It has fine
boat landings, even though set in rugged hills, which in places
tower above it, while over its surface are countless scattered
isles of romantic beauty. It has a wild, primeval character,
which no association of man upon its banks can quite dispel. One
almost fancies he sees the rising smoke from the teepees of the
fierce Mohawks or hears their ringing warwhoops amid the wild
scenery.
This lake is thirty-two miles in length and has been the scene
of many thrilling historic events. West of the railroad station,
near Lake George village, are the ruins of ancient forts, and
there also stands the monument erected in 1903 to commemorate
the battle of Lake George, in which General Johnson, with his
army of twenty-two hundred, defeated the French, under Baron
Diesken. The lake offers excellent fishing. Trout, salmon,
pickerel and perch abound in great numbers. Bolton road, known
as "Millionaires' Row," begins at the village of Lake George and
continues along the west shore as far as Bolton landing.
Beautiful views of the surrounding country may be had along this
route.
At sunset, as we made our way along the shore, the wonderful
beauty of the scene became more evident. Out over the lake,
studded with numerous isles, a rosy glow began to gather, the
high hills along its shores were rosy purple, "some were a
mingling of stiff spruce and pine in shadow," while others wore
a lighter green and the lush grass near this shore was golden
green when struck by the rays of the declining sun. The swift
lights and shades stole over the distant peaks like color on
velvet.
In the waning light that tinged the west with lucent gold the
lake made a wonderful picture. It wore on its blue a silver
sheen, in which we beheld a few cloud paintings; and along the
shore it mirrored the graceful birch and elm. At length the
clouds in the zenith blushed into rose; mingled colors of
sapphire, emerald, topaz, and amethyst glinted on the lake. Over
this lovely expanse an eagle sailed in majestic flight, turning
his head from side to side as if enamored of the fair scene
beneath him. Later we beheld only a vast expanse of imperial
purple with its dark mountains and green islands.
Soon a few stars appeared in the sky, where the dark points and
ridges rose against it like airy battlements. In the east the
moon looked down on the lake and made a path of gold on its
placid surface. In the distance a boat, a fairy shallop, glided
noiselessly out across the radiant water until we lost it among
the deep shadows of an island. Scarce a ripple on the surface of
the lake or a fluttering leaf disturbed the peaceful scene. As
we made our way to the automobile which carried us back to the
village of Lake George we said, "What moonlight scene or sunset
hues have we ever beheld on the Tyrol that could rival this?"
"Saratoga lies in an angle formed by a long valley whose beauty,
aside from its historical associations, is fair enough to stop
whole armies of tourists as they come and go through this lovely
region. The old Indian War Trail was indeed the pathway of
armies, and the beautiful Hudson and Mohawk rivers here bore on
their waters many swift canoes filled with Algonquins and
French. The English marched and fought here from Hudson's time
and that of Samuel Champlain until the close of the
revolutionary period. This fair land, with its green, velvety
meadows, peaceful, fruitful valleys, and broad, majestic streams
has indeed been rightly named 'the dark and bloody ground.'
"The Five Nations built lodges on the shores of the lake near
Saratoga, and here it was that the French and Indians came down
from Quebec and Montreal to meet them. In 1690 the French and
Indians bivouacked at these springs as they descended to the
cruel massacre of Schenectady. The French, urged by Frontenac,
came down the valley in 1693 and destroyed the village of the
Mohawks and started on their return with the prisoners they had
taken. Here one thousand hostile warriors threw up intrenchments
on the exact place where the gay streets of Saratoga now stand.
They retreated in a storm after the English sustained three
furious assaults.
In 1743 there occurred a terrible massacre at Old Saratoga. All
of the houses in the village were burned to the ground and only
one or two of the inhabitants escaped to tell the tale. For
seven years the French and Indian war raged through the valley,
proving its importance as a northern gateway. The rattle of
arms, the tread of soldiers, the hurrying of street boys were
heard in town from morning till night. Indians in war-paint and
feathers joined each side, burning with the hate of over a
hundred years. Garrets were ransacked for great-grandfather's
swords, rusted with the blood of King Philip's war. French
officers in gold lace, trappers in doeskin, priests in their
black robes, soldiers in the white uniform of the French king,
gathered on the banks of the St. Lawrence. English grenadiers in
red coats, Scotch Highlanders in plaids and colonial troops in
homespun rallied from all the frontiers; and again this great
gateway knew the horrors of a long, devastating, and bloody war.
"In 1767 Sir William Johnson, who had suffered for years from a
wound received in his hip in the war with the Indians, was told
of the Great Medicine Waters. The Indians seemed to know of
their location many years previous to this, for they were the
ones who told Johnson about their great healing qualities.
