Part 30

A late tourist has given us a more recent and fresh view of this wonderful cataract, which will aid us more fully to understand its various aspects as taken from different points of observation. “From the bank just below the ‘Clifton House,’ he says, “is perhaps the finest panoramic view of the falls. The general outline bears a resemblance to the shape of a human ear; the great Horseshoe fall [which is represented on the right hand of the cut below] constituting the upper lobe, while Goat island and the American fall [as seen on the left] represent the remaining portion. The river, whose general course has been east and west, makes a sharp turn to the right just at the point where the fall now is. Its breadth is here contracted from three-fourths of a mile to less than one-fourth. The Horseshoe fall only occupies the head of the chasm, while the American cataract falls over its side; so that this fall and a part of the Horseshoe lie directly parallel with the Canada shore, and its whole extent can be taken in at a single glance. It is this oneness of aspect which renders the prospect from this side so much the more impressive for a first view of Niagara. It gives a strong, sharp outline which may afterward be filled up at leisure.

[Illustration: NIAGARA FALLS.]

“The most complete view of the Horseshoe fall is that from the bottom of the cliff, at a point near the ferry landing. If, however, the water is unusually high, the quiet pool which is ordinarily seen in the foreground, becomes a fierce and angry rush of waters, foaming above and around the jagged rocks. If the water is very low, the bed of this pool is entirely dry. Last year [1852] there were but few days when the whole spot was not overflowed. The current nearest the Canada shore runs up-stream, as though seeking an outlet in the direction from which it came. The middle distance is marked by a line of white foam, beyond which the current runs downstream. The center of the Horse-shoe fall is directly in front, defined on the right by the verge of Table Rock, and on the left by the upper extremity of Goat island. Just below the tower which seems to rise from the midst of the waters on the American side, an immense mass of rock is dimly visible, which became detached from the precipice in February, 1852.

“A very charming glimpse of that portion of the fall directly in front of the tower, may be caught through a clump of trees which stand a little above the ferry landing. The limitation of view hightens the effect, when contrasted with the unlimited prospect of the fall presented from almost every other point on the Canada side.

“It is no very difficult task for a stout pedestrian to make his way along under the edge of the precipice from the ferry up to the foot of the fall. The path winds among huge fragments of rock which have tumbled from above, and is slippery with the falling spray. You stop to rest upon a huge rock, where a couple of rough-coated men are fishing. They tell you that it is named ‘Bass rock,’ and you recognize the propriety of the appellation, as you observe the finny spoil that has repaid their labor. The water rushes foaming and eddying around the fragments of rock, sometimes rising in great swells to the spot on which you stand. Fragments of timber, their ends rounded and worn like pebbles on a wave-beaten shore, are scattered around: some groaning and tossing in the water, others stranded high and dry upon the rocks, where they have been flung by some swell higher than usual. You are so near the foot of the fall that the descending sheet of water occupies the entire field of vision: the immense rock which interposes between Bass rock and the descending water has as yet received no distinctive name.

“The path now begins to ascend the sloping bank, winding around huge bowlders, and among gay shrubs which the perpetual spray nourishes in luxuriant greenness, wherever there is a resting-place for a patch of soil. At last you reach the dilapidated staircase which descends the perpendicular face of the cliff, and clambering around its base upon a rotten and slimy plank, you find yourself below the overhanging mass of Table Rock. You are close at the edge of the falling water, which descends in a mass apparently as solid as though carved from marble. You now begin to comprehend the hight of the fall. It makes you dizzy to look up to the upper edge of the rushing column. You stand just midway between the top and the bottom. Above you hangs the imminent mass of Table Rock; below, far down by the wet and jagged rocks, is the seething whirlpool, where the water writhes and eddies as though frenzied with its fearful leap. Round and round it goes in solemn gyrations, bearing with it whatever floating object may have been plunged into its vortex.

“A year ago this very month of August, a young woman walked in the cool gray morning down to the brink of the cliff and flung herself into the whirlpool below. So resolute was the leap, that she shot clear of the jagged rocks at the base, and plunged sheer into the water beyond. When the visitors came sauntering down to the fall, her body was seen whirling round and round in the mad eddies, now submerged for an instant, and then leaping up, as though imploring aid. A day or two afterward, I was one of a group to whom a rough-looking man was describing the scene. He told how he and two others had descended amid the blinding spray close to the foot of the fall. A rope was then fastened to his body, which was held fast from above by the others, while he groped his misty way down to the very edge of the waters, where he waited till they whirled the corpse close inshore. He then darted a spear with a spring-barb into the body, but the force of the current tore out the hold, and it drifted away. Again it came within reach, and again the hold of the spear was too weak to overcome the force of the current. A third time the body approached, and the spear was darted. This time it caught among the strong muscles of the thigh, and held, so that the body was drawn to shore. The narrator was a rough man, roughly clad, and told his story roughly; but there was in his voice a low thrill of horror as he told how he was obliged to cut the spear-head out of the flesh with his knife, before the weapon could be extracted: ‘It was too bad,’ said he; ‘but it couldn’t be helped.’ And it was with unconscious pathos that he told how they stripped off their own rough garments, and tenderly covered the poor maimed and mutilated body before they bore it up the bank. It was a commentary, wrought out into practice, upon Hood’s immortal ‘Bridge of Sighs.’

“With the exception of the fall itself, the Canada side presents little of interest. The brink of the gorge is bare and naked, the trees which once clothed it having been cut away. The regular drive seems to be up to the Burning Spring, and thence back by way of Drummondville and Lundy’s Lane. At the Burning Spring you register your name, pay your fee, and are introduced into a small apartment, in the floor of which is a spring in constant ebullition from the escape of an inflammable gas. The flaxen-pated children of the show-woman place a receiver over the spring, and set fire to the gas, as it comes out of the jet; they then remove the receiver, and light the gas as it rises to the surface of the water; and that is all. You take your departure, looking vastly edified; while the driver thrusts his tongue into his cheek, as though he were mentally quoting a certain proverb touching ‘a fool and his money.’

[Illustration: Niagara Falls on the American side]

“In the early morning you commit yourself to the little boat in which you are to be ferried over to the American shore. Your half-felt misgivings are dissipated as you see the dexterous manner with which the brawny boatman handles his oars, and takes advantage of the ‘up-eddy’ and ‘down-eddy;’ and in a few minutes you are landed close at the foot of the American fall. Half-way up the ferry-stairs is an opening which gives access to a path along the foot of the perpendicular precipice to the verge of the falling water. From this point in the early morning, may be gained one of the most picturesque views of Niagara. Your position gives a fine view of the fall on the American side, as seen in the cut; the hight of which forms a standard by which you measure that of the Horseshoe fall, which stretches away in the distant perspective. Completing the ascent of the ferry-stairway, you reach Prospect point, at its head, from whence the same general view is gained, from a more elevated point. It is hard to say whether the view from above or below is the finer. The latter brings more into notice the hight of the falling column of water, thus gaining an additional element of grandeur, while the latter embraces a view of the wooded islands above the fall, adding greatly to the picturesque effect. The precise point from which the artist has taken this sketch is not now attainable. It was a projecting shelf of rock, a few feet below the precipice, which has been cut away to make room for the terribly unpicturesque, but most convenient stairway.

“This was apparently the point from which honest Father Hennepin, who has left us the earliest written account of Niagara, gazed upon that ‘prodigious Cadence of Waters, which falls down after a surprising and astonishing Manner, insomuch that the Universe can not afford its parallel.’ ‘The Waters,’ goes on the quaint narrative, ‘which fall from this horrible Precipice, do foam and boyle after the most hideous Manner imaginable, making an outrageous Noise more terrible than that of Thunder.’ The good Jesuit would seem to have been deeply moved by this ‘dismal Roaring;’ for in the curious picture which he gives of the falls, he represents the spectators holding their hands to their ears to shut out the din; and he hints that the Indians were forced to abandon the neighborhood of the falls, lest they should become deafened by the uproar. But the good father must have heard the ‘horrid Noise of the Falls,’ as he elsewhere calls it, with the imagination rather than with the ear. You hardly notice it as you loiter along the brink, except when some sudden atmospheric change varies its deep and solemn monotone. The sound is like the continuous and pervading murmur of the wind through a forest of somber pines. You are not forced to raise your voice in conversing with a friend by whose side you loiter along the brink of the fall, toward the bridge which gives you access to the wooded islands that beckon you on.

“Nothing can exceed the picturesque beauty of the small wooded islands which stud the rapids upon the American side. Two of rare beauty, known as Ship and Brig islands, stem the current a little above the bridge which connects Goat island with the shore. It needs but little effort of the imagination to fancy them vessels under full press of sail, endeavoring to sheer out of the current that hurries them inevitably down. The former of these islands is accessible by a bridge which connects it with Bath island, and is one of the loveliest spots imaginable. The old cedars, whose gnarled and contorted trunks overhang the waters, dipping their branches into the current, seem to cling with desperate clutch to the rocks, as though fearful of losing their hold and being swept away.

“From the bridge leading to Goat island, the rapids present that same appearance of plunging from the sky which renders their view from the Canadian shore so impressive. Goat island—so let it still be called, in spite of the foppery which has lately attempted to change its name to Iris island—presents an aspect almost as wild as it did before it had been rendered accessible to human foot. Were it not for the path which girdles its entire circumference, and the rustic seats disposed here and there, one might fancy that he was the first who had ever sauntered through its grand and stately woods. The beauty and variety of the trees on this island are wonderful. There is the maple, greeting the early spring sunshine with its fire-tipped buds; spreading out in summer its broad dome of dark green leaves in masses so thick, that beneath them you have no fear of the passing shower; and in autumn wearing its gorgeous crimson robe like an oriental monarch. The beech shows its dappled trunk and bright green foliage at every point, giving perpetual life and vivacity to the scene. The silvery trunks of the white birch gleam among the underwood. An occasional aspen, with its ever-quivering leaves, which almost shed a sense of breezy coolness in the stillest, sultriest day, contrasts finely with the dark evergreens by which it is relieved. Almost all of our northern fauna have their representatives here. Even upon the little Ship island, which can be crossed in any direction in a dozen strides, and which appears to a hasty view but a mass of twisted and gnarled cedars, there are at least seven distinct species of trees. Those trees, however, which immediately overhang the falls, have an aspect peculiar to themselves. They are bent, broken, twisted and contorted, in every direction. They seem to be starting back in horror from the abyss before them, and to wind their long finger-like roots around the rocks, in order to maintain their hold.

“One of these, an aged birch, growing upon the ridge known as the ‘Hog’s Back,’ affords a resting-place from which to gain one of the finest views of the American falls. Right in front is the small central fall, and the footbridge which leads to Luna island, with its trees dwarfed and stunted by the weight of frozen spray which loads them in the winter. Beyond is the serrated line of the American fall; while the distance is filled up with the receding lines of the banks of the river below.

“A few paces—past groups of blithe tourists, past companies of somber Indian girls in blue blankets and high-crowned hats, with their gay wares spread out at their feet—brings you to the Biddle staircase, down which you wind to the foot of the precipice. The path to the left leads along the foot of the overhanging cliff, up to the verge of the Horseshoe fall, only a portion of whose circumference is visible from any point on the American shore. You are here close upon the fragments of rock that fell from just in front of the tower, in February, 1852, the latest of those changes which are slowly and almost imperceptibly altering the form and position of the falls. This fall of rock was seen by an artist who has given us a faithful picture of its effects. He was just recovering from an illness, and while sitting in his room at the Clifton House, on the opposite Canadian shore, he was startled by a crash, almost like that of an earthquake. Tottering to the window, he beheld the immense curtain of rock in front of the tower precipitated from its ancient hold, and lying in huge masses upon the ice below; while a few streams of water trickled down the brown cliff, where but a moment before nothing had been seen but a surface of dazzling ice. The water at this extremity of the fall descends in light feathery forms, contrasting finely with the solid masses in which it seems to plunge down the center of the sweeping curve. The tower is perched upon the very brink of the precipice, so close that the next fall of rock must carry it along with it. The path to the right from the foot of the staircase, leads to the entrance to the Cave of the Winds, which lies behind the central fall. It is hard to imagine how this cavern missed being called the ‘Cave of Æolus,’ by those classicists who have exhausted ancient mythology for appellations for our American scenery. But it has escaped this infliction; and the ‘Cave of the Winds,’ it is, and will be. From the little house close by the entrance, where the requisite changes of dress are made, you look down into an abyss of cold gray mist, driven ever and anon like showers of hail into your face, as you grope your way down the rocky slope. Haste not, pause not. Here is the platform, half-seen, half-felt amid the blinding spray. Shade of Father Hennepin, this is truly a ‘dismal roaring’ of wind and water. We are across, and stand secure on the smooth, shaly bottom of the cave. Look up: what a magnificent arch is formed by the solid rock on the one side, and the descending mass of water on the other. Which is the solider and firmer you hardly know. Yet look again—for it is sunset—and see what we shall see nowhere else on earth, three rainbows one within another; not half-formed and incomplete, as is the scheme of our daily life, but filling up the complete circle, perfect and absolute.

“Upon an isolated rock at the very brink of the cataract stands a round tower. It is approached by a long, narrow bridge, resting now upon ledges of solid rock, and now upon loose bowlders. From the balcony upon its summit, you can lean far over the edge of the precipice, and there catch the freshness of the cloud of spray that rises evermore from the unseen foot of the great fall. Or you can climb down the low rock upon which the tower stands, and gather shells and pebbles from within arm’s length of the verge of the descent, so gentle, to all appearance, is the current. But be not over-bold. These waters, apparently so gentle, sweep down with a force beyond your power to stem. Not many months ago, a man fell from the bridge into their smooth flow, and was in the twinkling of an eye swept to the brink of the descent. Here he lodged against one of those rocks that lie apparently tottering upon the brow, looking over the fearful descent, with as little power to retrace his course, as he would have had to reascend the perpendicular fall. A rope was floated down to him, which he had just strength to fasten around his body, and he was drawn up from his perilous position.

“It is usual to speak of the Horseshoe fall as Canadian; and our rather slow neighbors across the river have been wont to plume themselves upon the possession of the more magnificent part of Niagara; while Young America has been heard to mutter between his teeth something about ‘annexation,’ on the ground that the lesser nation has no fair claim to the possession of the major part of the crowning wonder of the continent. But the portion of Niagara belonging to Canada is hardly worth contending for. The boundary line between the two countries is the deepest water, which runs far over toward the Canadian shore. The line passes through the lonely little isle in the center of the river, which has never been trodden by human foot. Right through the very center of the Horseshoe fall, where the water is greenest, cutting the thickest pillar of spray, through the inmost convolution of the whirlpool, through the calmest part of the quiet reach of water above the suspension bridge, through the maddest work of the rapids below, goes the boundary line, leaving to Canada nothing of Niagara except Table Rock, which yearly threatens to fall, and the half of the great fall: while to America it gives, together with full one-half of the Horseshoe fall, the varying beauties of the lesser cataracts, and the whole wealth of the lovely islands which gem the rapids.

“The general form of the falls is slowly changing from age to age. When Father Hennepin saw them, a century and three-quarters ago, they presented little of that curved and indented outline which now forms their most striking peculiarity. The fall on the western side extended in nearly a straight line from the head of Goat island to Table Rock, which terminated in a bluff that turned a portion of the water from its direct course, forming another cataract which fell to the east. A century later, this projecting rock had disappeared, but the spot which it had occupied was distinctly traceable. From the character of the strata through which the water has slowly worn its way back from the shores of Lake Ontario, we learn what must have been the appearances of the fall at any period of its history. Thus it can never have overcome the descent of three hundred and fifty feet at Lewiston at a single leap, but must have formed at least three cataracts separated by intervening rapids. When the falls occupied the position of the whirlpool, three miles below their present site, the descent was evidently greater than at any period before or since. But there never can have been a period when their beauty equaled that which they present at the present age. The immense breadth of the sheet of falling water, its graceful sweep of curves, and the picturesque islands that stud the brink, belong solely to our present Niagara. The falls recede at present, we are told, at the rate of something less than a foot in a year. Geology is able to predict that when a recession of a mile has taken place, some five or six thousand years hence, the hight of the fall will be reduced by a score of feet. Another five thousand years will subtract two score more of feet. Ten thousand years more, when the fall shall have worn its way four miles further back, all that constitutes Niagara will have disappeared, and the whole descent will be accomplished by a series of rapids like those near the whirlpool.