See America First Part 13

While crossing New York travelers will find it worth while to make a journey to the Mohawk Valley, which is one of the most beautiful in the state.

Go with us and stand on a crest of upland and you will see where the plain abruptly ends. Here lies a rich and verdant lowland, perhaps one hundred and fifty miles in length, spread out before you; a vast expanse of green meadow through which the Mohawk winds slowly and majestically to join the Hudson. You glimpse from here a distant gap in the mountain through which the river has worn a gorge. "Here you see a long freight train (one of the tireless servants of the New York Central) coming from the Mississippi valley." You are amazed that it does not have to climb the foothills. Here you find the only level pa.s.s between the Gulf of Mexico and the St. Lawrence, in the Appalachian mountains. Here was the historic capital of the Five Nations.

The great castle was surrounded by numerous wigwams of the tribe. Hiawatha lived and ruled here two centuries before. He was the founder of the Five Nations. "He developed their life for the good of the people. He taught them to live n.o.ble and better lives, and was finally borne in the flesh to the happy hunting grounds."

TRENTON FALLS

Who has heard of Trenton falls? We had heard much concerning their beauty, but were not sure as to their location. After consulting several maps and guide books which gave us no information whatever on the subject, we decided to ask information from the manager of the hotel, with a feeling of certainty that we would soon be planning for the morrow's enjoyment. Our host, who was a stout old man having a cosmopolitan face, on being asked the location of Trenton falls, threw his head on one shoulder and, after inspecting us for a few moments with a "remarkably knowing air," said, "There is no such place around here." Then brushing the ashes from his cigar and with a nod of satisfaction at his own astuteness, he replied, "I have been in Utica many years and never heard the name."

Finally one of those generous souls who always supply the missing information appeared, just at the moment when we felt like giving up in despair. He said, "I think there is a Trenton falls some place hereabouts, but can't tell you where." Now the "where" was the most important thing to us. Seeing the look of disappointment spread over our faces, he quickly said, "I am almost certain the tall man with the palm beach suit and straw hat can tell you about its location."

Sherlock Holmes could not have traced a fleeing fugitive from justice with more ardor than we the location of Trenton falls; and like children playing a game in which the boys guess where an object is hidden, we thought many times we were quite warm, only to awaken to the stern realization that we were very cold.

When we summoned enough courage for an interview with the other gentleman, it was with the feeling of a person who has an appointment with the dentist.

The more we attempted to locate Trenton the more of a mystery it became, and we confess this only heightened our interest the more. The very act of locating a spot represented as famous and now seemingly forgotten had a fascination about it that excited our imagination; we fell into conjectures regarding the scenery, vegetation, and above all, the location of this forgotten place.

"Trenton falls," we repeated to ourselves, is a poem of color and a softly singing cataract that is embowered in the most romantic landscape we have ever seen--we learned that from a book of travel. "It is a mere echo of Niagara with the subtile beauty and delicate charm, yet lacking the noisy, tumultuous demonstrations of the greater cataract." What else? It may be conveniently reached in a short time from Utica. The blue-book, "beloved of tourists," did not deign to notice its existence if it ever had one. We were not so sure but that it was only a fanciful creation in the brain of some romantic writer. The more we inquired concerning its location, the more we became aware that here was a little spot of beauty for some reason forgotten, lying within easy reach of Utica, yet unknown to the eyes of conventional sight-seers.

After a time, we were made bold enough to venture a talk with the tall man, who at once furnished us with the desired information, which was as welcome to us as sight to the blind.

"Oh, yes," he said. "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 pa.s.s 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. We were speedily reminded, however, that our journey was not completed. A vivid flash of lightning and a loud crash of thunder told us an older than British or American artillery was in action. We left the scenes of a hero's glory under a black and hopeless sky, from which the rain was dismally falling. The road became very slippery and our progress was very slow. To make matters worse, a bridge was missing and we were obliged to go another way.

On inquiring from an old lady the nearest way to the falls, she said, "Oh, the nearest way to the falls is to take the road you see pa.s.sing along the woods at your left; it is the next best thing to try if you have failed in an attempt at committing suicide."

We very quickly told the old lady in unmistakable words that we never had attempted suicide and had no inclinations along that line yet. We were directed another way, however, and started on once more. Several times we met people going to church in automobiles and many wore the grave look of those who wished they had kept their life insurance policies paid up. At one place in the road near a steep declivity where a large machine skidded, we saw that several devoutly crossed themselves, and forgetting the "joined three fingers, which is symbolical of the Trinity," they used all ten, and doubtless murmured a prayer for the propitious completion of their journey, to which I am sure we all could have readily echoed the amen.

All along the route we saw nothing but draggled people splashing through the mud, their faces suggestive of fear, yellow mud, and kindred abominations. Perhaps we were not things of beauty either, seen through the dim perspective of rain and mud. No doubt our faces had the appearance of sailors huddled up on quarter-deck benches, silent and fearful of seasickness. At last, after many vicissitudes and narrow escapes, we reached a fine macadam road and breathed more easily and enjoyed the scenery a bit better.

We followed a stream whose sudden and continued windings was a never-ending delight. Its clear, cold, foam-flecked water, seen through fringes of elm, maple and willow trees, compensated in great measure for the discomforts we endured. It was not fringed with reeds and lush gra.s.s, but its full flow rolled forth undiminished, going to its source as surely as we were bound to arrive at our destination. We discovered many points of beauty all along the way which were not blotted out by rain or cloud, and which shone freshly and winningly under the touch of the sun that peeped from behind the flying clouds.

The banks of the stream were draped with clumps of foliage overrun with wild grape and bittersweet, making fantastic pergolas from which the clear ringing challenge of the cardinal or the bold bugle of the Carolina wren came to us above the rush of the waters. Just a tantalizing struggle between mist and sunshine for perhaps an hour revealed bits of fair blue sky overhead and clouds of vapor resting on the long wooded hills.

Far ahead the land rose in gentle undulations like a many colored sea. When the sun shone forth for a little while we saw a picture against the dark clouds as a background that was almost unreal in its ethereal beauty. One rarely sees a picture so bright and at the same time clothed in alluring distance as these perspectives where hill rose above hill and mingled their various hues of vegetation in cl.u.s.tering abysses of verdure through which the flashing stream pursued its winding course under mounds of foliage. The beech, maple, elm and oak sprinkled now and then with evergreens, revealed a richness in coloring unsurpa.s.sed. It was indeed a fairy landscape, leaving little for the imagination; luring us on toward it with a glamour we could not resist. Over the stone walls the groups of shrubbery lifted their wealth of foliage; and the sumac sprinkled against this background were like coals of fire.

The distance from Utica to Trenton cannot be more than twenty miles, yet traveling as we did, making detours around roads with missing bridges, it seemed six times as far.

The varied features of the landscape began to change but still appeared quiet and lonely. Soon we saw a s.p.a.cious hotel standing on the edge of a wood that overhung a precipice. The broken window-panes, through which twittering swallows darted, the gray weather-beaten sides end unpatched moss-covered roof proclaimed that Trenton falls had had its day. Nature was making the old place a part of the landscape, and the birds were now the sole proprietors--gay summer tourists who never grow tired of lovely natural haunts like their human cogeners, because they are far removed from the dust and din of travel. Here every year they return from a tour of thousands of miles and gladden the quiet place with their cheery songs. We met no pedestrians on the road; no anglers were casting for fish in the stream; no boat was anch.o.r.ed on its swift current--only far away like a huge worm our field gla.s.ses revealed a monstrous flume along the rocky bank. This solved the mystery of this once famous summer resort. The electricity for the lights in the hotel at Utica had their origin here in Trenton falls, and yet the proprietor had never heard of such a place.

As we drew round a wooded point, we reached a road that led up a short raise of ground, then through a woods where we heard the falling water, and looking forward, all at once, a white gleam through the undergrowth struck our eyes; another turn and a series of dainty falls flashed splendidly in the sunlight! Not the least of our many surprises was this. The water seemed to hang poised before us like glorious amber curtains; the delicate fineness of their gauzy folds gloriously revealed in irised spray by the sunlight. "We hailed it as a charming idyl--a poem of Nature that she cherished and hid from all but the most ardent enthusiasts."

"In the warm noon sunshine, with the singular luxuriance of vegetation that clothed the terraces of rock on either side of the stream, we could have fancied ourselves entering some radiant landscape gardens. This gray masonry was covered with bright blue campanula, dainty fronded ferns, light green in color; and the air, wonderfully pure and sweet in itself from the recent rain, was filled with delicate woodland odors." Light exhalations seemed to rise from the steaming mould and drift toward us; and over all like the spirit of the place, rose the bell-like tones of the wood-thrush, while the murmur of the falls sang a mellow accompaniment. Truly, as the poet has said, "There is ever a song somewhere," and dull indeed are the ears that fail to hear it. Looking out over the woods filled with the murmur of the falls, we wondered what people listened to its voice before the white man's foot was planted among this vast solitude. Here the war songs of the Oneidas had arisen or smoke from their camp fires curled among the tree tops.

The larger falls are seen to best advantage from a rocky ledge, where you can watch the waters calmly bending over the precipice. You at once notice that the stream is lined with glacier polished rocks, and that somber evergreens cling tenaciously to the bank or ledges above the river, wherever they can gain a foothold. "How hardy they are, like the virile tribes of the North, healthy and flourishing in an environment where less vigorous species would perish."

At the opposite side from us there had been a landslide and many evergreens had met their death, yet a few now clung to the small portion of rocky earth they still had, like determined Belgians to hold fast their rightful heritage. Out among this scene of partial desolation a great hawk circled and added his eerie cry to the lonely place, announcing that we were not the only watchers in this wild domain. A great blue heron rose slowly into the air and flew across the stream, breaking the silence with his harsh squawk. "Here," we said, "is a quiet nook away from the rest of the world. No need of a monastery here where reigns such perfect seclusion and the charm of its natural scenery makes it a place in which to dream."

Slowly you walk along the embankment opposite the falls, now gazing at the amber sheet of water nearest you, now listening for the voices of the other falls, again stooping to note the beauty of the delicate harebells along the rocky ledge or pausing reverently to listen to the songs of the birds coming to you pure, sweet and peaceful above the song of the falls, speaking the soul of the delightful place.

A thin, silvery mist from the spray of the falls floats here and there, spreading out in broad sheets over the damp earth, and gathering into filmy ropes and patches as the breeze catches it among the spruce, pine and maple trees above the edge of the falls. A short distance ahead the water glitters again where the river makes a slight turn and plunges over another precipice. It is like the flashing of distant shields. Overhead drift ma.s.sed white clouds that enfold the valley as far as the eye can see, causing shadows to chase each other swiftly across the vast expanse of green uplands. The alternate gleams of sunshine and shadow seem like the various moods chasing across your memory.

But the amber colored etching of Trenton remains visible through it all. Reluctantly you turn away to view the monstrous flume along your path. Then you wander out in the forest of beech and maple, whose solitude heightens your impressions of this wild place.

You return again for another view, for the song of water is the same the world over, and you seem drawn irresistibly toward the sound as though sirens were singing. Now you try to gain a lasting impression of the first falls.

True, the voice of Trenton would hardly make an echo of Niagara, but are not the echoes the most glorious of all sounds? The same forces that carved the mighty Niagara made Trenton falls, too, and it should not be ignored just because it is small. Having seen the Madonnas by Raphael, shall we now ignore the works of Powers? Or having seen the Rose of Sharon, shall we cease to admire the humbler flowers of spring? The wood thrush's song today is divine, yet, the simpler ditty of the wren has a sweetness not found in the larger minstrel's song. Here one is not bored with the "ohs" and "ahs" of gasping tourists, who scream their delights in tones that drown the voice of the falls. You can at least grow intimate with them, and their beauty although not awesome, grows upon you like a river into the life of childhood. It is a very graceful stream with wilder surroundings than Niagara.

One fears his visit to Niagara will spoil his journey to Trenton, and finds himself repeating these significant lines of Shakespeare:

"When the moon shone, we did not see the candle; So doth the greater glory dim the less."

But, Shakespeare never saw Trenton falls, or he never would have written those lines. What could be more beautiful than its lovely cascades flashing in the sun or hidden away among the shadows among the pine and maple?

A little red squirrel barked and chattered among the pine boughs as if reprimanding us for eating so many of the luscious blackberries that grew near the falls. Seeing that his attempts to make us move were of no avail, he scampered down the tree, coming quite near us and giving vent to his outraged feelings, punctuating each remark with a sudden jerk of his bushy red tail, scolding and gesticulating like an Irish cop. He seemed to be by far the most important personage of the forest, not excepting the inquisitive bluejay who rightfully cried "thief!

thief!" at us from a maple near by. Both the red squirrel and bluejay have been cla.s.sed as villains by all Nature writers; yet when we thought of the wonderful part they both play in disseminating seeds far and wide, we readily forgave them their b.l.o.o.d.y deeds and treated both with the respect due Nature's Master Foresters, which both of them truly are.

"Gaily, freely, see me, hear me," sang a small olive colored bird in the leafy maples above us. We agreed that his song came to us gaily and most freely, and all heard it so well that we paused as often amidst our berry-eating as he, while he refrained from singing just long enough to knock a luscious green canker worm in the head and devour it. It was the warbling vireo we heard. What a lesson is his mingling melody with work uncomplainingly and helping to keep the woods green and beautiful by his constant industry, co-partner with the squirrel and jay.

Seeing we had to leave the blackberry patch while we were able, we departed from the place, taking a last long look at the exquisite falls and another at the powerhouse where was made the electricity that illuminated a certain hotel in Utica. We thought, too, of the proprietor so blinded by the glare of his own lamps as to exclaim: "There is no such place."

Talk about an Irish cop and you are sure to see one. Before we were fairly started we were hailed by one; the very size of him and his ruddy face as if a danger signal had been waved in front of us were enough to stop the most venturesome driver. He soon turned out to be more inquisitive than a bluejay, and although he did not cry "thief" he hurled a volley of questions at us in such rapid succession we could hardly find answers. Where are you from? Where do you live? Where are you going? We told him we were from Ohio, lived in Indiana and were going home. We soon bade our friend adieu, neither party made the wiser for the hold- up.

On our return one of the finest landscapes of the Mohawk region was suddenly unrolled before us. Miles and miles away stretched the rolling swells of forest and grain land, fading into the dimmest blue of the Catskills where the far distant peaks were just discernible along the horizon. Such a superb and imposing view as we had was worth all the anxieties of the morning. Each turn we made brought new views; undulating land of brightest green, through which wound sparkling streams; and villages lying here and there with their rising spires that twinkled in the dreamy atmosphere like stars in a lower firmament.