Part 16

The passage of the rivers through the ridge at this place is certainly a curious scene, and deserving of attention; but I am far from thinking with Mr. Jefferson, that it is “one of the most stupendous scenes in nature, and worth a voyage across the Atlantic;” nor has it been my lot to meet with any person that had been a spectator of the scene, after reading his description of it, but what also differed with him very materially in opinion. To find numberless scenes more stupendous, it would be needless to go farther than Wales. A river, it is true, is not to be met with in that country, equal in size to the Patowmac; but many are to be seen there rushing over their stony beds with much more turbulence and impetuosity than either the Patowmac or Shenandoah: the rocks, the precipices, and the mountains of the Blue Ridge at this place are diminutive and uninteresting also, compared with those which abound in that country. Indeed, from every part of Mr. Jefferson’s description, it appears as if he had beheld the scene, not in its present state, but at the very moment when the disruption happened, and when every thing was in a state of tumult and confusion.

After crossing the Patowmac, I passed on to Frederic in Maryland, which has already been mentioned, and from thence to Baltimore. The country between Frederic and Baltimore is by no means so rich as that west of the Blue Ridge, but it is tolerably well cultivated. Iron and copper are found here in many places. No works of any consequence have as yet been established for the manufacture of copper, but there are several extensive iron works. The iron is of a remarkably tough quality; indeed, throughout the states of Maryland, Virginia, and Pennsylvania, it is generally so; and the utensils made of it, as pots, kettles, &c. though cast much thinner than usual in England, will admit of being pitched into the carts, and thrown about, without any danger of being broken. The forges and furnaces are all worked by negroes, who seem to be particularly suited to such an occupation, not only on account of their sable complexions, but because they can sustain a much greater degree of heat than white persons without any inconvenience. In the hottest days in summer they are never without fires in their huts.

The farms and plantations in Maryland consist, in general, of from one hundred to one thousand acres. In the upper parts of the state, towards the mountains, the land is divided into small portions. Grain is what is principally cultivated, and there are few slaves. In the lower parts of the state, and in this part of the country between Frederic and Baltimore, the plantations are extensive; large quantities of tobacco are raised, and the labour is performed almost entirely by negroes. The persons residing upon these large plantations live very similar to the planters in Virginia: all of them have their stewards and overseers, and they give themselves but little trouble about the management of the lands. As in Virginia, the clothing for the slaves, and most of the implements for husbandry, are manufactured on each estate. The quarters of the slaves are situated in the neighbourhood of the principal dwelling house, which gives the residence of every planter the appearance of a little village, just the same as in Virginia. The houses are for the most part built of wood, and painted with Spanish brown; and in front there is generally a long porch, painted white.

[Sidenote: WEATHER.]

[Sidenote: CLIMATE.]

From Baltimore I returned to Philadelphia, where I arrived on the fourteenth day of June, after having been absent about three months. During the whole of that period the weather had been extremely variable, scarcely ever remaining alike four days together. As early as the fourteenth of March, in Pennsylvania, Fahrenheit’s thermometer stood at 65° at noon day, though not more than a week before it had been so low as 14°. At the latter end of the month, in Maryland, I scarcely ever observed it higher than 50° at noon: the evenings were always cold, and the weather was squally and wet. In the northern neck of Virginia, for two or three days together, during the second week in April, it rose from 80° to 84°, in the middle of the day; but on the wind suddenly shifting, it fell again, and remained below 70° for some days. As I passed along through the lower parts of Virginia, I frequently afterwards observed it as high as 80° during the month of April; but on no day in the month of May, previous to the fourteenth, did it again rise to the same height; indeed, so far from it, many of the days were too cold to be without fires; and on the night of the ninth instant, when I was in the neighbourhood of the South-west Mountains, so sharp a frost took place, that it destroyed all the cherries, and also most of the early wheat, and of the young shoots of Indian corn; in some particular places, for miles together, the young leaves of the forest trees even were all withered, and the country had exactly the appearance of November. On the tenth instant, the day after the frost, the thermometer was as low as 46° in the middle of the day; yet four days afterwards it stood at 81°. During the remainder of the month, and during June, until I reached Philadelphia, it fluctuated between 60° and 80°; the weather was on the whole fine, but frequently for a day or two together the air felt extremely raw and disagreeable. The changes in the state of the atmosphere were also sometimes very sudden. On the sixth day of June, when on my way to Frederic-town, after passing the Patowmac River, the most remarkable change of this nature took place which I ever witnessed. The morning had been oppressively hot; the thermometer at 81°, and the wind S. S. W. About one o’clock in the afternoon, a black cloud appeared in the horizon, and a tremendous gust came on, accompanied by thunder and lightning; several large trees were torn up by the roots by the wind; hailstones, about three times the size of an ordinary pea, fell for a few minutes, and afterwards a torrent of rain came pouring down, nearly as if a water-spout had broken over head. Just before the gust came on, I had suspended my thermometer from a window with a northern aspect, when it stood at 81°; but on looking at it at the end of twenty-three minutes, by which time the gust was completely over, I found it down to 59°, a change of 22°. A north-west wind now set in, the evening was most delightful, and the thermometer again rose to 65°. In Pennsylvania the thermometer has been known to vary fifty degrees in the space of twenty-six hours.

The climate of the middle and southern states is extremely variable; the seasons of two succeeding years are seldom alike; and it scarcely ever happens that a month passes over without very great vicissitudes in the weather taking place. Doctor Rittenhouse remarked, that whilst he resided in Pennsylvania, he discovered nightly frosts in every month of the year excepting July, and even in that month, during which the heat is always greater than at any other time of the year, a cold day or two sometimes intervene, when a fire is found very agreeable.

The climate of the state of New York is very similar to that of Pennsylvania, excepting that in the northern parts of that state, bordering upon Canada, the winters are always severe and long. The climate of New Jersey, Delaware, and the upper parts of Maryland, is also much the same with that of Pennsylvania; in the lower parts of Maryland the climate does not differ materially from that of Virginia to the eastward of the Blue Ridge, where it very rarely happens that the thermometer is as low as 6° above cipher.

In Pennsylvania, the range of the mercury in Fahrenheit’s thermometer has been observed to be from 24° below cipher to 105° above it; but it is an unusual occurrence for the mercury to stand at either of these extreme points; in its approach towards them it commonly draws much nearer to the extreme of heat than to that of cold. During the winter of 1795, and the three preceding years, it did not sink lower than 10° above cipher; a summer however seldom passes over that it does not rise to 96°. It was mentioned as a singular circumstance, that in 1789 the thermometer never rose higher than 90°.

[Sidenote: CLIMATE.]

Of the oppression that is felt from the summer heats in America, no accurate idea can be formed without knowing the exact state of the hygrometer as well as the height of the thermometer. The moisture of the air varies very much in different parts of the country; it also varies in all parts with the winds; and it is surprising to find what a much greater degree of heat can be borne without inconvenience when the air is dry than when it is moist. In New England, in a remarkably dry air, the heat is not found more insupportable when the thermometer stands at 100°, than it is in the lower parts of the southern states, where the air is moist, when the thermometer stands perhaps at 90°, that is, supposing the wind to be in the same quarter in both places. In speaking of Virginia I have taken notice of the great difference that is found between the climate of the mountains and the climate of the low country in that state. The case is the same in every other part of the country. From the mountains in New England, along the different ridges which run through New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, and the southern states, even to the extremity of Georgia, the heat is never found very oppressive; whilst as far north as Pennsylvania and New York, the heat in the low parts of the country, between the mountains and the ocean, is frequently intolerable.

[Sidenote: WEATHER.]

In the course of the few days that I have spent in Philadelphia during this month, the thermometer has risen repeatedly to 86° and for two or three days it stood at 93°. During these days no one stirred out of doors that was not compelled to do so; those that could make it convenient with their business always walked with umbrellas to shade them from the sun; light white hats were universally worn, and the young men appeared dressed in cotton or linen jackets and trowsers; every gleam of sunshine seemed to be considered as baneful and destructive; the window shutters of each house were closed early in the morning, so as to admit no more light than what was absolutely necessary for domestic business; many of the houses, indeed, were kept so dark, that on going into them from the street, it was impossible at first entrance to perceive who was present. The best houses in the city are furnished with Venetian blinds, at the outside, to the windows and hall doors, which are made to fold together like common window shutters. Where they had these they constantly kept them closed, and the windows and doors were left open behind them to admit air. A very different scene was presented in the city as soon as the sun was set; every house was then thrown open, and the inhabitants all crowded into the streets to take their evening walks, and visit their acquaintance. It appeared every night as if some grand spectacle was to be exhibited, for not a street or alley was there but what was in a state of commotion. This varied scene usually lasted till about ten o’clock; at eleven there is no city in the world, perhaps, so quiet all the year round; at that hour you may walk over half the town without seeing the face of a human being, except the watchmen. Very heavy dews sometimes fall after these hot days, as soon as the sun is down, and the nights are then found very cold; at other times there are no dews, and the air remains hot all the night through. For days together in Philadelphia, the thermometer has been observed never to be lower than 80° during any part of the twenty-four hours.

I observe now that meat can never be kept, but in an ice house or a remarkable cold cellar, for one day, without being tainted. Milk generally turns sour in the course of one or two hours after it comes from the cow. Fish is never brought to market without being covered with lumps of ice, and notwithstanding that care, it frequently happens that it is not fit to be eat. Butter is brought to market likewise in ice, which they generally have in great plenty at every farm house; indeed it is almost considered as a necessary of life in these low parts of the country. Poultry intended for dinner is never killed till about four hours before the time it is wanted, and then it is kept immersed in water, without which precaution it would be tainted. Notwithstanding all this, I have been told, that were I to stay in Philadelphia till the latter end of July or beginning of August, I should find the heat much more intolerable than it has been hitherto. Most of the other large sea-port towns, south of Philadelphia, are equally hot and disagreeable in summer; and Baltimore, Norfolk, and some others, even more so.

The winds in every part of the country make a prodigious difference in the temperature of the air. When the north-west wind blows, the heat is always found more tolerable than with any other, although the thermometer should be at the same height. This wind is uncommonly dry, and brings with it fresh animation and vigour to every living thing. Although this wind is so very piercing in winter, yet I think the people never complain so much of cold as when the north-east wind blows; for my own part I never found the air so agreeable, let the season of the year be what it would, as with the north-west wind. The north-east wind is also cold, but it renders the air raw and damp. That from the south-east is damp but warm. Rain or snow usually falls when the wind comes from any point towards the east. The south-west wind, like the north-west, is dry; but it is attended generally with warm weather. When in a southerly point, gusts, as they are called, that is, storms attended with thunder, lightning, hail, and rain, are common.

[Sidenote: WINDS.]

It is a matter of no difficulty to account for these various effects of the winds in America. The north-west wind, from coming over such an immense tract of land, must necessarily be dry; and coming from regions eternally covered with mounds of snow and ice, it must also be cold. The north-east wind, from traversing the frozen seas, must be cold likewise; but from passing over such a large portion of the watry main afterwards, it brings damps and moistures with it. All those from the east are damp, and loaded with vapours, from the same cause. Southerly winds, from crossing the warm regions between the tropics, are attended with heat; and the south-west wind, from passing, like the north-west, over a great extent of land, is dry at the same time; none however is so dry as that from the north-west. It is said, but with what truth I cannot take upon me to say, that west of the Alleghany and Appalachian mountains, which are all in the same range, the south-west winds are cold and attended with rain. Those great extremes of heat and cold, observable on the eastern side of the mountains, are unknown to the westward of them.

+LETTER + XIX.

_Travelling in America without a Companion not pleasant.—Meet two English Gentlemen.—Set out together for Canada.—Description of the Country between Philadelphia and New York.—Bristol.—Trenton.—Princeton.—College there.—Some Account of it.—Brunswick.—Posaik Water-fall.—Copper Mine.—Singular Discovery thereof.—New York.—Description of the City.—Character and Manners of the Inhabitants.—Leave it abruptly on Account of the Fevers.—Passage up North River from New York to Albany.—Great Beauty of the North River.—West Point.—Highlands.—Gusts of Wind common in passing them.—Albany.—Description of the City and Inhabitants.—Celebration of the 4th of July.—Anniversary of American Independence._

MY DEAR SIR, Albany, July.

[Sidenote: PLEASURES OF A COMPANION.]

I Was on the point of leaving Philadelphia for New York, intending from thence to proceed to Canada, when chance brought me into the company of two young gentlemen from England, each of whom was separately preparing to set off on a similar excursion. A rational and agreeable companion, to whom you might communicate the result of your observations, and with whom you might interchange sentiments on all occasions, could not but be deemed a pleasing acquisition, I should imagine, by a person on a journey through a foreign land. Were any one to be found, however, of a different opinion, I should venture to affirm, that ere he travelled far through the United States of America, where there are so few inhabitants in proportion to the extent of the country; where, in going from one town to another, it is frequently necessary to pass for many miles together through dreary woods; and where, even in the towns, a few of those sea-ports indeed excepted which are open to the Atlantic, there is such sameness in the customs, manners, and conversation of the inhabitants, and so little amongst them that interests either the head or the heart; he would not only be induced to think that a companion must add to the pleasure of a journey, but were absolutely necessary to prevent its appearing insipid, and at times highly irksome to him.

For my own part, I had fully determined in my own mind, upon returning from my tour beyond the Blue Mountains, never again to set out on a journey alone through any part of America, if I could possibly procure an agreeable companion. The gentlemen I met with had, as well as myself, travelled widely through different parts of the United States, and formed nearly the same resolution; we accordingly agreed to go forward to Canada together, and having engaged a carriage for ourselves as far as New York, we quitted the close and disagreeable city of Philadelphia on the twentieth of June.

The road, for the first twenty-five miles, runs very near the River Delaware, which appears to great advantage through openings in the woods that are scattered along its shores. From the town of Bristol in particular, which stands on an elevated part of the banks, twenty miles above Philadelphia, it is seen in a most pleasing point of view. The river, here about one mile wide, winds majestically round the point whereon the town is built, and for many miles, both upwards and downwards, it may be traced through a rich country, flowing gently along: in general it is covered with innumerable little sloops and schooners. Opposite to Bristol stands the city of Burlington, one of the largest in New Jersey, built partly upon an island and partly on the main shore. It makes a good appearance, and adds considerably to the beauty of the prospect from Bristol.

Ten miles farther on, opposite to Trenton, which stands at the head of the sloop navigation, you cross the river. The falls or rapids, that prevent boats from ascending any higher, appear in full view as you pass, but their prospect is in no way pleasing; beyond them, the navigation may be pursued for upwards of one hundred miles in small boats. Trenton is the capital of New Jersey, and contains about two hundred houses, together with four churches. The streets are commodious, and the houses neatly built. The state house, in which congress met for some time during the war, is a heavy clumsy edifice.

[Sidenote: PRINCETON.]

Twelve miles from Trenton, stands Princeton, a neat town, containing about eighty dwellings in one long street. Here is a large college, held in much repute by the neighbouring states. The number of students amounts to upwards of seventy; from their appearance, however, and the course of studies they seem to be engaged in, like all the other American colleges I ever saw, it better deserves the title of a grammar school than a college. The library, which we were shewn, is most wretched, consisting, for the most part, of old theological books, not even arranged with any regularity. An orrery, contrived by Mr. Rittenhouse, whose talents are so much boasted of by his countrymen, stands at one end of the apartment, but it is quite out of repair, as well as a few detached parts of a philosophical apparatus, enclosed in the same glass case. At the opposite end of the room are two small cupboards, which are shewn as the museum. These contain a couple of small stuffed alligators, and a few singular fishes, in a miserable state of preservation, the skins of them being tattered in innumerable places, from their being repeatedly tossed about. The building is very plain, and of stone; it is one hundred and eighty feet in front, and four stories high.

[Sidenote: NEW JERSEY.]

The next stage from Princeton is Brunswick, containing about two hundred houses; there is nothing very deserving of attention in it, excepting it be the very neat and commodious wooden bridge that has been thrown across the Raritan River, which is about two hundred paces over. The part over the channel is contrived to draw up, and on each side is a footway guarded by rails, and ornamented with lamps. Elizabeth Town and Newark, which you afterwards pass through in succession, are both of them cheerful lively looking places: neither of them is paved. Newark is built in a straggling manner, and has very much the appearance of a large English village: there is agreeable society in this town. These two towns are only eight miles apart, and each of them has one or two excellent churches, whose tall spires appear very beautiful as you approach at a distance, peeping up above the woods by which they are encircled.

The state of New Jersey, measured from north to south, is about one hundred and sixty miles in length; it varies in breadth from forty to eighty miles. The northern part of it is crossed by the blue ridge of mountains, running through Pennsylvania; and shooting off in different directions from this ridge, there are several other small mountains in the neighbourhood. The southern part of the state, on the contrary, which lies towards the sea, is extremely flat and sandy; it is covered for miles together with pine trees alone, usually called pine barrens, and is very little cultivated. The middle part, which is crossed in going from Philadelphia to New York, abounds with extensive traits of good land; the soil varies, however, considerably, in some places being sandy, in others stoney, and in others consisting of a rich brown mould. This part of the state, as far as Newark, is on the whole well cultivated, and scattered about in different places are some excellent farm houses; a good deal of uncleared land, however, still remains. Beyond Newark the country is extremely flat and marshy. Between the town and the Posaick River there is one marsh, which alone extends upwards of twenty miles, and is about two miles wide where you pass over it. The road is here formed with large logs of wood laid close together, and on each side are ditches to keep it dry. This was the first place where we met with musquitoes, and they annoyed us not a little in passing. Towards the latter end of the summer Philadelphia is much infested with them; but they had not made their appearance when we left that city. The Posaik River runs close upon the borders of this marsh, and there is an excellent wooden bridge across it, somewhat similar to that at New Brunswick over the Raritan River. About fifteen miles above it there is a very remarkable fall in the river. The river, at the fall, is about forty yards wide, and flows with a gentle current till it comes within a few perches of the edge of the fall, when it suddenly precipitates itself, in one entire sheet, over a ledge of rocks of nearly eighty feet in perpendicular height; below, it runs on through a chasm, formed of immense rocks on each side; they are higher than the fall, and seem to have been once united together.

[Sidenote: COPPER MINE.]