|
Chapter 13
Sketches Continued
|
THE FOURTH AT PINE ORCHARD.
BY MRS. ELLETT.
"Have you been at the Catskill Mountain
House?" asked a friend, incidentally "our party is going
to-morrow " -- and the important question was decided. The
morning of the third we set off in the Empire steamer. After dinner
we landed at Catskill, at three in the afternoon. Stages were ready
to receive the passengers, and bestowing ourselves therein, we turned
from the village, crossed a fine wide stream called the Catskill, and
entered upon a country enchanting enough to fill with rapture one
long unaccustomed to such varieties of scenery. Here were rich
valleys sprinkled with cottages and watered by winding streams, whose
course could be traced far off by the luxuriance of the shrubbery on
their banks; there were cultivated fields, and green meadows, and
impervious woods; and land now gently undulating, now broken into
steep ascents and startling declivities. Occasionally the road wound
along a precipice, just steep and high enough to be perilous and
pleasant. The vivid green of the foliage everywhere, and the verdure
of the meadows, was most refreshing to an eye accustomed of late to
the barren wastes of southern pine-lands. Here and there you pass a
picturesque dell -- one of them is filled with the sound of a distant
waterfall, doubtless worth a pilgrimage to see; and frequently you
are arrested by the tiny voice of some adventurous rill, flinging
itself impetuously down the hillside, and hastening to its burial in
the valley's depths. The range of mountains now rises high and misty
before you; anon you skirt a gloomy and fathomless valley, perfectly
dark with verdure. This is the Sleepy Hollow, commemorated by Irving.
I looked to see a Rip Van Winkle emerge from its shades. It is said
that one of the oldest settlers in the region actually remembers a
strange person of that name; doubtless an inveterate sleeper, whose
habits suggested a legend. Rolling on with the merciless velocity of
stage-coaches, we came to the spot where the steep ascent commences;
and here I was fain, with many others, to alight and walk, dreading
that in the climbing process No. 1 might chance to fall back on No.
2, No. 2 on No. 3, and so on. However, none but an habitual coward
like myself need fear such a catastrophe, as the vehicles are
strongly built, and provided each with a pointed bar of iron that
would effectually prevent any retrograde motion. The winding road,
closely embowered with foliage, is here picturesque in the extreme.
Almost every turn brings some new beauty to view, and the woods are
white with the blossoms of the mountain laurel, of which our party
bore away numerous trophies. The precipice on the right overhangs the
road, but the rocks are concealed by a bright mantle of green. The
mountain towers into still grander elevation as you ascend it, and is
fast darkening with the shadows of evening, though the plain still
lies in sunshine. Suddenly a turn places you in sight of the house,
which is the termination of your journey. It is seen directly
overhead, perched on the very brink of the frowning precipice, like
the eagle's or the lammergeyer's nest, or some feudal castle on its
foe-defying height. This, indeed, it would resemble, were it of gray
stone, instead of being built of wood and painted white.
Nevertheless, its snowy whiteness contrasts perhaps the more
beautifully with the green woods from the bosom of which it seems to
rise, and with the mountainous background. The road by which that
elevation is gained is very tortuous, so that a considerable space
must be passed over before you come to the plateau on which the house
stands. This plain lies in an amphitheatre between two mountains. It
is called Pine Orchard, because it was formerly covered with a growth
of small pines, which are now removed, having been sacrificed to
enhance the beauty of the spot, and encourage the growth of clover
and grass, that fills the open space between the beds of solid rock.
The "Mountain House" is a large and irregular building,
having been built in different parts at different times. The more
recent portion was erected in 1824. It is spacious enough to
accommodate a very large number of guests, having double and triple
rows of goodly dormitories, all of a better size, and more
comfortably furnished, than the sleeping-rooms usually appropriated
to travelers at the fashionable watering-places. The drawing-rooms
are spacious ; the principal one consisting of three large saloons
opening into each other, or rather forming one. The dining-room is
large enough for a feudal banqueting hall, its effect being increased
by a range of pillars for the whole length down the centre; and these
pillars are wreathed with evergreens, while between the numerous
windows stand hemlock or cedar trees during the season, quite in
baronial taste. As far as I know, this style of embellishment is
unique ; it is certainly very picturesque.
The evening shadows now stretch over the entire
plain, and the quiet of the scene, after the day's bustle, invites to
sweet repose, which the guests are fain to seek, after the good
appetites created by the drive of twelve miles, and the fresh
mountain air, have been satisfied by the excellent supper provided by
Mr. Beach, the enterprising landlord. Here is an almost wasteful
profusion of strawberries, and the other fruits of the season,
freshly picked by the mountaineers, with cream and butter that does
ample justice to the rich pasturage of this region.
In the morning, go to the front, and what a
scene presents itself! The "House" stands on the table
rock, a few yards from the sheer verge -- an elevation of eighteen
hundred feet above the apparent plain, and twenty-seven hundred above
the level of the river. There is a narrow strip of green just in
front, under the long and capacious piazza, beautifully ornamented
with young fir and cedar trees, and a variety of shrubs. Then comes a
strip of bare rock, overlooking the awful abyss.
A sea of woods is at your feet, but so far
below, that the large hills seem but slight heavings of the green
billowy mass; before you lies a vast landscape, stretching far as the
eye can take in the picture; a map of earth with its fields, its
meadows, its forests, and its villages and cities scattered in the
distance ; its streams and lakes diminished, like the dwellings of
man, into insignificance. Through the midst winds the sweeping river,
the mighty Hudson, lessened to a rill; or it might be likened to a
riband laid over a ground of green. Still further on are the swelling
uplands, and then far along the horizon, mountains piled on
mountains, melting into the distance, rising range above range, till
the last and loftiest fades into the blue of the sky. Over this
magnificent panorama the morning sun pours a misty radiance, half
veiling, yet adding to its beauty, and tinting the Hudson with
silver. Here and there the bright river is dotted with sails, and
sometimes a steamboat could be seen winding its apparently slow way
along. The clouds that fling their fitful shadows over the country
below are on a level with us dwellers of the air; the golden patches
that occupy the higher regions of atmosphere seem but a few feet
above us, and we beyond their sphere, standing in mid-air, looking
down on so unrivalled a picture, to thank Heaven for the glory and
beauty of earth-even the birds seldom soar higher than our feet; the
resting-place of the songster, whose flight can no longer be traced
from the plain, is still far below us. We seem like the bell
immortalized by Schiller :--
"In Heaven's pavilion hung on high,
The neighbors of the rolling thunder,
The limits of the star-world nigh."
After contemplating this gorgeous scene, this
still-life of the busy world, till lost in admiration, and listening
to the ceaseless but faint roar sent up from the forest, like the
chime of the eternal ocean, the next thing you will do will be to
take a carriage to the Catskill Falls, distant about three miles. The
road is rough, wild and rocky, but beautifully picturesque. The
mountains forming the back-ground of this scene are half-covered with
shadows from the clouds, which present the appearance of gorges on
their sides, and are continually changing their form, and shifting as
the breezes blow. They are distinguished by various names, such as
Round Top, Indian's Head, &c. On the road, which is winding, and
embowered by close woods, you cross a small mountain stream that soon
expands into a perfect gem of a lake, quite embosomed in the circling
hills, covered with a growth of straight, giant-like pines, rising
range above range to the summits, where the tallest stand in relief
against the sky. At a distance of more than a quarter of a mile from
the Falls, you alight from the carriages, and walk along the romantic
road, admiring at every step, or stopping to gather the abundant
variety of wild flowers. The beauty of this woodland path baffles all
description. It conducts to the Pavilion, situated at the top of the
fall, and directly over hanging the abyss. On the end of the platform
you are close upon the water, hastening to precipitate itself over
the rock on which you stand, and tumbling into the wildest ravine
ever poet dreamed of. The height of this fall is one hundred and
eighty feet; a second just below is eighty feet, but from the height
it seems a mere step the playful stream is taking, to dash itself in
rapids a little further on, and then be lost to sight in the thick
foliage overgrowing the bottom of the gorge. Three mountains here
intersect eac other ; and the overlapping of their sides conceals the
bed of the stream, so buried that a sea of woods alone is visible.
You descend by a path in the woods, and by staircases fixed in the
"precipitous, black, jagged rocks." The view from different
points of the ravine, and the perpendicular wall forming its sides,
is both splendid and sublime. When about half-way from the bottom of
the first fall, the path turns aside, and enters a spacious cavern,
wholly behind the falling sheet. The sides and roof are of solid gray
rock, and the roof projects seventy feet, though in some places it is
so low that it cannot be passed under without stooping. The path is
consequently sheltered, though but a foot in width -- a mere shelf on
the verge of a precipice, so narrow as to be quite invisible to those
without. It is somewhat "on the plan " of that to
Termination Rock behind the falling ocean at Niagara, and really
gives an idea of that stupendous place, barring the thunders and the
world of waters. A fine view is here obtained of the falling sheet,
which appears much larger and broader; while the sides of the ravine,
and the dense forest seen through the showery curtain, present a
scene beautiful beyond description. Having emerged on the other side,
you descend quite to the bottom, and cross the chafed stream by
stepping on fragments of rock. Here is a noble view; and the quantity
of water is suddenly increased by opening the dam above, so that its
roar fills the gorge. Again you descend by the steep path, and a
succession of staircases, fifty feet below the foot of fall second,
and cross near a small but furious rapid. From the large flat rock
here you obtain the finest view of all. It is three hundred and ten
feet below the Pavilion. The whole castellated amphitheatre is before
you; and a succession of falls, with a wall of foliage and rocks on
either side, ascending far upward, so as to shut out all but a narrow
strip of blue sky, seen overhead, and just above the top of fall
first. Over this opening golden patches of clouds are sailing, and
seem almost to rest upon it. Once more the quantity of water is
increased; the falls swell to larger volume, and the clouds of sunny
spray rise and fill the amphitheatre; then melt away as before, while
the fall assumes its former thread-like appearance. The people
walking within the cavern, just visible through the spray, look
spectral enough, especially as they seem to have some secret of their
own for clinging to the rocky wall, no path being apparent. It would
require but little stretch of imagination to suppose them children of
the mist, or genii of the waterfall. particularly that light fragile
figure whose floating white robe contrasts so wildly with the dark
mass behind her. What a scene for deeds of romance and heroism! I
warrant me many a declaration has been made in that thrilling spot;
and would advise any fair lady who would bring a hesitating lover to
confession, to lead him hither for the inspiration he needs. Some
instances of success on both sides, I could mention; and could relate
one or two romantic tales, but they must be postponed to another
occasion. Below, for a little way, the eye can follow the stream ;
and our guide told us that a quarter of a mile further were other
small falls. The path is wild and rough along the stream, but would
doubtless well reward the exploration. You ascend by the same way,
winding through the cavern to the Pavilion, where the American flag,
and the reports of a gun or two reverberating among the mountains,
somewhat startlingly reminded us of the Fourth ; not so keenly,
however, as to destroy the enchantment of this "spirit-stirring
nook." The sound of a bugle in the distant forest restored the
poetry of the scene at once, notwithstanding the presence of numbers
of country people in their holiday attire -- shirt-sleeves -- the
costume of the American peasantry. To add a little incident in
character, one of our party hooked up with an umbrella from the
bushes a manuscript, illustrating the beauties of the scene in very
blank verse.
Returning by the carriages over the same road,
the gorgeous still-life view from the table-rock awaited us; the
ocean landscape; the distant river silvered by the sunshine; the
mountains melting into ether.
Visitors at Catskill mountain do not usually
give themselves time to see even what they do see to the best
advantage. Many of them remain but a single day, paying only a
hurried visit to the falls, and neglecting many other scenes almost
equal in interest. There are numerous lovely walks in the vicinity,
chief among which are those upon the South and North mountain; and
the beautiful lake in the immediate neighborhood of the House is said
to abound in fish, affording amusement to those fond of the sport,
with boats for rowing or sailing parties. There is said also to be an
ice-glen some miles distant, into the depths of which the sun never
penetrates, and where ice may be found deposited by all the winters
since the creation.
The walk upon North mountain I found
particularly interesting. For some distance you follow the winding
road, through woods certainly richer than ever grew on such a height
before, with a great deal of impervious underwood, embellished with
wild flowers. The moss grows here in such abundance as everywhere to
attract attention. At the falls it partially covers the rock beside
the cavern, and is of the most vivid green. Near the foot of the lake
is a mass of rock, twelve or fifteen feet in height, perfectly
covered with gray lichen. The boulders on the mountain are almost
hidden by the ancient-looking shroud; and the various growths might
form a study for the naturalist. Leaving the road for the mountain
path, you begin the ascent, and skirt the frowning precipice, where a
single false step would be destruction. Far, far below is the same
extensive, billowy verdure -- the primitive forest. Now you climb a
rude staircase of piled stones, then wind through the deep woods,
where wanderers would infallibly be lost without a guide, and where
the guide himself finds it hard to thread the tangled maze. Several
points where a fine view may be seen claim your attention, as now and
then you come forth on the rocky verge ; but the cry is still
"onward," and, like all others of the human race who never
weary of pursuing a promised good, you persevere till the actual
summit, by toil and trouble, is reached at last. And splendid is the
reward! So vast is the height on which you stand, that the
"Mountain House," with its lakes, itself appears upon a
plain. In clear weather the view is almost boundless, including
Albany on one hand, the Highlands on the other ; but just then I
witnessed a still grander phenomenon, realizing the beauty of
Halleck's lines descriptive of Weehawken:
"Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the
clear blue
Of summer's sky in beauty bending o'er him."
The clouds were not exactly slumbering, but
rolling in heavy masses below us, shrouding completely the more
distant portions of the landscape, while a thick mist rendered
indistinct the scene immediately beneath. I cannot say we were
altogether in the enjoyment of "the clear blue of summer's
sky," for the top of the mountain just behind us was enveloped
in clouds, and only here and there narrow strips of the sky could be
discerned; but we were "mickle better aff" than the seeming
plain, on which a fierce rain was evidently pouring. Ere long,
however, and while storm and darkness yet brooded on the regions
below, the mists rolled away from the summit and melted at the
presence of the sun, the heavens looked forth blue and clear as ever,
and the rain-drops on the trees glanced in the pure sunshine. Then
the vapory veil beneath us was rent and rolled back; part of the
landscape rejoiced once more in the living light! The sun pierced the
dark curtain beyond; it was lifted, and gradually withdrawn; the
glancing river and the distant mountains came into bright view once
more; and ere long no trace of the storm could be found, save in the
dense masses of cloud that mingled with the mountains on the farthest
verge of the horizon.
I would not have missed this spectacle, new and
surpassingly glorious as it was, for the world. But one even more
striking can be seen, I am told, during a sudden thunder-shower. The
clouds then fill the lower regions of the atmosphere, and roll dense
and dark beneath, like ocean-waves tossed by the blast; the lightning
leaps from space to space, and the thunder peals wildly around, while
"the dweller in air " sees naught above him but a blue
sun-bright sky. The clearing up of a storm seen under these
circumstances must be sublime beyond imagination, and well worth a
journey to the Mountain House expressly to see. Some of our party
regretted that the house had not been built on the table-rock of
North mountain; but the difficulty of access, and the impossibility
of coming up with stages, would, in such a case, have limited the
number of visitors to a few. The present location is the most
eligible in every respect.
After the descent our guide directed us to a
rocky footpath, instead of the winding road to the house. It required
some toil and climbing, but well repaid the exertion.
The ascent to the South mountain is equally
beautiful. The path leads from the plateau to the left up the steep
acclivity, through a wild forest, less tangled, however, than the
other, where huge boulders, gray with moss, are piled fantastically
around; some poised on a single edge, and looking as if the slightest
force would precipitate them downward to crush the woods in their
path; some without apparent foundation, resting on points unseen, and
presenting shallow but extensive caverns, the probable abode of
reptiles, and green with rank moisture. Trees grow on their sides and
in the clefts, and you wonder whence their nourishment is derived;
they seem, in truth, to have a partiality for the rugged soil, and
frequently send their roots far down the rock to seek the humid
earth. The fir, the cedar, and silver pine, so much more beautiful
than the southern pine, abound here, with a vast variety of deciduous
trees. The innumerable crevices are filled with green moss. The
ascent becomes yet more steep, and presently you enter a narrow rift,
from which the party, one by one, emerge above, and seem as if
ascending out of the earth. The shadow of the overhanging cliffs
renders this spot ever cool and fresh, even in the hottest part of
the summer-day. On the summit are three points usually visited by
travelers, from which a gorgeous view may be obtained. On one the
huge fragment of rock is, to all appearance., entirely separated from
the mountain ; it is really, however, fast united below, or it would,
long ere this, have plunged from its place into the abyss. I must not
forget to mention that there is a plateau on both these mountains,
covered with short pines, which has obtained the name of Pine
Orchard. The pioneer who erected the first building on the mountain
pointed out to us the spot where he slept, wrapt in his greatcoat,
under a rocky shelter, the first night he passed in this neighborhood.
From the third and highest point the view is
the best. Here, besides the dark ridge of forest and the ocean
landscape, a new range of mountains can be discerned far southward,
and several towns on the Hudson.
There is a beautiful drive in the vicinity,
enjoyed by few among the visitors to the Mountain House, which,
however, should be neglected by none. It is on what is called the
Clove road, leading through a cleft in the mountain southward.
Descending by the traveled road three or four miles, passing the
weird valley of Sleepy Hollow, where, in a dreamy nook, under the
towering mountains, you will find the picture of old Rip at his
waking, hung up as a sign to a rude-looking house of refreshment; and
pursuing the road a little beyond the toll-gate, you turn aside to
the right and follow the road along the foot of the precipice on
which the house stands. Ere long you turn again to the right, and
presently find yourself in a mountain defile, where surprise and
delight at the wondrous scene accompany you on every step onward. The
mountains rise abruptly on either side almost to the clouds; the
primeval forest is around you; and the depth of the gorge, which is
sometimes narrow and cavernous, is filled by a brawling mountain
stream, the same Cauterskill that takes the leap down the falls
above. For two or three miles this scene of beauty and grandeur,
varying every moment, meets your eye ; now the stream runs over its
bed of rocks, now dashes wildly in rapids, now runs smoothly for
space ; while the road winds on its verge, sometimes far above it,
sometimes descending nearly to its level. After passing through the
cleft you ascend the mountain and return to the house, having made a
circuit of twelve miles.
To those who have leisure for enjoyment of
country air and scenery, and for exploring the wild and numerous
beauties of this region, I would recommend a residence of weeks at
Pine Orchard. The mountain is fresh and invigorating, and always cool
in the sultriest season. The rapid succession of visitors, presenting
new faces every day, is rather an objection to those who have a taste
for the society of watering-places; but I see no reason why the
Catskill Mountain House should not, when its resources are better
known, be a place of fashionable resort, during all the hot season,
for summer travelers.
|