenly been forgotten, like Trenton falls, we saw that the sky
was being overcast with dark colored clouds. We were determined
to push on regardless of weather prospects, and thought how we
should soon learn the reason for Trenton's neglect.
We were hailed by a boy wearing a soldier's uniform whom we
learned was going to New York City for the purpose of procuring
a job on the boat on which he had previously served. He was an
intelligent lad, but had lost his job in a factory where he was
employed. He was only one of the thousands of ex-service men who
left the country amid the ringing cries of the politicians, who
said, "When you get back from war, the country is yours." The
country was this lad's all right, but it was such a large one in
which to be tramping in search of work. We were only too glad to
give him a lift, and when we bade him adieu, it was with a
fervent hope that he got to New York in time to get the job he
so well merited.
About fifteen miles from Utica in a wondrously picturesque
section of the Mohawk valley, we came into the town of Herkimer,
named after the hero of the battle of Oriskany. It is situated
near the mouth of Canada creek, and was originally settled by
Germans from the Rhine country.
It was here among the beautiful rolling hills, not far from
Oriskany, that Brant, the Mohawk chief, and Johnson, the Tory
leader, hid men in a ravine through which the American men would
have to pass on a line over a causeway of logs. Nearly all the
rangers and Indians in Burgoyne's army went out to waylay this
gallant little band of true Americans.
"Pressing forth eagerly to the relief of their comrades' rescue,
all ordinary precautions were neglected. When the van entered
the ravine, a terrible fire mowed down the front ranks by
scores; those in the rear fled panic-stricken from the woods.
Some of the Americans rallied and formed a defense, but it cost
them dearly. Herkimer, their brave leader, had been hit by a
bullet among the first, but in spite of the fact that his wound
was a disabling one, he continued to direct his men and
encourage them by his firm demeanor to fight on. This bravery
caused the enemy to retire, leaving the little band of heroes to
withdraw unmolested from the field. Two hundred men were killed,
and Herkimer soon died of wounds."
The town of Herkimer is very attractive. It still is full of the
undying name and fame of the gallant hero of the Revolution.
There is a statue of General Herkimer in Myers park. "To the
west of the town is Fort Herkimer church, on the site of an
ancient fortification, which was a refuge prior to the
Revolution, and a base of supplies during the war." While
thinking over those stirring days, we forgot Trenton falls for a
time.
