Chapter II
From the Falls to Lake Ontario
These American rivers of ours have their messages, historical, economic, and social, to both reader and loiterer. And, too, are not these streams so very much alive that through the years their personalities remain practically unchanged, while generations of loiterers come and go on forever? Are not the eccentricities of these great living forces forever recurrent, however whimsical they may seem, to us as we stop for our brief instant at the shore?
The word Niagara stands to-day representing power; the most common metaphor used, perhaps, to represent perpetual irresistible force is found in the name Niagara. Now it is admitted that nothing is more interesting than to observe the contradictions noticeable in most strong personalities. View the Niagara from this personal standpoint. I think its most attractive features may be summed up in a catalogue of its eccentric contradictions. It is famous as a waterfall, yet its greatest beauty is to be found in its smallest rapids. Its thundering fall outrivals all other sounds of Nature, yet you can hear a sparrow sing when the spray of the torrent is drenching you; the "noise" of Niagara is often spoken of as the greatest sound ever heard, yet most of the cataract's music has never been heard because it is pitched too low for human ears. Niagara's Whirlpool is a placid, mirrored lake compared to the rapids above and below it and brings from the lips of the majority of sightseers, looking only at the surface of things, words of disappointment. The great message and influence of the foaming cataract and rapids and terrible pool, to all awake to the finer meanings, as has been so beautifully brought out by Mr. Howells, should be one of singular repose. The louder the music the more certain the strange influence of this message of quiet and calm.
Take, for instance, what is so commonly called the roar of Niagara, but which ought to be known as the music of Niagara, first at the Rapids and then the Falls.
There is sweet music in Niagara's lesser rapids. Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer observes, most felicitously:
It is a great and mighty noise, but it is not, as Hennepin thought, an "outrageous noise." It is not a roar. It does not drown the voice or stun the ear. Even at the actual foot of the falls it is not oppressive. It is much less rough than the sound of heavy surf--steadier, more homogeneous, less metallic, very deep and strong, yet mellow and soft; soft, I mean, in its quality. As to the noise of the rapids, there is none more musical. It is neither rumbling nor sharp. It is clear, plangent, silvery. It is so like the voice of a steep brook--much magnified, but not made coarser or more harsh--that, after we have known it, each liquid call from a forest hillside will seem, like the odour of grapevines, a greeting from Niagara. It is an inspiriting, an exhilarating sound, like freshness, coolness, vitality itself made audible. And yet it is a lulling sound. When we have looked out upon the American rapids for many days, it is hard to remember contented life amid motionless surroundings; and so, when we have slept beside them for many nights, it is hard to think of happy sleep in an empty silence.
A most original and interesting study of the music of the great Falls was made some years ago in a more or less technical way by Eugene Thayer.[7] It had been this gentleman's theory that Niagara had never been heard as it should be heard, and his mission at the cataract was accomplished when there met his ears, not the "roar," but, rather, a perfectly constructed musical tone, clear, definite, and unapproachable in its majestic proportions; in fact Mr. Thayer affirms that the trained ear at Niagara should hear "a complete series of tones, all uniting in one grand and noble unison, as in the organ, and all as easily recognisable as the notes of any great chord in music." He had heard it rumoured that persons had been known to secure a pitch of the tone of Niagara; he essayed to secure not only the pitch of the chief or ground tone, but that of all accessory or upper tones otherwise known as harmonic or overtones, together with the beat or accent of the Falls and its rhythmical vibrations.
All the tones above the ground tone have been named overtones or harmonics; the tones below are called the subharmonics, or undertones. It will be noticed that they form the complete natural harmony of the ground tone. What is the real pitch of this chord? According to our regular musical notation, the fourth note given represents the normal pitch of diapason; the reason being that the eight-foot tone is the only one that gives the notes as written. According to nature, I must claim the first, or lowest note, as the real or ground tone. In this latter way I shall represent the true tone or pitch of Niagara.
How should I prove all this? My first step was to visit the beautiful Iris Island, otherwise known as Goat Island. Donning a suit of oilcloth and other disagreeable loose stuff, I followed the guide into the Cave of the Winds. Of course, the sensation at first was so novel and overpowering that the question of pitch was lost in one of personal safety. Remaining here a few minutes, I emerged to collect my dispersed thoughts. After regaining myself, I returned at once to the point of beginning, and went slowly in again (alone), testing my first question of pitch all the way; that is, during the approach, while under the fall, while emerging, and while standing some distance below the face of the fall, not only did I ascertain this (I may say in spite of myself, for I could hear but one pitch), but I heard and sang clearly the pitch of all the harmonic or accessory tones, only of course several octaves higher than their actual pitch. Seven times have I been under these singing waters (always alone except the first time), and the impression has invariably been the same, so far as determining the tone and its components. I may be allowed to withhold the result until I speak of my experience at the Horseshoe Fall, and the American Fall proper--it being scarcely necessary to say that the Cave of the Winds is under the smaller cascade, known as the Central Fall.
My next step was to stand on Luna Island, above the Central Fall, and on the west side of the American Fall proper. I went to the extreme eastern side of the island, in order to lose as far as possible the sound of the Central Fall, and get the full force of the larger Fall. Here were the same great ground tone and the same harmonics, differing only somewhat in pitch.
I then went over to the Horseshoe Fall and sat among the Rapids. There it was again, only slightly higher in pitch than on the American side. Not then knowing the fact, I ventured to assert that the Horseshoe Fall was less in height, by several feet, than the American Fall; the actual difference is variously given at from six to twelve feet. Next I went to the Three Sister Islands, and here was the same old story. The higher harmonics were mostly inaudible from the noise of the Rapids, but the same two low notes were ringing out clear and unmistakable. In fact, wherever I was I could not hear anything else! There was no roar at all, but the same grand diapason--the noblest and completest one on earth! I use the word completest advisedly, for nothing else on earth, not even the ocean, reaches anywhere near the actual depth of pitch, or makes audible to the human ear such a complete and perfect harmonic structure.
Remembering always that the actual pitch is four octaves lower, here are the notes which form this matchless diapason:
Mrs. Van Rensselaer tells us there is yet another music at Niagara that must be listened for only on quiet nights. It is like the music of an orchestra so very far away that its notes are attenuated to an incredible delicacy and are intermittently perceived, as though wafted to us on variable zephyrs.
It is the most subtle, the most mysterious music in the world. What is its origin? Such fairy-like sounds are not to be explained. Their appeal is to the imagination only. They are so faint, so far away, that they almost escape the ear, as the lunar bow and the fluted tints of the American Fall almost escape the eye. And yet we need not fear to lose them, for they are as real as the deep bass of the cataracts.
Whether it be the resounding waterfall producing this wondrous harmony of the floods, or the most charming choral of the Rapids, the music of Niagara on the mind properly adjusted and attuned must create a most profound impression of repose. The exception to this rule, most terrible to contemplate, is certainly to be found in the cases of the unfortunates whose minds are so distraught or unbalanced that this same call of the waters acts like poison and lures them to death.
I still think [wrote Mr. Howells in his most delightful sketch, _Niagara, First and Last_] that, above and below the Falls, the Rapids are the most striking features of the spectacle. At least you may say something about them, compare them to something; when you come to the cataract itself you can say nothing; it is incomparable. My sense of it first, and my sense of it last, was not a sense of the stupendous, but a sense of beauty, of serenity, of repose.
In her beautiful description, given elsewhere in our story, Margaret Fuller explains the effect of the Rapids by moonlight on the heart of one who, during the day, had passed through the familiar throb of disappointment in the great spectacle at Niagara.
Now I take it one must see in Niagara this element of repose or find in it something less than was hoped for. To one who expects an ocean pouring from the moon, a rush of wind and foam like that to be met with only in the Cave of the Winds, there is bound to come that common feeling that the fact is not equal to the picture imagination had previously created. Take the Whirlpool; seen from the heights above, it
has that effect of sculpturesque repose [writes Mr. Howells], which I have always found the finest thing in the Cataract itself. From the top the circling lines of the Whirlpool seemed graven in a level of chalcedony. . . . I have no impression to impart except this sense of its worthy unity with the Cataract in what I may call its highest aesthetic quality, its repose.[8]
All this is most impressively true of the central wonder of the entire spectacle, the Falls themselves. That mighty flood of water, reborn as it dies, forms a marvellous spectacle. Writes Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer:
Very soon we realise that Niagara's true effect is an effect of permanence. Many as are its variations, it never alters. It varies because light and atmosphere alter. Tremendous movement thus pauseless and unmodified gives, of course, a deeper impression of durability than the most imposing solids. . . . As soon as this fact is felt, the Falls seem to have been created as a voucher for the permanence of all the world.[9]
But how conform this repose and spirit of permanency with the echoing tones of that never-ending, never-satisfied dominant chord? How reconcile the repose of those dropping billows with the tantalising unrest of that for ever incomplete, unfinished recessional that has been playing down this gorge since, perhaps, darkness brooded over the deep--that seems to await its fulfilment in the thunders of Sinai at that Last Day?
And what could be more human than this in any river--a seeming calm with over it all a never-ending cry of unrest, of wonder, of unsatisfied longing never to find repose until in that far resting-place of which Augustine thought when he wrote:
Our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee.
Across the American Rapids lies the Goat Island group which divides the waters into the two falls. Goat Island is about half a mile long and half as wide at its broadest part, but slopes to a point at its eastern extremity. Its area is about seventy acres. Besides this there are a number of smaller islands and rocks varying in diameter from four hundred feet to ten feet. Of these smaller islands five are connected with Goat Island by bridges, as are also the Terrapin Rocks.
At the end of the first bridge is situated Green Island, named after the first president of the Board of Commissioners of the New York Reservation. The former name was Bath Island because of the "old swimming hole"--the only place where one could dip in the fierce current of Niagara without danger. Just a short distance above Green Island are two small patches of land called Ship Island and Bird Island from supposed resemblances to these objects in general contour, the tall leafless trees in winter supposed to be suggestive of masts. These islands were formerly both connected with Goat Island by bridges; one, known as "Lover's Bridge," from its romantic name was so greatly patronised that both bridges were destroyed by the owners on account of danger.
On Green Island formerly stood the immense Porter paper-mill, which not only contributed its own ugliness to the beautiful prospect but also ran out into the current long gathering dams for the purpose of collecting water. All this was removed when the State of New York assumed control.
Passing from the bridge and ascending the steps which lead to the top of the bank, the shelter house is reached. All around and, in fact, covering nearly all the island, is the primeval forest in its ancient splendour--fit companion of the Falls, which defy the puny power of man.
Occasional glimpses of the river may be had through the dense foliage as one proceeds to Stedman Bluff, where one of the grandest panoramas to be seen anywhere on earth bursts upon the view. Here one appreciates the beauty of the American Fall better than at Prospect Point. Turning towards the American shore stone steps lead down to the water's edge, and thence a small bridge spans the stream separating Goat Island and Luna Island, so called from the fact that it has been considered the best place from which to view the lunar bow. The small stream dividing these islands in its plunge over the precipice forms the "Cave of the Winds." Half-way across Luna Island is to be seen a large rock on whose face have been carved by an unknown hand the following lines:
All is change. Eternal progress. No Death!
The author of the sentiment is unknown, but no one has more truly voiced the spirit of the great cataract. From the edge of the cliff on Luna Island is to be obtained the finest view down the gorge. Along the front of the American Fall are to be seen the immense masses of wave-washed rocks which have fallen from the cliff above. From rock to rock stretch frail wooden bridges, the more important of which lead to the cave.
Luna Island is the last point which one can reach from Goat Island toward the American shore. Proceeding toward the Canadian Fall, one reaches at a short distance the Biddle Stairs. Here a break in the foliage reveals a grand view down the gorge with the Canadian Fall directly in front. A stairway leads to a wooden building down which runs a spiral stairway to the rocks below. This stairway received its name from Nicholas Biddle, of old National Bank fame, who proposed this means of reaching the rocks below and offered a contribution for its construction. The offer was rejected, but his name was given to the structure. A trip to the rocks below this point is well worth while, difficult though it be; the descent of the spiral stairway is eighty feet. Turning to the right one comes out upon a ledge of rock with the roaring waters below and the line of the cliff above, along the top of which objects appear at only half their real size. Passing around a short curve there bursts upon one's view the fall which forms the Cave of the Winds--a most beautiful sheet of water. The passage of the cave can hardly be described by the pen. Here one is assailed on all sides by fierce storms and clouds of angry spray. The cave seems at first dark and repelling, for in this maddening whirl of wind and water one is at first almost blinded; but as soon as the eye becomes accustomed to the darkness, it can follow the graceful curve of the water to where it leaves the cliff above. The dark, forbidding, terraced rocks are seen dripping with water. The passage of the cave is too exciting to be essayed by persons with weak hearts, but the return across the rocks in front of it on a bright day is genuinely inspiring. Here the symbol of promise is brought down within one's very reach; above, around, on all sides are to be seen colours rivalling the conception of any artist--whole circles of bows, quarter circles, half circles, here within one's very grasp. The far fabled pot of gold is here a boiling, seething mass of running, shimmering silver. If possible, more glorious than all else, up above, along the sky-line, there appears the shining crest of the American Fall, glimmering in the sunlight like the silvery range of some snow-covered mountains.
In size the cave is about one hundred feet wide, a hundred feet deep, and about one hundred and sixty feet high. At one point in the cave, on a bright day, by standing in the very edge of the spray, one becomes the centre of a complete circle of rainbows, an experience probably unequalled elsewhere.
About half-way between the stairway and the cave is the point from which, in 1829, Sam Patch made his famous leap, elsewhere described.
On the side of the Horseshoe Fall is to be found a fine position from which to view the mighty force of the greater mass of waters. For some distance along the front of the fall immense masses of rock have accumulated. The trip over these rocks is fraught with danger and is taken by very few. For those who care to take the risk, the sight is well worth the effort. Just above at the crest are Terrapin Rocks, where formerly stood Terrapin Tower. Professor Tyndall went far out beyond the line of Terrapin Rocks to a point which has been reached by very few of the millions of visitors to this shrine. Passing along the cliff toward Canada, Porter's Bluff is soon reached, which furnishes one of the grandest views of the Horseshoe Fall. Fifty years ago, from this point one could see the whole line of the graceful curve of the Horseshoe; since that time the rapid erosion in the middle of the river (where the volume is greatest) has destroyed almost all trace of what the name suggests. The sides meet now at a very acute angle, the old contour having been entirely destroyed.
One of the most interesting experiments conducted under these great masses of falling water was essayed by the well-known English traveller Captain Basil Hall in 1827. It seems that Babbage and Herschel had said that there was reason to expect a change of elastic pressure in the air near a waterfall. Bethinking himself of the opportunity of testing this theory at Niagara during his American tour, Captain Hall secured a mountain barometer of most delicate workmanship for this specific purpose. In a letter to Professor Silliman the experimenter described his experience as follows, the question being of interest to every one who has attempted to breathe when passing behind any portion of this wall of falling water:
I think you told me that you did not enter this singular cave on your late journey, which I regret very much, because I have no hope of being able to describe it to you. In the whole course of my life, I never encountered anything so formidable in appearance; and yet, I am half ashamed to say so, I saw it performed by many other people without emotion, and it is daily accomplished by ladies, who think they have done nothing remarkable.
You are perhaps aware that it is a standing topic of controversy every summer by the company at the great hotels near the Falls, whether the air within the sheet of water is condensed or rarefied. I have therefore a popular motive as well as a scientific one, in conducting this investigation, and the result, I hope, will prove satisfactory to the numerous persons who annually visit Niagara.
As a first step I placed the barometer at a distance of about 150 feet from the extreme western end of the Falls, on a flat rock as nearly as possible on a level with the top of the "talus" or bank of shingle lying at the base of the overhanging cliff, from which the cataract descends. This station was about 30 perpendicular feet above the pool basin into which the water falls.
The mercury here stood at 29.68 inches. I then moved the instrument to another rock within 10 or 12 feet of the edge of the fall, where it was placed, by means of a levelling instrument, exactly at the same height as in the first instance.
It still stood at 29.68 and the only difference I could observe was a slight continuous vibration of about two or three hundredths of an inch at intervals of a few seconds.
So far, all was plain sailing; for, though I was soundly ducked by this time, there was no particular difficulty in making these observations. But within the sheet of water, there is a violent wind, caused by the air carried down by the falling water, and this makes the case very different. Every stream of falling water, as you know, produces more or less a blast of this nature; but I had no conception that so great an effect could have been produced by this cause.
I am really at a loss how to measure it, but I have no hesitation in saying that it exceeds the most furious squall or gust of wind I have ever met with in any part of the world. The direction of the blast is generally slanting upwards, from the surface of the pool, and is chiefly directed against the face of the cliff, which being of a friable, shaly character, is gradually eaten away so that the top of the precipice now overhangs the base 35 or 40 feet and in a short time I should think the upper strata will prove too weak for the enormous load of water, which they bear, when the whole cliff will tumble down.
These vehement blasts are accompanied by floods of water, much more compact than the heaviest thunder shower, and as the light is not very great the situation of the experimenter with a delicate barometer in his hand is one of some difficulty.
By the assistance of the guide, however, who proved a steady and useful assistant, I managed to set the instrument up within a couple of feet of the "termination rock" as it is called, which is at the distance of 153 feet from the side of the waterfall measured horizontally along the top of the bank of shingle. This measurement, it is right to mention, was made a few days afterward by Mr. Edward Deas-Thompson of London, the guide, and myself with a graduated tape.
While the guide held the instrument firmly down, which required nearly all his force, I contrived to adjust it, so that the spirit level on the top indicated that the tube was in the perpendicular position. It would have been utterly useless to have attempted any observation without this contrivance. I then secured all tight, unscrewed the bag, and allowed the mercury to subside; but it was many minutes before I could obtain even a tolerable reading, for the water flowed over my brows like a thick veil, threatening to wash the whole affair, philosophers and all, into the basin below. I managed, however, after some minutes' delay to make a shelf or spout with my hand, which served to carry the water clear of that part of the instrument which I wished to look at and also to leave my eyes comparatively free. I now satisfied myself by repeated trials that the surface of the mercurial column did not rise higher than 29.72. It was sometimes at 29.70 and may have vibrated two or three hundredths of an inch. This station was about 10 or 12 feet lower than the external ones and therefore I should have expected a slight rise in the mercury; but I do not pretend to have read off the scale to any great nicety, though I feel quite confident of having succeeded in ascertaining that there was no sensible difference between the elasticity of the air at the station on the outside of the Falls and that, 153 feet within them.
I now put the instrument up and having walked back towards the mouth of this wonderful cave about 30 feet, tried the experiment again. The mercury stood now at 29.68, or at 29.70 as near as I could observe it. On coming again into the open air I took the barometer to one of the first stations, but was much disappointed though I cannot say surprised to observe it full of air and water and consequently for the time quite destroyed.
My only surprise, indeed, was that under such circumstances the air and water were not sooner forced in. But I have no doubt that the two experiments on the outside as well as the two within the sheet of water were made by the instrument when it was in a correct state: though I do not deny that it would have been more satisfactory to have verified this by repeating the observations at the first station.
On mentioning these results to the contending parties in the controversy, both asked me the same question, "How then do you account for the difficulty in breathing which all persons experience who go behind the sheet of water?" To which I replied: "That if any one were exposed to the spouts of half a dozen fire engines playing full in his face at the distance of a few yards, his respiration could not be quite free, and for my