Throughout the preceding chapters, I have considered our voyage across the Atlantic, only in the light of a successful speculation; and so indeed it was in all points but one; but that one was unfortunately of the utmost importance—I mean HEALTH. My family had enjoyed this blessing almost without alloy, in all our previous travels, and this circumstance, perhaps, rendered us a little impatient under the infliction of the first reverse.

After we had remained in the city a few months, my husband was attacked with a disorder that frequently rages here, called the chills and fever; one distressing peculiarity of which is, that it leaves the patient for a long time in a weak and languid condition. This was to us a circumstance of a serious nature, for as all our earthly dependence was founded upon his exertions, as a private teacher; if he were incapacitated by sickness from pursuing the duties of his profession—it required no augur to foretel the consequences. But as in other affairs, America had not only answered, but had greatly exceeded our expectations, we felt every disposition to give the climate a fair trial before we totally abandoned it.

As soon as my husband was sufficiently convalescent, we amused ourselves with visiting Staten Island, Long Island, the coast of New Jersey, and other places within a convenient distance of the city, for the advantage of change of scene and air; and also to select a country residence, with the view of ascertaining the effect of the climate, under what we conceived to be, the most advantageous circumstances. The chief of these excursions of pleasure was our trip to Albany, the State Capital of New York, situated about a hundred and fifty miles up the Hudson, or the North River, as it is here generally denominated.

Since I had been in America, I had heard, with perfect indifference, the scenery of the Hudson whispered in accents of faint praise; and as I expected to see nothing more than a fine river winding its course through a forest, I was totally unprepared for the pleasure that awaited me. It is not without some faint misgivings, arising from a latent sense of insufficiency for such a task, that I hazard an attempt to describe this charming scenery.

Embarked on board a superb steam ship, we went at a rapid rate, and quickly left the city in the distance. A long series of perpendicular rocks, of various altitudes, crowned with trees and bushes, and fluted as if by art, forms the western barrier of this noble river; on the other side, the mansions of the opulent, with their pleasure grounds, reflect a beauteous contrast. We now leave the dwellings of man, and the wildness of nature seems to maintain uninterrupted sway; when suddenly the river widens into what appears to be an expansive lake, whose glassy bosom reflects the surrounding woods and rocks, and the tree-bearing islets which it encircles. Again the stream is contracted by two gigantic rocks, which lift their ‘awful form’ from each side of its margin. We dart through this channel, and another expansive prospect opens to our view enriched with all the charms of the former, in addition to the blue mountains of Catskill in perspective. Here, it seems as if nature had studied to dispose woods, rocks, mountains, and lakes, in positions the most graceful and majestic; so sublime and lovely are the objects that meet the eye in every direction.

Besides nature’s attractions, other interesting circumstances are associated with the surrounding scenery. About forty miles above the city, is the memorable district called the neutral ground, on the borders of which the struggle was the fiercest during the revolutionary war. This is the province that Cooper has chosen for the scenes of his ‘Spy.’ Here also is the melancholy spot where the unfortunate Major Andre was captured, and the place of his execution may be seen from the river. ‘Sleepy Hollow’ was also pointed out to us, and farther on is the village of Rip Van Winkle of somniferous notoriety. Among these the rock of Sing Sing, crowned with the dismal ornament of the largest prison in world, forces itself upon our notice, and induces a feeling dashed with rather too much sadness, to be strictly pleasing.

Before this sail up the Hudson, I conceived nothing could exceed the beauties of the Isle of Wight, and some choice scenes on the lakes of Scotland; but all these must certainly yield the palm to the scenery of the Hudson. To be fully appreciated it must be seen. The surrounding objects, indeed, may be named upon paper, but who can faithfully describe the atmosphere!

The established regulations on board the steam ships, oblige the gentlemen to occupy the fore cabin, and leave the ladies in uninterrupted possession of the after one. We had therefore, no gentlemen in our company, except when on deck. Although this division of the sexes may be viewed with reluctance at first, by those who have husbands and brothers on board; yet ladies are generally reconciled to the arrangement, because they are secure from the multitudinous annoyances, produced by the free consumption of spirits and tobacco. However, the ladies and gentlemen dine together, and on the present occasion, the company amounted to above two hundred. The same scenes variously affect different persons, and this was the first time in my life that I had dined with so large and so heterogeneous an assemblage. I felt much annoyed by hearing the rough phrases bandied about among the gentlemen, while taking possession of their places. Soon, however, the dinner appeared, and the company commenced operation in earnest. Although but few words were spoken, it was by no means a silent repast; dispatch was the order of the day—I had never before seen any thing like it—and from the effect of the queer objects that presented themselves to my notice, I confess I felt a much stronger inclination for laughing than feasting. But violent exertions are usually of short duration; and in pure astonishment, I stared when the first signs proclaimed the battle to be over. The gentlemen withdrew to their part of the vessel, and the ladies to the deck, and to the best of my judgement, the whole affair was concluded in less than ten minutes!

My husband and myself embraced the first opportunity of comparing notes. The scenery and the dinner was all during the voyage, that we witnessed in common; the former we enjoyed, the latter we did not. As all the females were consigned to one particular quarter of the vessel, I had an opportunity of spending about twelve hours in company with a fair sample of the American ladies. The chilling impression left on my mind by the image of the captain’s wife, mentioned in the first chapter, had long since passed away; and although a full acquaintance with the character of that worthy lady had been of singular service to me, I was alike averse by nature and judgement, to condemn a whole nation for the reprobated failings of a single individual. The city lady might here be distinguished from the rest, as she paced the deck, by her close adherence to the latest Parisian fashions; and the plain Dutch dame by her plain Dutch dress. Otherwise, there is a greater uniformity of external appearance, than would be seen with us, under similar circumstances. One thing in particular, I must not omit, though I never heard it before observed by any individual—I mean the striking uniformity of look—the statue-like appearance of the countenance, that prevails so universally among the women. They seem to be totally incapable of expressing mental emotions by any visible change of countenance, even when conversing upon excitable subjects. The cause of this I must leave to others to determine.

My husband thus describes the proceedings in his part of the vessel:

“The fore cabin was furnished with a bar, where ardent spirits and tobacco were supplied to those of the passengers that were destitute of such blessings; and the regularity with which the glass circulated, might very well illustrate perpetual motion. The gentlemen were associated together in small groups, and were conversing on various subjects, but chiefly on that theme of which the Americans never seem to tire—the revolutionary war; the presence of an Englishman is almost certain to produce a note from this string. A number were amusing themselves by rallying a squire, as a justice of the twenty-five dollar court is here termed, and a little dark man, who figured as the deacon of a church. It appeared that the deacon was a farmer, and his neighbour the squire, kept a store for the sale of almost every thing, and for the convenience of barter, or ‘trading,’ as they call it. One cold morning during the last winter, the deacon took six bushels of wheat to the store of the squire, to be exchanged for as much salt as could be mutually agreed upon. After some time and many words were spent in manoeuvering, they consented to barter measure for measure. The deacon proceeded to mete out his grain, while the squire complaining of the coldness of the morning amused himself by stamping upon his elastic floor. The deacon, of course, could not object to his neighbour warming his toes in what manner he pleased, in his own store, he therefore said nothing, although he discovered that this stamping had consolidated his six bushels of wheat into the compass of five and a half. The squire then commenced his part of the contract—to measure out the salt; and a chillness conveniently seized the toes of the deacon, which he endeavoured to counteract by stamping, after the example of the squire. ‘Stop, stop,’ said the squire, ‘what are you stamping for?’ ‘To warm my toes,’ was the answer. ‘But do you not see how you shake down the salt?’ ‘Not more than you shook down the wheat,’ was the reply. And so, as they acknowledged, ‘they got a fair trade between them.’”

There was a youth on board whom I regarded with curiosity; he bore so striking a resemblance to Brom Bones, the hero of Sleepy Hollow, that nothing was wanting but the fox’s tail in his hat to complete the similitude. I felt an unconquerable inclination to learn something of this ‘roystering blade,’ and for this purpose, I stepped up to a young man, with whom he had just been conversing, and was very soon fully gratified. From this informant I learned a few circumstances concerning the hero in question;—that, like his model, he was fond of a spirited horse; and that he had lately figured conspicuously in a race—not with a goblin for a gallon of cider, but with a more substantial personage in the form of a deacon. I quite forget his name, for the image of Brom Bones was so correctly delineated in my mind, that it entirely obliterated his proper name from my memory.

It is necessary here to explain that in some townships in New England, a law is very properly enacted, against all Sunday travelling, except for the purpose of going to, and returning from a place of worship; any violation of which is visited with a fine of ten dollars.

A few Sundays ago, this Brom Bones accompanied with his negro in a very light wagon[C] drawn by an excellent horse, was out on a spree; and his road lying close by a church, he determined to push forwards in defiance of the law, and hazard the consequences; concluding that as the service had commenced, he should meet with no interruption. As he dashed past the church, he saw the horses belonging to the members of the congregation, tied up under a row of high trees, as is usual on such occasions in the summer; but to his dismay, he also saw the deacon, bustling through the church-yard to mount his poney, as he guessed, to give him chase.

Now, as one half of the fine goes to the informer, and as it is represented with too much truth, alas, that these same deacons are ‘given to filthy lucre,’ look to thyself Brom Bones. Away went Bones, and away went the deacon; the one impelled by the fear of losing ten dollars, and the other stimulated with the hope of gaining five. Nor was the chase without spectators; for a portion of the juveniles guessing at what was up, from the sound of the wheels, and the sudden absence of the deacon, slipped out to view the sport, from the hill on which the church stood.

Bones’s confidence in his horse began to fail, as he perceived the deacon gaining ground, and, like the beaver in the fable, he judged it the best policy to relinquish a part, in order to save the whole. He hastily gave a silver dollar to his negro, directing him to display it fully in the eyes of the deacon, and then deliberately to let it fall on the road. The negro obeyed; and the stratagem for that time had the desired effect. The deacon dismounted—for what deacon that keeps a store, would be so improvident as to ride over a dollar? While his pursuer was securing the coin, Bones exerted all his energies to escape from his clutches. But the deacon was quickly mounted, and again in the field.

The negro hinted to his master that the deacon’s poney was ‘blowed,’ and that another dollar would save the ten. Bones thought the experiment worth trying, and furnished the black with the cash. Carefully did blackey turn it in the sun, to ensure its being seen distinctly; for he knew the race depended upon this point, as the deacon was just upon his haunches. He dropped it, and the deacon alighted, gathered it up, and speedily re-mounted. Five miles had now been ridden over with the utmost speed, and both horses showed symptoms of distress—now hope prevailed, and now fear, in the breasts of the contending parties. At length a ‘pretty considerable’ slough at a turn in the road suddenly appeared to the horror of poor Bones, and closed the chase in favour of the deacon. Bones’s horse and wagon were seized as security for the fine; and his spiritual pursuer kept the two dollars as a remuneration for his exertions.

I cannot say I admire these incidents; I must therefore plead their decided marks of national character as an apology for their insertion. The latter in particular, will illustrate the indecorous manner in which sacred and pecuniary matters are here associated, more effectually than if volumes of sentiment were written on the subject.

Albany is the second city in the state of New York, it contains, I suppose, about 2500 inhabitants, a very large portion of which are Dutch; here are to be seen the oldest buildings in the United States.

In order to see as much of the country as possible, we landed on our return from Albany, at a small town a little below west point, and about fifty miles above New York; having decided upon proceeding through the country towns by whatever conveyance we could obtain. This may appear a wild-goose scheme, but I think of it with much pleasure, as, in addition to the beauties of the scenery, which were passing lovely, we had an opportunity of seeing the villages and their inhabitants in their unadorned simplicity. We were fully gratified, for the enjoyment more than compensated for the inconvenience.

The place and neighbourhood where we landed, on the west bank of the Hudson, consists of several thousand acres almost exclusively occupied by families of Dutch extraction. They speak both Dutch and English fluently, are a simple hearted class of beings, read their bibles, and most cordially hate the Yankees.

I ought to have before explained this term, “Yankee”. It is applied by all the Americans to the inhabitants of the five New England States, viz. Vermont, Massachusets, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, and Connecticut. These same Yankees are reported by their southern neighbours as being remarkable for inquisitiveness and roguishness; and many of them acknowledge this equivocal species of compliment, and admit its justice with complacency.—While here, we were told a farm had recently been purchased in the neighbourhood by a Yankee, and that the Dutchmen had submitted to some pecuniary sacrifice, in order to re-purchase it. I asked the reason, and received this answer, “We were frightened at him.”

Families descended from the earliest settlers inhabit the banks of the Hudson. Their furniture, manners, and affairs, conduct the mind back to the days of the pilgrim fathers. But nothing is declining here; new houses are building, the forest is daily yielding to the axe, and all things are in a state of active improvement. It is not in America, that Sultan Mahmoud’s owls can endow their sons and daughters with ruined villages.

The farmer here spins his own wool and flax, and generally weaves his own cloth; he mends his own farming implements, consumes the produce of his own land, and barters the remainder for other necessaries. As he has neither rent, tithes, nor taxes to pay, it is no wonder that his industry enables him to live in a state of absolute profusion.

Avowedly, I have never read any work completely through that has appeared on the United States of America, but have formed my judgement of the character of some from common report, and the few extracts that have fortuitously fallen in my way. It appears to me, that the observations of the Americans, respecting many of these publications are nearly correct, viz. That they are penned to please some particular party, and not to promulgate a true representation of facts.

I will just state one instance, which I copy from a work that I never saw, till my attention was called to it this very hour. The authoress is giving an account of the American farmers, whom she honours with the designation of “Small landed proprietors, who farm their own freehold estates.”

“When in Maryland, I went into the houses of several of these small proprietors, and remained long enough, and looked and listened sufficiently, to obtain a tolerably correct idea of their manner of living. One of these families consisted of a young man, his wife, two children, a female slave, and two young lads, slaves also. The farm belonged to the wife, and I was told, consisted of about three hundred acres of indifferent land, but all cleared. The house was built of wood, and looked as if the three slaves might have overturned it, had they pushed hard against the gable end. It contained one room of about twelve feet square; and another, adjoining it, hardly larger than a closet: this second chamber was the lodging-room of the white part of the family. Above these rooms was a loft without windows, where, I was told, the “staying company” who visited them, were lodged. Near this mansion was a “shanty,” a black hole, WITHOUT ANY WINDOW, which served as a KITCHEN and all other offices, and also as the lodging of the blacks!!!

We were invited to take tea with this family, and readily consented to do so.(!) Her female slave set out the great table, and placed upon it cups of the very coarsest blue ware, a little brown sugar in one, and a tiny drop of milk in another; no butter, though the lady assured us she had a “deary” and two cows. Instead of butter, she “hoped we would fix a little relish with our crackers,” in ancient English, eat salt meat and dry biscuits. Such was the fare!”