Part 12

Some of the causes of Lake Ontario never freezing are, probably, the depth of its water, and its exposure to winds. Frost is, in its nature, heavy; and therefore shallow water gets chilled sooner, and {66} sooner freezes. As soon as the surface of water becomes impregnated with frost, its weight presses it to the bottom, and a new supply rises to take its place. Thus, a revolution is continued, until the whole mass becomes chilled to a certain degree, and then the surface congeals. The necessary quantity of cold in the mass, to produce this effect upon the surface, is about thirty degrees. The depth of Lake Ontario is very great. Attempts to ascertain its depth have, in many places, been in vain: various parts of the centre have been sounded with a line of three hundred and fifty fathoms, without success. It must require a great degree, and a long continuance of cold, so to chill so deep a body of water, as to produce the congelation of its surface.

As to the influence of wind, it produces, as has been observed, an undulation of water, so as to prevent that regular operation of frost, which is necessary to congelation. The land on the north-east of Lake Ontario, is low; and the Lake is frequently agitated by storms.

As another supposed cause of the unfrozen state of this lake in the winter season, it may be presumed that there are beds of salt at the bottom of this body of water, which neutralize, in some measure, the elements of frost, as they descend beneath the surface. There are numerous salt springs on both sides of the Lake, and in its immediate vicinity.

Further: there is reason to believe, that there are warm springs in the bed of this lake. In the vicinity of it, on the Canada side, hunters frequently meet with spots of ground, about two or three acres in extent, the surface of which is, in the winter, entirely free from snow; and yet these spots are surrounded with snow to the depth of six or eight feet. Upon these places the snow, when it falls, instantly {67} melts, both that which falls upon the ground, and upon the trees.

I may add, that there are in several parts of N. America, particularly in the Missouri Territory, springs, the heat of which is about one hundred and fifty degrees. Such springs may exist in the bed of Lake Ontario, and if so, they would go far to prevent the influence of frost.

Whilst at Fort Niagara, several little anecdotes occurred which, perhaps, are not worth mentioning; they may, however, afford a momentary interest, and thereby reward me for exposing myself to the imputation of egotism and vanity.

When I arrived at the Fort, I was much weather-beaten; and, according to the sea-phrase, it was high time for me to put into some harbor and repair damages. Just before reaching this post, I understood that Colonel Pinkney commanded there; and notwithstanding the roughness of my appearance, I wished to become acquainted with him.

I have always thought it both proper and politic for a gentleman, in a strange place, if he makes himself known at all, to introduce himself to men of the first consideration; and after this step, to leave them to take the lead in every thing respecting their cultivation of his acquaintance. Under such circumstances, if the persons to whom he introduces himself are gentlemen, he will be treated well, and they will consider his confidence in them a compliment; but if they should not treat him with due respect and attention, he may well pride himself in his superiority, and pity their false views of true greatness.

Upon entering the Fort, I met an Irish soldier, who seemed to possess all the characteristic hospitality and friendship of his countrymen. He, by my request, very readily conducted me to the Colonel’s {68} quarters; and, no doubt taking me for a man of his own cloth, said: “_in farth ye shall want for nothing hare; I can geve ye a good bade_,” &c. I repeatedly thanked the honest fellow, and excused myself by saying that I should stop only an hour.

At the Colonel’s quarters, I requested his waiter to inform him, that a stranger wished for the privilege of introducing himself. The waiter, being a spruce lad of seventeen, no doubt thought much better of himself than of me: it being not easy for one in common life, and of but little experience, to perceive a gentleman under so rough a garb as was mine. The servant probably represented me to the colonel as being either an Indian, or some old hunter from the Canada shore. The first idea might well exist: as, having travelled many days in the eye of a high wind, my complexion had become very dark. But, however this may have been, the servant returned with an answer, which rather moved my yankee spirit: the colonel wished to know whether I could not inform him, through the waiter, of what I wanted. I replied, emphatically, no; and added, tell colonel Pinkney again, that a stranger wishes for the _privilege_ of introducing himself.

Before the servant’s return, the Irishman had obtained a brother Pad to come and see the man in fur. After staring at me for a minute, the new-comer said—“_sare, ar ye last?_” I looked at him with a steady aspect, and replied, emphatically, lost?—lost? The fellow dropped his eyes and drew back, his comrade, at the same time, declaring, in true Irish lingo, “_by St. Patrick, ye’d batre mind what ye’re about!—that mon has got more sanse in his latle fanger than we’ve in both of oure hades._” This unexpected compliment was no less gratifying to my vanity than contributive to my amusement.

In a moment after, the colonel’s waiter returned; {69} and, in rather a surly manner, said, “you may go in now.” I approached the parlour door, which was nearly shut; and here placing myself upon its threshold, and gently pushing the door fully open, I made my bow—; at the same time taking off my cap, and bringing my rifle to an order. Whilst in this situation, I said, Sir, I have the misfortune to be an entire stranger to you; but I have taken the liberty to introduce myself. The colonel received and entertained me in a very liberal and polite manner; and even invited me to sojourn with him for some days. Having, however, conversed with him, upon a variety of topics, for about a half hour, I arose, told him my name, place of residence, destination, &c. and bade him farewell.

Opposite to Fort Niagara, on the Canada side of the river, is the town of Newark. It is a considerable settlement, and contains some handsome buildings. Just above this place on the same side of the Niagara, is situated Fort George.[67] From Lewistown to Lake Ontario the river Niagara may well be termed beautiful: it is about one third of a mile wide, is deep enough to float the largest ships, and its current moves silently about three miles an hour. The banks of the river present a pleasant appearance; and the Heights of Queenstown afford an interesting view of the adjacent country. The distance from Lewistown to fort Niagara is about seven miles. Above the latter are the famous five-mile meadows.[68] They are very small; but little objects become great when connected with great events; and, upon the same principle, little men create for themselves temples of fame, which the weight of a fly might crush.

Upon leaving the fort I proceeded back to Lewistown; and, after dark, pursued my way towards Niagara Falls. Sometimes, when not near any habitation, {70} I travelled from daylight to twelve o’clock at night. My object in taking this course, was, so to shorten the nights, as to render my situation during them more secure, and less uncomfortable. So heavy, frequently, was the travelling, that with great exertion I could not, during this period, progress more than twenty miles. During my walk from the fort, along the bank of the river, I reflected upon the battle of Queenstown, the subsequent devastations of the enemy upon this part of our inland frontier, and the impolicy of our so generally employing militia. The next day I made a minute of my ideas upon the subject, and now introduce them with some additions. I am aware, however, that in taking this step, I shall oppose a national prejudice; but I do it because, however much a man may wish for the good opinion of his fellow-citizens, he ought to regard the interests of his country more. In everything excepting in the too general employment of militia, our government has, in a greater or less degree, profited by experience. But in this particular, we seem to have been unduly influenced by our too general idea of a standing army:—an idea which at once calls forth ten thousand vague apprehensions, and condemns, without the ceremony of a hearing, every suggestion of reason. We are not children; and it is high time to put aside bug-bears. Our prejudices against standing armies are natural, and, in some respects, salutary; but in fleeing from the water, let us not run into the fire. Fact is sometimes less unpleasant than apprehension. Are we ignorant, that we have already, always have had, and always shall have a standing army? By a standing army, I mean a force raised for a permanent purpose, and having no exclusive relation to a state of war. Such a force, under the existing disposition of man, is essential to the security of every {71} government, however peaceful may be its policy. The only question upon this subject, is,—how large our regular army ought to be? Here we are to guard against many evils, which might proceed from either extreme:—from a very large, or a very small standing army.

By a very large standing army, the counsels of the nation might be too much influenced by the private interest and feelings of military men; unpatriotic ambition might employ this force to the worst of purposes; its maintenance would be inconsistent with rational economy; and an unnecessary part of our population would, comparatively, be kept in idleness.

But, both security and true economy require, that we should have an established, permanent, and well organized force, sufficiently numerous, and ready at a moment’s warning to meet, with success, the invaders of our land; or to reduce, with promptitude, our Indian enemies. These are the first objects of such an establishment; the others are,—to furnish a national standard of military tactics; to make, in a short time, real soldiers of our militia, when a sudden necessity for a great army shall call them into actual service; and lastly, by mingling both kinds of force, to afford the militia support and confidence in the hour of battle.

As to our militia, they should be instructed for the sole purpose of enabling them more effectually to defend their own fire-sides, and of furnishing a nursery for the ranks of our regular army, whenever enlistments into them shall be necessary. Courageous as our militia are, they are not, generally speaking, an efficient force; and by employing them as a substitute for regular troops, we unnecessarily increase expence, sacrifice valuable lives, and expose at once, the safety and the reputation of the country.

{72} I have a very high opinion of the courage of my countrymen; but courage without discipline always, excepting in cases of bad conduct on the part of the enemy, results in general confusion, and individual sacrifice. By employing militia in actual service, we throw away the best and most productive part of our population. If the nation could see the dreadful aggregate of our militia, who have fallen victims to the dangers and diseases of the camp, merely because they were militia, there would be a general mourning; and the nation would forever abandon, in relation to this subject, its present policy. It is a system dictated by false ideas of economy, by a too general eulogy of our militia, and by groundless fears with respect to a regular force.

Our militia have, at times, performed wonders; but they have likewise often been the cause of defeat and disgrace.

We ought not unnecessarily to employ militia in actual service. To do so is to be careless of our population; and our population is our wealth. Great-Britain cannot support her subjects; she may well, therefore, sacrifice them in unnecessary wars. Her territory is comparatively small; whilst ours is almost unlimited. None of our citizens should be sent into the field of battle without the confidence and conduct, which discipline gives. Our militia, as I have said before, are the most valuable and productive part of our population; and they are sent into the field under the most unfavourable circumstances. Many of them have never slept a night from under their maternal roof. They have heard their fathers speak of other times, and their youthful hearts pant for the service of their country; but when the novelties of the camp, the music and the parade of military life cease to inspire them, they lose, for a time, much of their enterprise {73} and spirit. This very circumstance disposes them to disease; and this very circumstance tends to render disease fatal. They are entirely unaccustomed to the habits and employments of a camp; and their health is greatly exposed, by means of the number of troops collected, by being encamped in insalubrious situations, and by modes of living, to which they are entirely unaccustomed. In a time of peace, new recruits may be located in small numbers, in healthy situations, and the habits of the raw soldier be gradually changed.

But a militia force is not efficient. Discipline is, generally speaking, absolutely necessary to success. It produces in battle a sense of general, and in some measure of individual security. The soldier in an engagement knows, that he must take his chance, and he is willing to take it; but it is because he has a confidence in the general security of the army, that he stands his ground: for let him know that there will be a rout of his party, and he will at once become sensible of the _extraordinary_ risque which he must run, and will endeavour to save himself by flight. In proportion to the discipline of an army will be the general and individual confidence of the troops. Besides, there is a great difference between individual and general courage. Individual courage is less common than is supposed. A party of men may fight pretty well in company, when, as individuals, they would, under similar circumstances, act a cowardly part; it is a sense of mutual support, which checks their fears, and furnishes them with confidence.

Where there is discipline,—where every individual feels that he is supported by all the rest,—this gives him confidence; and confidence is force.

Among militia the cowardice of a few will disorganize the whole; and when broken and hard pushed, {74} it is impossible for them to rally. But regular troops, when broken, can, in ordinary cases, readily form again; and, although their ranks may be thinned by the fire of the enemy, they are immediately filled, order is maintained, the army, though reduced, is still an army; and, although overpowered, they fight, not like a rabble, but like true soldiers. Their manouvres too, upon which the result of an engagement much depends, are performed promptly, and in order. Indeed, a soldier, in a well disciplined army, is a mere machine; he is a part of a perfect whole, has no will of his own, and moves only by the direction of his commanders. Had our force, at the attack upon the city of Washington, been of such a class, what a glorious defence would have been made![69] They would have planted themselves before it, and in the name of every thing dear, and sacred, and terrible, would have resisted its unprincipled invaders.

Our militia, as has been observed, sometimes perform wonders; but these are exceptions to a general rule; and exceptions are a poor ground for the establishment of a general principle. In a pell-mell contest, militia will fight with effect, because the mode of fighting is, on both sides, of the same kind. Here our militia would prevail over that of any other nation. And were our troops always well disciplined, they would always, excepting in cases of accident, overcome the regular troops opposed to them. These effects would arise from the people of this country possessing more animal vigour, and more moral force than any other people.

Our militia may soon be made good soldiers, because they are intelligent, and have already received some military instruction. I speak of them in comparison with the militia of other countries. Much discipline, and the scenes and avocations of the {75} camp should be familiar to soldiers, before they are brought into the field. By teaching them their first lessons, at the point of the bayonet, immense sacrifices are made, both of reputation and of blood.

The expence too of maintaining a militia force, is much greater than that of supporting a regular army. The former must be more numerous than the latter; and, of course, their wages and provisions must amount to more.

Our military establishment should, to say the least, be sufficiently large to enable us to move, whenever necessary, a well organized, well disciplined, and efficient force against our savage neighbours. Such a kind of force is the only proper one to meet the fatigues and dangers of Indian warfare. It is time for the nation to be heart-sick of inefficient military efforts, defeat and massacre. The Indians may be conquered; but the genius of a Jackson, thousands of Tennesseeans, much time, and a vast expence should not, in this country, be requisite to overthrow a few hundred Seminoles.[70] A well organized, and well appointed force of one thousand men could effect such an object in thirty days after leaving the proper place of rendezvous.—I say one thousand men, because a large force is more decidedly efficient than a small one. Militia, under ordinary circumstances, are put into the utmost confusion by the whoop, and yell, and onset, of Indians; and then a total butchery of them ensues. But let a regular force be employed, and order and firmness will resist the most furious, and unexpected attack; and the next moment they will march on to victory. Our celebrated fourth regiment at the battle of Tippecanoe proves this position.[71] But for them, this engagement would have resulted like those of Braddock and St. Clair.

The honour and the safety of the nation, demand {76} an ample and well organized military establishment. With the love of liberty, and every other circumstance in our favour, we have often, by only an equal force, been defeated; and this effect arose from our want of discipline. The nation must have such a force as can be depended upon:—such a force as will fear a departure from discipline more than the bayonet of the enemy. Such a force can be obtained only by offering to our best population, both officers and soldiers, such compensation and advantages as will, not only induce them to engage in the service of their country, but such as will be in themselves so fully adequate, as to render the service respectable. A considerable part of the expence of such an establishment, might be defrayed by employing the troops in making roads, and in other internal improvements. This business would keep them from idleness, inure them to labour, and render them acquainted with those implements, which are employed in pioneering, and in fortification.

The present administration are, no doubt, disposed to promote the respectability and safety of the nation; and the opposition have always been in favour of a considerable military and naval establishment. The experience gained by our last contest with Great-Britain cost us much; and it ought not to be forgotten. Both political parties in this country agree, that in peace we ought to be prepared for war. That I do, however, consider war between nations, seldom necessary, and a practice which places human nature upon the most humiliating ground, will fully appear when I reach, in the course of my tour, those fields of carnage which forcibly speak to the lone traveller.

The rapids of the river Niagara commence at a little distance above the celebrated falls, and terminate near the narrows opposite to Lewiston. Between {77} these two places the distance is about seven miles.

That I might have a full view of the scenery in the vicinity of the falls, I travelled, during the evening of my leaving Fort Niagara, only two miles beyond Lewistown. Early the next morning I moved on, glowing with anticipation. The lofty and rude banks of this part of the river, the deafening clamour of the falls, and the huge clouds of vapour which arose from them, inspired me with a new and indescribable emotion. The day too was dark, windy, and wild. Yet the sun shone bright;—but the darkness did not comprehend it.

Owing, perhaps, to the excitement occasioned by these circumstances, I expected too much. I confess that I was disappointed, both with respect to the height of the falls, and the quantity of water propelled over them in a given time. There is, however, in their eternal roar, a nameless solitude. For ages this roar has been ceaseless; and it seems to speak of perpetual duration.

The rapids just above the falls, excited much interest. Dark, furious, and perplexed, they rush on as though eager for destruction. Here the imagination suddenly becomes aroused, and with a sombre, yet vivid glance, surveys the opposite, and renowned plains of Chippewa and Bridgewater;[72]—then returning to the rapids, it hears, in the voice of their fury, the half-drowned vow of the warrior, and sees, in their mist, his falling steed, and brandished falchion. The trees near the falls were all prostrated by the weight of congealed vapour; and seemed to worship, most devoutly, the Great Author of this grand spectacle. A lovely, yet fearful rainbow, arched the river below; and numerous gulls, were obscurely seen sailing through the thick exhalations which filled the whole space to {78} the Canada side.—Charon and his boat only were wanted to complete the scene.

How impressive is the grand in nature! It withdraws the human mind from the trifling concerns of time, and points it to its primeval dignity, and lofty destinies.

There are three divisions of the falls; and they are occasioned by two islands situated in the river. The whole describes a crescent. One of the islands is about four hundred yards wide, and the other about ten yards. Perhaps the whole width of the islands and falls, including the curvatures of the latter, is three quarters of a mile. The height of the principal falls is about one hundred and fifty feet; and the descent of the rapids, above the largest of them, is about sixty feet. One can hardly avoid personifying this rush of water; meeting, as it does, huge rocks and trees lying in every direction, and seeking, with a wild and furious velocity, a passage to the falls. Breaking and foaming, the rapids take a thousand courses, and with a restive spirit, seek the abyss below. The obstructions of the rapids appear to dispute their passage; and the whole scene is fury, uproar and destruction. The vapour, arising from the rapids, adds to the sublimity of the scene, by the obscurity with which it clothes their tremendous concussions.