Ocean to Ocean on Horseback Part 5

My wife and daughter were not easily reconciled to my leavetaking of Springfield, but yielding to the inevitable, adieus were quickly said, _Paul_ was mounted and I rode slowly away from the Bates House, turning occasionally in the saddle until entirely out of sight of my loved ones, then putting spurs to my horse galloped out to the turnpike and headed for Russell, the evening objective.

Considerable rain fell during the day and the roads at this time through Western Ma.s.sachusetts were in a wretched condition. With clothing thoroughly soaked and mud anywhere from ankle to knee deep, the trip from Springfield to Russell was anything but what I had pictured when planning my overland tour in the saddle. Some consolation was found, however, in recalling similar experiences in the army and I resolved to allow nothing to depress or turn me from my original purpose. A halt was made for dinner during this day's ride, at a country inn or tavern ten miles west of Springfield.

Notwithstanding the fact that I did not leave Springfield until nearly ten o'clock in the morning, and that I was out of the saddle over an hour on account of dinner, and compelled to face a pelting storm throughout the day, I did well to advance eighteen miles by four o'clock, the time of dismounting at the Russell House.

Russell is one of the most beautiful of the numerous villages of Hampden County, and is picturesquely situated among the Berkshire Hills in the western part of the State. It stands on the banks of the Westfield River, upon which it relies for water-power in the manufacture of paper, its only industry. It has direct communication with Eastern and Western Ma.s.sachusetts through the Boston and Albany Railway, and while it is not likely that it will ever come to anything pretentious, it will always be, in appearance at least, a rugged and romantic-looking little village.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A HAMLET IN THE BERKSHIRE HILLS.]

Sixth Day.

_Becket House_, BECKET, Ma.s.sACHUSETTS, _May Fourteenth_.

Mounted _Paul_ in front of the hotel at Russell at nine o'clock in the morning to ride towards Chester, along the bank of the Westfield River.

This swift branch of the Connecticut runs along between its green banks fertilizing the meadows and turning the factory wheels that here and there dip down into its busy current. The Indian name "Agawam," by which it is known nearer its mouth, seems more appropriate for the wild little stream, and often, while I was following its course, I thought of the banished Red Men who had given it this musical name and who had once built their wigwams along its sh.o.r.es.

On this morning the air was fresh and the view pleasing under the magical influence of spring, and both were none the less enjoyed by the a.s.surance that dinner could be had at our next stopping-place. Upon dismounting, I found that the ride could not have been as agreeable to _Paul_ as to his master, for his back was in a very sore condition.

Everything was done for his comfort; cold water and castile soap being applied to relieve the injured parts, and the c.u.mbersome saddle-cloth which had been doing duty since we left Boston was discarded for a simple blanket such as I had used while in the cavalry service. This was a change for the better and was made at the right time, for, as I afterwards had some difficulty in keeping the direct road, the equipment of my horse relieved what might have proved a fatiguing day's ride. As it was, the novelty of being lost, which was my experience on this occasion, had its advantages, for a wanderer in the Berkshire Hills finds much to suit the fancy and to please the eye. At six o'clock, notwithstanding the delay, we came into Becket, where Edwin Lee, the proprietor of the hotel of the place, told me I was the only guest.

Becket is an enterprising little village, thirty-seven miles northwest of Springfield, having a graded school and several manufactories. The scenery throughout the region is rugged and attractive, a charming characteristic of the Bay State.

Seventh Day.

_Berkshire House_, PITTSFIELD, Ma.s.sACHUSETTS, _May Fifteenth_.

Rode away from Becket at eight o'clock in the morning, and on the way found it necessary to favor _Paul_ in this day's ride; so I dismounted and walked several miles. This was not a disagreeable task, for my journey lay over the picturesque Hoosac Mountains whose wooded sides and fertile valleys were almost a fairyland of loveliness at this season.

Owing to this delay, Pittsfield was not reached until one o'clock. Here I delivered my fourth lecture at the Academy of Music, Captain Brewster, commander of the Pittsfield Post, G. A. R., introducing me.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SUBURB OF PITTSFIELD.]

Eighth Day

_Berkshire House_, PITTSFIELD, Ma.s.sACHUSETTS, _May Sixteenth_.

Spent the morning at the "Berkshire," posting my journal and attending to private and business correspondence. The afternoon was pa.s.sed in a stroll through the town, where I saw much that was of interest and gathered some information concerning its early history, progress and present condition.

Of the fourteen counties of Ma.s.sachusetts, the most strongly marked and highly favored is Berkshire, with its four cardinal boundaries, formed by four different states. To one who sees, for the first time, the luxuriance of its vegetation, the beauty of its forest-covered hills, the broad shady avenues of its villages, with their palatial homes, it seems as if Nature and wealth had combined to make this spot a veritable "Garden of the G.o.ds."

In the exact centre of all this loveliness, more than 1,000 feet above the level of the sea, lies the little city of Pittsfield, containing about 16,000 inhabitants. Its princ.i.p.al streets form a cross, North, South, East, and West streets meeting at an elliptical grove of stately elms forming a small park. Here in old days stood one central tree, its height one hundred and twenty-eight feet, its bare shaft ninety feet, with many a memory of the French and Indian wars attached to it. In 1841, it was struck by lightning. In 1861 it was cut down, even stern men weeping at its fall. It was replaced by a fountain, whose stream may be raised to the height of the old tree. This park also holds a huge shaft of granite, upon which stands the bronze figure of a soldier, flag in hand. On the granite are cut the words, "For the dead a tribute, for the living a memory, for posterity an emblem of devotion to their country's flag." To the west of the park is Pittsfield's large brownstone Post Office, it being the first building on North street, a small business thoroughfare, whose stores, with their dainty wares and tasteful fabrics, would do credit to many a large city.

On the south of the park stands the Athenaeum, a building of rough stone, erected at the cost of $100,000 as a "tribute to art, science, and literature," and presented to his fellow-townspeople by Thomas Allen. It contains a large free library, an art gallery, and a very entertaining museum of curiosities. Next door to the Athenaeum is the large white Court House, said to have cost $400,000. Across from the Court House, in a little corner of the park, is a tiny music house, gay with colored electric lights, where open air evening concerts are given all through the summer.

On the north of the park stand two of the handsomest of Pittsfield's eleven churches.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A SCENE IN THE BERKSHIRE HILLS.]

The city's manufactories are large and thrifty, but they, and the operatives who manipulate them, are tucked away in a corner, so to speak, where they may not offend the eyes of the opulent inhabitants.

Only in the riotous jostle of Sat.u.r.day night in the store is one brought face to face with the fact that beauty, leisure and wealth do not hold a monopoly of the sweet Berkshire air. For everything appears so lovely.

The streets are very wide, great stately avenues, where beautiful strips of the finest lawn border each edge of the sidewalk. Society is the choicest, for the summer residences of New York's four hundred intermingle with the magnificent old mansions owned by the staunchest of Ma.s.sachusetts' old blue-blooded sons and daughters. Cropping out through the elegance of this little city are some queer old Yankee traits.

Lawlessness there is none. No policemen guard the park, with its ideal lawns, but a polite notice informs pa.s.sers-by that this being no thoroughfare, trespa.s.sing will not be tolerated, and there is none. When the concerts are in full blast, people gather in the walks and drives only. Whole rows of little street Arabs may be seen on these occasions, drawn up with their little bare toes touching the very edge of the precious gra.s.s. The open music house is always left full of chairs, which no one steals, nay, which no one uses. The entrance to the Court House is filled with blooming plants. No child, no dog even, is ill-bred enough to break one.

But the peculiarities of the people, the beauty of the dwellings, the magnificence of the equipages, the tide of fashionable life which pours in, summer and fall, _all_, ALL is forgotten as, from some point of vantage, the spectator takes in the beauty surrounding him. "On the west sweep the Taconics, in that majestic curve, whose grace travelers, familiar with the mountain scenery of both hemispheres, p.r.o.nounce unequaled. On the east the Hoosacs stretch their unbroken battlements, with white villages at their feet, and, if the sunlight favors, paths of mingled lawn and wood, enticing to their summits; while from the south, 'Greylock, cloud-girdled on his purple throne' looks grandly across the valley to the giant heights, keeping watch and ward over the pa.s.s where the mountains throw wide their everlasting gates, to let the winding Housatonic flow peacefully toward the sea."

Thus, in taking leave of Ma.s.sachusetts, I looked back to the starting-point, and thought with pleasure of the many beautiful links in the chain connecting Boston with Pittsfield, none more beautiful than the last.

Ninth Day.

_Na.s.sau House_, Na.s.sAU, NEW YORK, _May Seventeenth_.

Ordered my horse at ten in the morning, and before riding on stopped at the office of the _Berkshire Eagle_ to talk a few minutes with the editor. The route from Pittsfield lay over the Boston and Albany Turnpike, one of the villages on the way being West Lebanon. Here we had dinner. While quietly pursuing my journey afterwards, in crossing the Pittsfield Mountain, I overtook Egbert Jolls, a farmer, with whom I had a long and interesting conversation. He amused me with stories of the Lebanon Shakers, among whom he had lived many years, and whose peculiar belief and customs have always set them widely apart from other sects.

Perhaps the most singular point in their doctrine is that G.o.d is dual, combining in the One Person the eternal Father and Mother of all generated nature. They believe that the revelation of G.o.d is progressive, and in its last aspect the manifestation was G.o.d revealed in the character of Mother, as an evidence of Divine affection. Ann Lee, the daughter of a Manchester blacksmith, is the founder of the sect, and considered from her holy life to be the human representation of this Divine duality. This is a strange belief, and one that is not generally known, but its adherents have among other good traits one which commends them to the respect of those who know anything of them, and that is their sober and industrious habits.

Soon after crossing the State line between Ma.s.sachusetts and New York, we pa.s.sed the home of Governor Samuel J. Tilden. Two years before, this popular Democrat was elected governor, by a plurality of 50,000 votes above his fellow-candidate, John A. Dix. He won popular attention by his strong opposition to certain political abuses; notably the Tweed Charter of 1870; and by incessant activity he was, in 1876, beginning to reap the laurels of a career which began while he was a student at Yale.

CHAPTER V.

FOUR DAYS AT ALBANY.

Started from Na.s.sau at eleven o'clock, still following the Boston and Albany Turnpike, and soon reached the Old Barringer Homestead. It was with this family that I spent my first night in Rensselaer County sixteen years before, when a lad of seventeen, I was looking for a school commissioner and a school to teach. Brockway's was another well-known landmark which I could not pa.s.s without stopping, for it was here that I boarded the first week after opening my school at Schodack Centre in the autumn of 1859. At the school, too, I dismounted, and found that the teacher was one of my old scholars. The Lewis family, at the hotel just beyond, were waiting my approach with wide-open door; for Oscar Lewis had gone to Albany and had said before he left: "Keep a sharp lookout for Captain Glazier, as he will surely pa.s.s this way." It was very pleasant to be met so cordially, although the sight of well-known faces and landmarks brought back the past and made me feel like another Rip Van Winkle.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE ROAD TO ALBANY.]

In crossing the river between Greenbush and Albany, _Paul_ seemed disinclined to stay on board, so the bars had to be put up and every precaution taken. It may have been that the shades of the ferrymen who had run the little craft for the last two hundred years came back to vex us. Perhaps the particular ghost of Hendrick Albertsen, who, two hundred and eight years ago bargained with Killian Van Rensselaer for the privilege of running his boat; but whatever the cause of the disturbance we reached _terra firma_ without accident, and were soon in the familiar streets of the old Dutch town; the day's journey agreeably ended with our trip across the Hudson by the oldest ferry in the United States.

From the river the view of Albany is picturesque in the extreme, where the eye catches the first glimpse of the city, rising from the water's edge, and surmounted then by its brown-domed Capitol. It was a sight that had always had a singular charm for me, for many of the pleasantest hours of my early life were spent here, where my sisters and I were educated. Here I left school to enlist at the opening of the Civil War, and here I published my first book, "Capture, Prison-Pen and Escape."

But even if the city had no claim other than its own peculiar attractiveness it would hold an enviable place among its sister cities.

The irregularity of its older streets, the tone of its architecture, the lack of the usual push and bustle of an American town, give it an old-world air that makes it interesting. There is a Common in the centre of the city, shaded by old elms, and around this stand the public buildings--the State Hall for state offices and the City Hall for city offices--both of marble and fronting on the Common. The Albany Academy, where Joseph Henry, one of its professors from 1826 to 1832, first demonstrated his theory of the magnetic telegraph. A few squares west of the Common was the stretch of green that has since been set apart for a public park, where the good people of Albany may find an agreeable change of scene and an hour's pleasant recreation.

[Ill.u.s.tration: STATE STREET AND CAPITOL, ALBANY, NEW YORK.]

The New Capitol, on the site of the Old Capitol, is a magnificent edifice in the renaissance style, built of New England granite, at a cost to the State of many millions. On pa.s.sing quaint bits of architecture or the suggestive aspect of some out-of-the way corner, one turns naturally to the days of wigs and kneebreeches, before the capital of the Empire State was thought of, and when the forests of fair Columbia were overrun by the bronzed warriors who still held undisputed sway. It was back in these days that Henry Hudson, sent from Holland by the Dutch East India Company, in sailing up the "Grande" River in search of a pa.s.sage to India and China, found that he could not send his ship beyond the point where the city of Hudson now stands. This was discouraging, but sure that the desired pa.s.sage was found, he and a few of his men pushed farther on in a small craft, landing, it is believed, on the present site of Albany. Later, Hudson and his men returned, a.s.sured that the n.o.ble river could not take them where they had hoped it might. After them came Dutch traders, led by an enterprising Hollander who had been with Hudson on his first voyage, and who saw a promising field in the red man's country. They established a trading-post where the "Half Moon" had been moored before, and from here carried on their barter with the Indians, exchanging attractive trifles for furs. Other traders followed these, and then came the colonists; a brave little band full of hope and eager to try their fortune in the New World. Their leader was none other than Killian Van Rensselaer, the wealthy pearl merchant of Amsterdam, and one of the directors of the West India Company, who had received a grant from the Prince of Orange for a large tract of land about the Upper Hudson, including the present site of Albany. Here he established his "patroonship," guarding the affairs of the colony, and providing his tenants with comfortable houses and ample barns. And more than this, their spiritual welfare was promoted through the services of the Reverend Doctor Joanes Megapolensis. From his personal accounts we read that the good Dominie found his life among the 'wilden' as full of peril and unceasing labor as that of his flock; for he undertook not only the guidance of his own people, but the enlightenment and conversion of the Indians. To this end he threw himself into the task of mastering their language with true missionary zeal; a task which in those days meant not only difficulty but danger.

Under the shelter of the handsome churches that grace the streets of the Albany of to-day, we see a striking contrast in the primitive house where this pioneer clergyman preached; and from the security of long-established peace, we look back upon those st.u.r.dy people of Rensselaerwyck who sowed and reaped and went to church under the protection of the Patroon's guns.

But there came a day when English ships sailed up to the harbor at Manhatoes, and demanded the surrender of the Dutch colonies in the name of the Duke of York and Albany. The terrified people at sight of the guns refused to withstand an attack, and the English quietly came into possession. Van Rensselaer sent down his papers, and Fort Orange surrendered on the twenty-fourth of September, 1664, soon after receiving its new name in honor of the Duke's second t.i.tle. Twenty-two years later, Albany had the satisfaction of sending two of her representatives, Peter Schuyler and Robert Livingston, to New York to claim her charter as a city; which, upon their return, was received, according to the old chronicler, "with all ye joy and acclamation imaginable."

Through the strength of their new dignity and influence we can trace the spirit of independence which was beginning to rise in opposition to the unjust English rule; and it was here in 1754 that the first General Congress was held to discuss arrangements for the national defence, when Franklin and his compatriots "signed the first plan for American Union and proclaimed to the colonies that they were one people, fit to govern and able to protect themselves." Later, when the storm of the Revolution broke, this place, where the first threatenings were heard, was the most impoverished by the contest and the most persevering in the fight; but she came out triumphant, with a record well meriting the honors received in 1797, when she was made the capital of the Empire State. After peace was again established and the routine of business taken up, Albany became the centre of the entire trade of Western New York.

[Ill.u.s.tration: RIVER STREET, TROY, NEW YORK.]

Fulton's steamboats began to run between Albany and New York as early as 1809, and this commercial activity and contact with the world gave an impulse to the city which has made itself felt all along the Hudson.

Since then it has grown rapidly, and has in its steady advancement an influential future to which its citizens may look forward with pardonable pride.