Our circuit of the West had now been completed, and having surrendered the camera car which we had chartered, we made hasty preparations for a grand tour of all that section lying east of the Mississippi. Before departing for the East, however, we made a flying trip over the St. Louis & San Francisco Railroad to Eureka Springs, a popular health resort in Northern Arkansas, surrounded by some very beautiful scenery that spreads away through the Ozark and Boston Mountains in picturesque grandeur, diversified by swift-flowing streams, deep gorges, terrible bluffs and immense caves that are gorgeously embellished with gigantic stalactite and stalagmite formations. If these magnificent scenes were not so conveniently near a large city, they would be a hundred-fold more famous, for it is human nature to yearn for the least accessible and the most difficult of attainment. In short, we rarely appreciate the things that we have, and exaggerate the importance and attractiveness of places which are remote. It is this peculiarity of the human mind that makes heaven a necessity and immortality a natural deduction, the irresistible conclusion of human reason.

We tarried one week in St. Louis before departing for the East, and then again divided our party, one of our photographers proceeding to Pittsburgh, and thence through Pennsylvania and Virginia, taking views of the famous scenery of those States, while the other two whose travels we will now describe, passed northward to Chicago, and thence east by way of Niagara. Having heard much of a celebrated point known as Starved Rock, on the Illinois River, a place of commanding interest in the history of La Salle and his adventurous companions, we resolved to stop at Ottawa, en route to Chicago, and make a photograph of the historic rock. We reached Ottawa by the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Road, and thence by driving ten miles in a spring wagon we gained the spot made celebrated through a tradition which is as romantic as it is tragic.

Starved Rock is now the property of a company, and is situated on the left bank of the Illinois River, near the foot of the rapids. It is a perpendicular bluff of limestone, one hundred and fifty feet high, and is crowned with oaks and other forest trees. The water front presents a precipitous wall, but there is a slope towards an adjoining bluff by which it is alone accessible. The summit has an area of about one acre, but is a natural stronghold; and perceiving its advantages, La Salle, on his first return trip to Canada, ordered his Indian lieutenant, named Tonti, to fortify himself upon the Rock, supplying him with one small cannon for that purpose. Tonti carried out these orders, and, it is said, died and was buried upon the Rock. Years afterward, the place became conspicuous in the Indian wars; and it is related that after the killing of Pontiac, chief of the Ottawas, in a drunken row at Cahokia, some of his people charged the Illinois tribe with the crime and made war upon them. Being feeble in numbers, they were driven before the Ottawas so remorselessly that as a last resort they took refuge on Starved Rock. Here they were able to hold their enemies at bay, but their distress was none the less because of their ability to prevent a scaling of their stronghold, for the Ottawas besieged the Rock and effectually prevented the Illinois from securing any supplies. Water was for a while procured by means of vessels attached to ropes of bark, which were let down into the stream. But this device was presently discovered and prevented by the Ottawas coming under the bluff in canoes and cutting the ropes. Unwilling to surrender and run the risk of torture, the unfortunate Illinois remained in the place of their retreat until one by one they died of starvation. This is the tradition current in La Salle county, and the finding of many Indian relics and bones on the Rock tend to confirm its truthfulness.

From Chicago we went east over the Michigan Central to Niagara Falls, that greatest of natural wonders, a sublime apotheosis of omnipotence, a glorification of the immeasurable power that nature possesses, in whose roar we distinguish the hallelujah chorus of centuries and peans of praise to the mightiness of Deity.

Niagara Falls, the supreme natural marvel of both continents, is divided into two cataracts, viz.: American Falls, flowing towards the American or western side, and Horseshoe Falls, which discharges towards the Canada side, the two being separated by Goat Island.

The height of the former is one hundred and four feet, and the latter, owing to a limestone stratum not worn away, is one foot higher, by which it is reasonably concluded that at one time nearly all the flow was towards the American side, because the discharge over the western fall is not now so great as that towards the Canada side. This tremendous flood of waters is from Lake Erie through Niagara River into Lake Ontario, and the retrogression of the cataract, caused by the wearing of the limestone ledge, inclines geologists to the opinion that the flow has continued for a period of not less than thirty-seven thousand years. The width of Niagara River at the falls is forty-five hundred feet, of which American Falls occupies eleven hundred feet, Goat Island fourteen hundred feet, and Horseshoe Falls two thousand feet, though the deep curve in the latter, whence its name is derived, makes the line of fall more than three thousand feet. It has been estimated that the discharge exceeds one billion gallons of water every twelve hours, and that the force thus developed is equal to something more than one million horse-power.

The landscape on either side of the falls has little of the picturesque or tumultuous about it, being generally slightly rolling, and giving no indication of eruptive disturbance; so that scientists are still searching for a plausible theory upon which to base a conclusion as to the cause that produced this sudden dip in the limestone formation.

The astounding power displayed by the river dropping over a wide and lofty ledge is scarcely more bewildering than that exhibited by the Rapids, which extend for half a mile from the point of descent, and meeting a swift current, the flood is lashed into a fury that is frightful to behold, rising in the center like huge beasts in combat, and tossing wave-caps nearly fifty feet above the surface. At times the spray rises in such clouds as to completely obscure the falls, and borne some distance by the winds is condensed, and a long-continued rain follows, which renders a considerable stay in the neighborhood somewhat disagreeable.

While an admirable view of the falls may be obtained from many points of observation on the bridge, or along both shores, the greatest interest attaches to a visit to the noisy caverns that are behind the descending flood. These may be reached by means of spiral stairways built for the purpose, but the visitor must prepare for the trip by investing himself in a suit of oil-skin, and for a while must assume the character of an amphibian. At the bottom of the deep descent are stones in great confusion, over which we must scramble to reach the Cave-of-the-Winds, a watery grotto indeed, in which the air is agitated by the thundering cataract that fairly envelopes you. The scene here is beyond the scope of pen or brush, for these appeal only to sight and understanding, while the awful presence conjures all the senses. Behind the giant curtain of waterfall is a greenish reflection, weird in its intensity and unnaturalness, and to the ears there comes a muffled roar which, while not jarring, yet seems to pervade and penetrate like the dull rumble of an earthquake. This uncertain disturbance, which confuses with strange noise, is intensified by a wind that is here created by what appears to be some mysterious agency; and other curious things are noted that suggest to the imaginative mind a region of the supernatural, where indistinct voices warn and then invite, but are always clamorous, like a crowd of bedlamites.

Below the falls the river narrows to eight hundred feet, between precipitous walls, which add swiftness to the current, and three miles from Horseshoe Falls the impetuous stream strikes a point of projecting land in such a manner that a terrible whirlpool is created, capable of sucking down a large steamboat. By means of a car, which is controlled by a cable, visitors may ride down the very steep incline to the edge of Whirlpool Rapids and view in safety the awful, mad-lashing waters, swirling with extraordinary rapidity and throwing high the tousled heads of ravening waves, which appear to be lusting for victims and bellowing for vengeance. It is gratifying to know that the almost incomputable power of Niagara is soon to be transmitted, through the generation of electricity, to mills and machinery, and thus utilized to the honor of human genius as well as to the glory of God.

Great changes occurring in Niagara Falls, which though slow and remittent, are no less certain to destroy the grandeur of that incomparable waterfall some time in the very remote future. It is a well-demonstrated fact that Niagara River has excavated the gorge through which it runs, and within recent years such immense masses of the ledge-stone have been detached by the gnawing waters as to cause an appreciable recession of the cataract, and a corresponding lengthening of the gorge. It is recorded that in 1818 very large fragments of limestone were wrenched from the surface-bed and cast over Horseshoe Falls, and another similar result occurred in 1855. But each year, and constantly, the erosion is marked, so that Table Rock, formerly a striking feature of the river, has been worn away so completely that no present sign of it now remains. It has been computed by Sir Charles Lyell that the average rate of recession is about one foot annually, counting for the past thousand years; but as before stated, the erosive results are spasmodic. There is now eighty feet of hard limestone composing the surface-rock, and it will probably require ten thousand years for the rushing waters to eat this away; after that, however, the wear will be rapid, and in course of centuries the falls will have disappeared, and only a tremendous gorge will remain in their stead. Many wonderful spectacles have taken place at the falls, the most interesting of which was the sending adrift of a condemned lake vessel, drawing eighteen feet of water, in 1829, which passed over the brink without touching bottom, and was dashed in pieces on the rocks below. This experiment was made to test the depth of water on the brink of the precipice.

There is a weary sameness to the generally level or prairie scenery which lies between the Mississippi River and New York State, if we except the rather pleasing diversity of well-cultivated farms, prosperous towns, and evidences of thrift that are everywhere noticeable. But there is more than the greatness of commercial and industrial empire to recommend New York to the sight-seer, for some of the most charming scenery to be found anywhere in the world is within her borders, matching for sublimity even the most marvelous views which we have described. And additional fascination attaches to many of her noted places on account of the Indian names which have been jealously preserved in her geography. The Mohawk Valley is at once a lovely vale and a reminder of Cooper’s “Leather Stocking Stories;” and so are her hundred rivers and lakes that bear the designations bestowed upon them, either by some of the once-powerful tribes, or which perpetuate the fame of their great chiefs, the shades of whom seem to linger about Seneca, Cayuga, Oneida, Oswego, Canandaigua, Chautauqua, Keuka, Skaneateles, over which they once skimmed in light canoes. The romance with which these beautiful waters are invested would draw us irresistibly to their shores were there no other attractions; but to these delightful traditions of a vanished people are the added charms of sylvan glades, exposing vistas of exquisite landscape, blue waters dimpled by soft winds, swift-racing streams dashing under overarching shades, and wild chasms that imprison echo and exhibit some of the most astounding results of glacial action, abetted by upheaval, depression and erosion. After picturing the wonders of Niagara, therefore, two of our party made a trip over the New York Central Line and its connection, to Geneva, a beautiful town on the north shore of Seneca Lake, which in many respects is one of the most remarkable bodies of water in the world. The lake is about forty miles in length, but it is a mere strip, rarely exceeding two miles in width, yet has the extraordinary depth of six hundred feet, so that it is evidently a basin created by the same convulsion that wrought the surprising results which render the Glens at the south end famous beyond comparison, as will be presently described. It is particularly strange that such a tremendous cleft should be made without showing a wider extent of disturbance, though the shores are a succession of promontories, sweeping back in graceful undulations and well-wooded slopes, save where industry has converted the hills into fruitful fields.

The trip from Geneva to Watkins, which covers the extreme length of the lake, is comfortably and enjoyably made by means of fine steamers, which land at many intermediate points, and give summer tourists opportunity for thoroughly examining the towns and beautiful banks along the way. Watkins, which is the objective place of all pleasure travelers, has its feet bathed by Seneca Lake, and its head shaded by the brow of Buck Mountain, at whose base is the main street, running parallel therewith. Following this street a short distance, the visitor reaches a bridge that affords passage over a small stream, and proceeding along the banks of this little water-course for less than half a mile, he is suddenly confronted by a massive and lofty natural wall that prevents further progress. Stairways, however, have been built, by which we mounted to the summit of this wonderful masonry, and from that eminence surveyed the matchless scenery of Watkin’s Glen. But the view is interrupted by intervening precipices and densely wooded copses, so that to see the amazing wonders and the bewildering beauties of this marvelously diversified region a tour of its many attractions is necessary. To do this requires a pair of strong legs and good breath, for the climbing is severely taxing, though owing to the substantial and well protected stairways is never dangerous.

Passing through Glen Alpha, where the awful sublimity of a tremendous chasm oppresses the visitor on first view, we caught sight of Twin Falls, where the waters pour down in two great sluices and become wedded in a swirling pool that pours out the overflow through a caÑon whose walls have been scarified by the teeth of centuries. Below the falls is Whirlpool Gorge, an amphitheater that is striated and terraced into forms so variable as to please every conceit and yet arouse amazement. The stream dashes into this capricious auditorium at a maddening pace, but encounters resistance in the curving walls, and is thus thrown into a rapid, whirling movement like a maelstrom; and this rotary action of the waters has worn the half-encircling walls into many singular, though usually symmetrical shapes.

Climbing out of Whirlpool Gorge and moving southward a short distance along a railed ledge, we come in sight of Peek-a-boo Falls, a beautiful sheet of water plunging over a precipice fifty feet high, and scattering its spray along the walls that confine its descent, for the chasm is very narrow here, and charming for its sylvan weirdness. The cliffs are very pictures in stone, rising in tiers and carved into fantastic forms, while the overhanging trees, graceful ferns and velvety mosses make the place a bower in which fairies might delight to dwell.

But when the sun is above the mountains and setting the landscape aglow with cheerful beams, these same fastnesses are a realm of romantic delight, for every peak is reflected in some lovely lake, while waterfalls appear to be pouring out of the sky and go chasing down the verdant slopes playing high-spy among the coverts and making the woods musical with their laughter. Near Ausable Ponds, guarded by Mount Marcy, are the beautiful Rainbow Falls, a very flood of opals, so iridescent does it appear when its waters catch the sunbeams. And near Tupper Lake are the Bogg’s River Falls, or cascades, that make the surrounding forest resound with their roaring, for they discharge an immense flood over a rock-infested course, and swell into a river a mile below.

Near the western margin of the Adirondacks is Long Lake, narrow as a river and many miles in length, but so still and crystalline that the lordly lake-trout may be seen sporting in its deepest water, as if challenging an angler. Its outlet is by way of a stream that flows by Owl’s Head and into Forked Lake. Between these points is Buttermilk Falls, stately and impetuous, but symmetrical and rhythmic, as it courses over gentle terraces and drops, step by step, into the rapids which crowd from shore to shore and keep the stream in a state of constant agitation.

Northeast of Buttermilk Falls is Adirondack station, on Henderson Lake, which is the central point of this whole mountain region, and a place where tourists are usually found in large numbers. Near the north end of the lake is Wall-Face Mountain, commanding an extensive view, and midway is Indian Pass, which is a tremendous chasm through what is known as the Dismal Wilderness. Notwithstanding the large number of visitors who annually summer in the vicinity, so dense is the forest and jungle-growth that surrounds the Pass, and so inaccessible the deepest portions of the gorge, that very few explorers have succeeded in making their way through it, and no one is sufficiently familiar with the region to act as a competent guide. It has been ascertained, however, that within the Pass, which is intersected by several streams, are springs which are the source of Ausable River, which, emptying into Champlain, finds an outlet into the Atlantic by way of the St. Lawrence, and also of the Hudson, whose drainage is in the opposite direction; and yet so close are these springs that it is possible to drink from each without shifting one’s position. In this vicinity is Gill Brook, which is picturesquely broken by Surprise Falls, composed of a succession of sharp leaps over limestone ledges, but so narrow that the forest trees form a perfect canopy above, excluding a sight of both river and falls until the visitor approaches within a few feet of the stream. But the entire region so abounds with lakes, mountains, gorges, waterfalls and cataracts that to describe all its attractions would be wearisome iteration, for there is an unavoidable sameness in the pen-pictures of scenery, however variable in character.

Having made a tour of the Adirondacks, and taken many photographs of the superb scenery which distinguishes it, we took train at Saranac Lake station, the southern terminus of the Chateaugay Railroad, and returned to Plattsburgh. From that point we proceeded south by the Delaware and Hudson Railroad, along the west shore of Champlain, by Ticonderoga, and thence to Glen’s Falls, to obtain a picture of the Hudson where it pours over rocky ledges in great volume and is converted into a terrible cataract that is worth many miles of travel to see. Our way was then continued southward to Albany, and thence into the Catskills, which begin about one hundred miles south of the Adirondacks. These mountains are unlike any others in America, in that while every other range possesses peaks with jagged points, generally of stones tumbled in confusion, the Catskills have gracefully rounded summits, which, though sometimes rising to a height of four thousand feet, yet exhibit few effects of aberrant forces; nor are they covered with huge rocks, such as characterize all other ranges. The scenery, therefore, while grand, is very tame as compared with the Adirondacks, and but for the fine drive-ways through the valleys and over their crowns, would be monotonous. But this sameness is occasionally diversified, and the visitor is led on to expect more beauties than he really finds. The one attractive and justly famous feature of this mountain region is Kaaterskill Falls. These are reached by the Catskill Mountain Railroad from Catskill, on the Hudson, stopping at Mountain House station, from which eminence, 2,250 feet above the river, an extensive view may be had, taking in Albany, the Hudson Highlands, Berkshire Hills and the Green Mountains. It is even said that by means of a good glass on a clear day portions of Massachusetts, Connecticut and New Jersey may be descried, but during our visit the atmospheric conditions were unfavorable. Two miles from the Mountain House, and reached by a beautiful road, are the celebrated Kaaterskill Falls, at the head of which is located the Laurel House, from which a fine view of Round Top and High Peak may be had, as well as of the falls themselves. But the best sight is obtained by descending a spiral stairway into the gorge below and looking upward. The falls are formed by the overflow of North and South Lake, which pours through a double cleft and descends in two cascades, the first having a drop of 180 feet, and the second eighty feet; but a short distance below there is another fall, known as the Bastion, which has a further descent of forty feet. Beautiful as they are, candor compels the statement, however disparaging it may appear, that the falls are remittent, and that people may visit them without seeing any such display of waters as we have described. The supply being limited, a dam has been constructed across the verge of the cliff, and is opened only on special and rare occasions, when the number of incredulous summer visitors is great enough to make it necessary to turn on the water, to show that the falls are still active. There is some very pretty scenery in the region of Kaaterskill Clove, notably Hains’ Falls, Fawn-Leap Falls and High Rocks, but a fee is charged at every point of interest, and the visitor is so harrowed by the showmen of nature that he is in no disposition to appreciate the view which he pays to see, and is almost certain to leave the Catskills with a bad impression—even worse than the mountains deserve. It was with such feelings that we set out by rail for Kingston, and there took boat down the Hudson River for New York, but stopped for a while at West Point en route.

The scenery about West Point is of almost matchless grandeur, and every consideration is present to confirm the wisdom of the Congress of 1812 in establishing a military training-school at this point. The fort on the river-shore is in a position to command the approaches north and south, while at the foot of the highlands is a level stretch, as though prepared by nature for a Champ des Mars, or parade-ground. The hills rise abruptly from the rear of the training-plaza, and from their summits an inspiring view is to be had. Sweeping the horizon, we clearly discern the Break-Neck, Crow’s Nest, and Storm King Mountains, with blue valleys stretching away between, and the majestic Hudson washing the feet of these and many other noble hills. The academy, besides being scenically and advantageously situated, is in a very realm of romance, around which cluster many memories of the greatest writers of fiction that our country has the honor of claiming. It was the Crow’s Nest that gave the inspiration to Joseph Rodman Drake for his exquisite poem entitled the “Culprit Fay,” so charmingly realistic that the fairies of his verse still exist in fancy, just as the mountain spirits who tricked Rip Van Winkle still haunt the deep forests of the Catskills and play at nine-pins on the peak that overlooks the faded village of Falling Water. Near Cold Spring, which is in this same historic land, was “Undercliff,” the home of George P. Morris, and where he wrote that patriotic and moving tribute to a sheltering tree, the figure of our American Union, “Woodman, Spare that Tree.” So was “Idlewild,” the villa of N. P. Willis, close-by, and hereabout also Washington Irving spent much of his time gathering traditions from descendants of the old Dutch colonists for his imperishable “Sketch Book” tales. But history as indelibly fixes West Point in the minds of Americans as the stories of famous fiction-writers, for the site of the training-school was, in Revolutionary times, occupied by Fort Putnam, erected under the direction of Kosciuszko; and it was at West Point that Benedict Arnold consummated his traitorous deal with Major Andre, to deliver that post into the hands of the British. On the opposite shore is the mouth of a pretty stream called the Mooda, but which in earlier times was known as Murderer’s Creek, on account of the slaughter by a band of lurking savages of eight soldiers who were sent with buckets to fetch water for the camp near-by. A little way below is Milton’s Ferry, a spot famous as the place of residence of a patriot blacksmith who made the great chain that stretched across the river at old Fort Montgomery, to prevent the passage of British ships. For this service he was taken captive shortly after and kept in close confinement on an English ship until his death. Newburgh is also only a few miles away, smiling benignly from terraced banks upon the river below; and conspicuous among its old houses is one in which Washington had his headquarters in 1780, and which is changed but little in appearance since he occupied it.

It is below West Point that the principal places of scenic and historic interest occur, and these crowd rapidly upon one another until Yonkers is reached. At the base of Sugar-Loaf Mountain is a bluffy projection upon which Fort Independence, of Revolutionary times, was built, and near-by is Buttermilk Falls, that runs down a succession of sharp ledges one hundred feet. Anthony’s Nose is on the right, rising to a height of nine hundred feet, and overlooking beautiful Ionia Island, that seems to swim upon the glassy surface of the river, like the halcyon isle of fable; but on close approach its three hundred acres are found to be covered with vineyards and its shaded margins the favorite gathering-place of merry picnickers.

The Highlands come next in view, of which Dunderberg Mountain, eleven hundred feet high, is the most prominent object; and then appears Peekskill, the prettiest town in eastern New York. Near this place is Caldwell’s Landing, distinguished as being the immediate vicinity of Captain Kidd’s buried treasure, which hundreds have searched for with great energy and at immense expense, but without reward. Remains of Revolutionary forts are seen at Verplanck and Stony Point, and below these the Croton River discharges into the Hudson. Sing Sing and Nyack are passed in order, between which the shores are occupied with charming villas, and the landscape here is very picturesque. But it is at Tarrytown that visitors find most to interest them, both for the scenic beauty of the neighborhood and the historic prominence which attaches to the place. Here it was that Major Andre was arrested, the identical spot being marked by an inscription in the village records. The spirit of Washington Irving seems to pervade the locality, for it was in this vicinage that the creatures of his exquisite fancy held their lively revels. Sleepy Hollow is near-by, and the old bridge over which Ichabod Crane so furiously rode in his flight from a headless specter is still shown to visitors as a proof of that legendary race. The Christ Church which Irving attended in Tarrytown has not been suffered to lapse into decay, and the cemetery adjoining the old Dutch church, in which his remains find rest, shows the reverend respect with which his memory is treasured by the villagers, for it is well tended.

“Wolfert’s Roost,” or Sunnyside, Irving’s villa, is a few miles below, just within the edge of Irvington, on the river, but it is hidden from view by the ivy that clambers in profusion over its walls, and the dense shrubbery that has been allowed to occupy all the ground in the front-yard.

The old town of Tappan is a short distance from Sunnyside, and is memorable as being Washington’s headquarters and likewise as the place of Major Andre’s imprisonment and execution. A monument erected by Cyrus Field marks the spot where the gallows stood on which that English officer perished. The Palisades next come into view, and on the west side is Locust Hill, which was the place where the American encampment was established in 1781, along the eminences of the Palisades which gave a commanding position to the troops guarding against invasion of the British up the river. Yonkers, Spuyten Duyvil, and Mount St. Vincent are next passed, and the city of New York then looms up, with its wharves lined with vessels, whose numerous masts make the shores look from a distance like a forest of pines denuded of their branches. Here we tarried to await the coming of our two photographers.

In the meantime, however, there were no idle moments, for the work of developing the photographs which we had taken was now prosecuted with great energy, and the finished pictures were sent on as fast as made to our photo-engravers for reproduction. Fortunately, too, we had so accurately timed the work which each had undertaken that there was only a few days’ detention in New York; little more, in fact, than was necessary to complete arrangements for our tour of the South, now to be described.