USA > Ohio > The Western Reserve of Ohio and some of its pioneers, places and women's clubs, Vol. II > Part 17
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Again we find ourselves heading northward for a distance of some five or six miles, when we pass an island containing over a hundred acres of tillable land, known as William's Island, which had a tragic history. The base treachery was rewarded with the lives of three Union soldiers, who had escaped from the terrible locomotive race of Andrews' Engine Raiders, and secreted themselves in this secluded place. The owner coming on there to look after his crop, discovered them, and was captured by them, but he played them false by claim- ing to be a Union man and in full sympathy with them; prom- ised if they would release him, he would take his skiff and bring them provisions from his home, of which they were in great need; and after nightfall pilot them across the river and guide them through the passes to the Federal line, all of which they gladly believed. What, then, was their dismay when they saw a rebel squad of armed men approaching and knew they had been betrayed. This Sam Williams left them, only to proceed at once, skulking among the foot-hills to Chattanooga, and inform against them, when they were placed under arrest, court- martialed and hung as spies.
Still passing on into a narrow gorge, we look up to the immense rocky palisades encircling the crown of Walden moun- tain, and at this point some sixteen hundred feet above us, we run the eye up those perpendicular heights four hundred feet more upon that projecting peak, where the eye wearies and the senses sicken and grow dizzy in comprehending. That peak which overlooks the east, the west and the south, taking in the Tennessee and the broad valley for many, many miles, is known as "Signal Point." Here, high toward heaven, Gen. Mitchell first took his observation in 1862, and from this point Gen. Wilder threw his first shells on that noted Sunday, into sleeping
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and surprised Chattanooga. Churches were never sooner emp- tied, or places of safety more eagerly sought by the citizens, as the round shot first fired from Gen. Wilder's guns went crash- ing through the gable end of the Old Presbyterian church dur- ing that memorable Sabbath morning service. This important point continued to be a signal station for our signal corps, under Rosecrantz, Gen. Thomas and Gen. Grant. It still remains an object of great interest to the people here and still greater to all tourists and visitors.
Now, as we pass on, the river narrowing closer and still closer, until the rocky feet of the mountains touch the water's edge on either side, crowding its volume into narrower space, we come to the spot known as "The Suck." Here the mountains crowd together on the river banks until it is compressed into less than one-third its ordinary breadth; and on either side the eye must climb the precipitous steeps of the mountains almost perpendicular to see the heavens above, and with a clear sky, stars of the first magnitude directly overhead have been seen, and thus, within the jaw of the eternal giant hills, we are driven, plunging along on the tossed and raging waters, in an almost cavern-like shade for several miles before mother earth begins to show a generous spirit toward the panting river, by yielding its grains of sand, and giving space for its struggling waters.
While thus we are closed in, we ride the foaming rapids that are tossed over the rough and rugged rocky bottom at a descent that causes the white caps to assume the appearance of whitened glass. The great compression of the bed of the river, with its huge boulders and rocky bottom, with the rapid descent, of course causes this phenomenon.
We next pass through what is called the "Boiling Pot." It is a long sweep of the river where the bed suddenly widens, and
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sixty or more rods below as suddenly narrows again; so that the water coming with great force over the rapids is spread out on either bank, then by a close curve coming to the narrows below is thrown back into the center, until the middle of the river has the appearance of a great pool of water in the act of boiling vehemently.
A like phenomena is produced by a smaller reach of the river, and is called "the skillet."
After all the points, nature becomes more generous, the mountains begin to recede, the valley widens, and the hemmed- in waters take room and seem to breathe freer, so to speak.
Now pass your eye along the brow of the mountains on this side, then on the other, and see how the majesty of nature as- serts itself. There a cavern that penetrates those rocky clefts; on the side the shores terminate in bold cliffs covered with lovely moss, lichens, and fairy ferns, while near slender cascades shimmer and sparkle in the golden sunlight as their crystal streams fall musically, melting into the great river. The high trees are covered with creeping parasites, with glossy leaves and shining berries, while the flowering laurel and the Azalea claim an undisputed right to a full and free occupancy of mother earth's bounty, making the air redolent with sweet odors.
But here we are nearing Shell-Mound, where we find sea bottom on the surface, as indicated by the vast accumulation of sea shells. A geological wonder; here at an elevation of eight or nine hundred feet above sea level, is this mound composed of salt water shells, worn smooth by the ceaseless washing of the waves. They are clean, very thin and well preserved. Similar shell mounds are found on the gulf coast near Pensacola. Over there to the left, a half mile under Sand Mountain, is the entrance to the far-famed Nick-a-Jack Cave. The stronghold of the Indians in their early wars against our brave pioneers-the
the
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home of robbers, murderers and highwaymen-now serves only as a visiting point for the curious, who wander through its secret chambers in search of some history or events which may be found upon its cold and silent walls.
We are now compelled to take the train, waiting the con- venience of our gay party, as our faithful little boat will not ascend the rapids on her return trip until tomorrow, and I will leave this cave, with its various interesting features, to be told with our next visit.
We reached home just as the golden sun sank to rest behind Sand Mountain, feeling we had enjoyed the day to a fullness, with that accompanying fatigue, which blesses "Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep!"
THE YOUTH OF TENNYSON
Paper read by Mrs. Geraldine Hatch, before Sorosis, December
1, 1892
It was on August 5th in 1809, just before midnight, that Alfred Tennyson was born. He first saw the light in the rectory of Somersby, Lincolnshire. Near Horncastle stands an old white rectory, on the slope of a hill, and the winding lanes are shad- owed by tall ash and elm trees, and where two brooks meet at the bottom of the hill, was the first home of the poet.
The inspirations of Somersby scenery may be traced in more than one passage of Tennyson's early writings, and give local color to some of the maturer ones. Not less happily was Tennyson placed as to his parentage. His father, we are told, was something of a poet, painter, architect and musician, and also a considerable linguist and mathematician. His mother was a lady of grave and gracious sweetness. The refining quality of cultured tastes shed their warm, mellowing rays over that peaceful Somersby home.
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A halo of romantic interest always hangs about the birth- place of distinguished men. The homes and haunts of genius are hallowed spots.
Alfred was the third of twelve children, and his two eldest brothers, Frederic and Charles, were poets of no mean order; who, however, were overshadowed by the greater Alfred.
As the wind came sweeping through the garden of the old Lincolnshire rectory, behold a sturdy child of five years, with laughing hazel eyes and shining hair, opening his arms to the wind and letting himself be blown along; and as he traveled on he made his first. poetry, and said, "I hear a voice that is speak- ing in the wind"; and tossed his arms and ran on.
The children grew up together in quiet seclusion, far away from the rest of the world, in the quiet rectory among the elm trees. Playing their own games, like King Arthur's knights of old, they were champions and warriors, defending a stone heap. Alfred passionately loved the sea. He would spend hours listen- ing to the moaning music of the German ocean as it rolled in restless breakers upon the Lincolnshire coast, from which he received well-understood messages.
These handsome children had at their command that won- drous toy which some people call imagination. Alfred used to tell a story which lasted for months, and which was called "The Old Horse."
Alfred's first verses were written upon a slate which his brother Charles put in his hands one Sunday, when all of the elders of the party were going into church, and the child was left alone. The subject his brother gave him was "Flowers in the Garden." One can picture it all in one's mind: the flowers in the garden, the verses, the little poet with waiting eyes, and the young brother scanning the lines, which were modeled after
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Thompson's "Seasons," the first and only poetry he had ever read.
"Yes, you can write poetry," said Charles; and he gave back to Alfred the slate.
There is another story of his grandfather asking him to write an elegy on the death of his grandmother, and when it was written, putting ten shillings in his hand, saying, "There, that is the first money you have ever earned by your poetry, and take my word for it, it will be the last."
Alfred, as he grew up toward manhood, found other and stronger inspirations than Thompson's gentle "Seasons." Byron's spell had fallen on his generation, and Byron he loved. Soon he began to write like Byron. Alfred was a boy of about fifteen years when he heard of Byron's death. He said, "Byron is dead. I thought the whole world was at an end; and walked out alone, and carved, 'Byron is dead' into the sandstone."
In those days Tennyson could come to London and walk the streets with his great country shoes on, and be remarked only as a brown, rustic individual, who had evidently not been long in town. He made his first public appearance as a poet in 1827, at eighteen years of age, in a volume published jointly with his brother Charles. Two years later he was the winner in the competition for a prize poem at Cambridge University. His subject was "Timbuctoo."
Christopher North, who was then editor of Blackwood's Magazine, called one of his poems in the book "Drivel," another "More dismal drivel," a third "More dismal drivel even than that." In another number of Blackwood he said of the new poet, "He has a fine ear for melody and harmony, too, and rare and rich glimpses of imagination; he has genius. I admire Alfred, and hope, nay trust, that one day he will prove him-
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self a poet. If he do not then I am no prophet." Meanwhile Alfred's reputation was growing.
You may hear the voice, but where is the man? Wandering in some dreamland, he dreamed, and he dreamed. of the brooks, of the field, and the beautiful sea, of the castles, the fair ladies and the valiant knights, of the blue sky, and the beautiful visions beyond, until the voice of his soul began to sing. And then all the world paused to listen.
THE REWARD OF COLUMBUS
Paper read by Mrs. F. A. Arter, before Sorosis, February 2, 1893.
It has been the fate of many of earth's great men and wom- en to live and die unappreciated and unknown. The eloquent eulogies delivered, the magnificent monuments raised over their lifeless clay, ofttimes seem a veritable mockery, when we re- member how in life these same men and women were perse- cuted and ridiculed, and went about hungry and homeless.
It seems to me Columbus was a man of destiny-a man providentially led. Some one has said, "In the fullness of time, God always raises up the man or woman to carry out his great designs."
We find Columbus so far in advance of other thinkers and leading minds of his day, with regard to the shape of the earth and undiscovered lands, as to be deemed a visionary dreamer, a half-crazed man. True, his belief as to the size of the earth and the relative proportion of earth to water was incorrect. In all his dreams of discovery, he never once imagined that there was another continent across the sea; that his toil and suffering, his weary years of waiting, would be rewarded by a far greater discovery than a westward route to India; that the climate and fertile soil of this new-found country would yield far vaster
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wealth than he in his wildest flights of imagination had con- ceived of. He was simply led, an instrument in God's hands, by a way he knew not. How else can we explain the persistent purpose of the man?
Behold him seeking interviews with the king of Portugal. See him laboring to bring scholars, navigators and men of influ- ence to his views. Day after day, week after week, year after year-till after fourteen years of fruitless effort, he discovered that the treacherous, greedy king, unwilling to concede to his terms, and desiring the glory of the discovery (if it was attain- able), had endeavored to supplant him. Disgusted and dis- heartened, Columbus returned to Spain. Here, for six years, he haunted the court, pleading for money and men to carry out his great purpose.
I have said that Columbus seemed inspired by a heaven- born purpose. The human instrumentalities God gave to help him were, first his wife, Felippa Munis Peristrello. As a writer has recently said, "If Columbus had genius, his wife seemed to be the one who discovered it and drew it out." She was herself the daughter of a navigator and drawer of maps and charts, which she gave to Columbus after her father's death. By her womanly sympathy and belief in his plans, she did much to keep alive the purpose of her illustrious husband.
Some good and influential men believed in Columbus, and were his warm friends. One of these men, a pious monk, who was confessor to Queen Isabella, was largely instrumental in inducing Ferdinand and Isabella to fit out the ships and fur- nish the needed supplies for this voyage. After the ships were furnished and stocked, it seemed an impossible thing to find men willing to undertake the voyage. But at last seamen were found and Columbus sailed out into the unknown sea. What thoughts
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of joyful rapture and thankfulness must have filled his heart as he found himself, at last, in a way to fulfill the great and long- deferred desire of his life! Columbus was encouraged to perse- vere in his voyage by the dauntless courage of his friend Pin- zon, who also by his masterful spirit assisted in keeping the crew under discipline.
On the early morning of October twelfth, after a voyage of seventy-one days, one of the men gave a joyful cry of "Land ahead!" As soon as they reached the shore, Columbus having donned his best apparel, stepped on the land and offered fer- vent prayer and songs of thankfulness to God. Planting the cross in the sand, he took possession of the island, in the name of Ferdinand and Isabella. Though charmed with the beauty of the place, he found not the gold and precious gems he sought. He embarked and landed upon island after island of surpassing beauty and fertility. But his eyes blinded by the greed for the "gold which perisheth," could not see the vast wealth of beauty and vegetation all around him.
Finally having seen enough-not to convince him he had discovered a new world, but to confirm his belief in a Cathay of fabulous wealth-Columbus returned home. His return was a triumph. Ferdinand and Isabella received him with every mark of honor.
Columbus was gratified and delighted with his reception and the position he had attained, but could not rest satisfied while the route to the India of his dreams remained undiscov- ered. He sailed again, but was summoned home from his trip by the king and queen. Contrary to his expectations, he was very kindly received on his arrival. However, the spirit of unrest and unsatisfied ambition prompted him again to under- take a voyage, from which he was brought home in disgrace and chains. He died shortly afterward, the victim of misun-
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derstanding and ingratitude. Bitter indeed must have been the reflections of this lonely, solitary man, worn out and aged be- fore his time by privations, disappointments and a country's in- gratitude and injustice.
Years after Columbus had gone where the praise or blame of men could not reach him, though the country he had discov- ered did not bear his name, men began to call him great, brave and good. Monuments were erected to his memory. It is said that more monuments have been erected to the memory of Co- lumbus than to any other, save the Savior of men, and one of the finest of these was designed by a woman. The Roman Catholic Church canonized this mortal man, with all his great- ness and weakness, as a saint.
On this the four hundredth anniversary of the discovery of our beloved countryman, it was thought fitting to commemorate the occasion by bringing together in one of our large cities all the commerce, discoveries, products and industries of the known world. Our hearts swelled with pride as we read of the mag- nificent preparations which were being made for this exposition -this so-called "frozen history of the world's progress"-which is to be the great educator of the people, and which every man, woman and child desires to attend. As we read of the statues of Columbus, the exhibits of Spain, containing souvenirs of the life and times of Columbus, fac-similes of the principal ships used in his first voyage; as we thought of the name, "Columbian Expo- sition," we felt that "time, which heals all sorrow and rights all wrongs," was at last rewarding a brave, heroic man.
Some one has said, "No one is as good or as bad as he is thought to be." Columbus was at one time portrayed as a saint, though we know he was a very human man, with human imper- fections and frailties. To rightly estimate a man's character,
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we should consider the age in which he lived and the prevailing influence surrounding him. If Columbus was treacherous, he suffered much from the treachery of others. His relations with Beatrix Enriquez were certainly wrong. Though the fact that her family (and she was of a good family) countenanced their relationship and esteemed Columbus very highly, would seem to indicate that the standard of morals was not very high. If Columbus afterwards deserted the woman he had ruined-and it is not proved that he did-he had manliness enough to acknowl- edge her worth by endeavoring in his will to make what amends were in his power.
The manner in which Columbus decoyed the natives into his boats in his later voyages and sold them into slavery is another dark chapter in the history of his life. Columbus was a man of strong traits of character-the good and the bad in his nature stand out in bold relief. He lived in an age when conquest and warfare were more thought of than anything else-when the finer senses of the moral nature were blunted. He is described as a handsome man of stately carriage, a magnetic man of elo- quent tongue, a scholar, a thinker and a man of refined poetic temperament. He was an affectionate husband and a very in- dulgent father. He was a good son-for we read that when he was himself in dire straits financially, he sent money to the poor and aged father. He had dignity of character. In all his pov- erty, he never yielded or lowered his terms upon which he was willing to undertake the voyages. He was a man of great heart and brain. If he erred in some things, he atoned for all errors by his sufferings.
In this great Columbian year, let us remember and appre- ciate the service which Columbus rendered us. I believe that while time shall last, the name of Columbus should be revered
MRS. T. D. CROCKER
MRS. A. S. UPSON MEMBER OF BOARD OF THE HEALTH PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION
MRS. ELROY M. AVERY
MISS M. C. QUINTRELL
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by every American, every lover of his country. And as time rolls on, his character shall shine forth, not as an impossible saint, but as a true hearted, noble man-a man in advance of his age, who well deserves the hard-won wreath of fame which crowns his brow.
THE ASCENT OF VESUVIUS
Read before the Sorosis by Miss M. C. Quintrell, January 5, 1893
As I took my trip abroad entirely for the study of Art in the Old World, it does not seem amiss during the present month, devoted to Art in the Sorosis, to tell of some of the wonders that we witnessed in our journeying. I had always wondered when a child what a burning mountain would look like. Then as I read the vivid, glowing accounts of the destruction of Lisbon, of Pompeii, or Herculaneum, I imagined I was an eyewitness of those terrible events.
So, when our train whirled into the city of Naples one beautiful summer evening, our hearts throbbed with a strange joy, for now we should really see with our own eyes the awful, mysterious mountain. The dreams and visions of our childhood would be realized. It seemed impossible it were true.
We learned to our dismay, however, that we could not make the ascent of Vesuvius the next morning, as we had longed to do, but were to go according to the programmes to Capri, with its marvelous blue grotto, and to Sorrento, and Pompeii, and several other places. At Sorrento we stopped at the hotel, which is built at the top of the cliff overlooking the Bay, and from our room we could lie on our couches and see the wonderful moun- tain at night. We trembled at first, for, as there was a stream of light all down its sides, we thought it was a stream of molten
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lava again carrying death and destruction in its terrible path. We had not been told that there is a row of electric lights all the way from the base to the summit of Vesuvius. The effect is beautiful at night.
At length we were told that we were to take a trip to "Vesuve," as the Italians call it, the next day. We started from our hotel at Naples at two o'clock in the morning. Everything seemed so strange, so unfamiliar, in the city streets. We were thankful that the doors of the miserable dwellings were closed and their wretched occupants resting in their morning slumbers. We could not but think of Michael Angelo's reply to Stozzi, alluding to the lost tribes of Florence:
"Grato m'e'l sonno e liu 'esser di sasso; Mentre che'l danno e vergogna dura Non veder, non centir m'e gran ventura ; Pero non mi destar; deh; parla basso;"
As we traveled on, morning began to dawn and the land- scape could be more distinctly defined. We left the waking city behind us. On our right lay outstretched the beautiful bay of Naples; while before us was the burning mountain, throwing up a vast column of fire, smoke and melted rock. The appearance of fire at night is not flame, but the reflection of the molten lava in the interior of the crater on the rising clouds of vapor and ashes. Soon the sun glided from behind the mountain, and as it shone behind that vast column of vapor and smoke the scene was wonderfully grand. Then Vesuvius appeared the king of mountains that he is, enthroned in the radiance of his glory, whose beams extended from the zenith of the heavens to the far reaching circle of the horizon. On we traveled, over roads and through villages-through Resina, built on the lava stream that overwhelmed Herculaneum. The lower part of the mountain is covered with beautiful gardens and meadows. In the garden I
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noticed great quantities of all the varieties of fruits we have in our gardens in Cleveland, with the addition of oranges, figs and lemons. Trees, vines and flowers grew with charming lux- uriance. There were oleanders, cacti, century-plants and gor- geous roses everywhere. What astonished us most was to see the beautiful wild flowers and blackberry bushes covered with fruit, growing in the volcanic ashes. Now we are high up on the mountain, and a truly charming view is revealed in every direction. From here one can truly say: "Vedi Napoli e poi mori." The height of Vesuvius varies according to the different effects of the eruptions, from 4,100 to 4,600 feet. Our conductor showed us by photographs what changes the cone had gone through since last summer, caused by the nature of the eruptions. Our road now leads over the old lava flows of 1858, 1868 and 1871. And what a scene! It was a black tempestuous sea-"a wilderness of billowy upheavals"-a chaos of weird shapes with their "suggestiveness of life, of action, of boiling, furious mo- tion petrified !- all stricken dead and cold in the instant of their maddest rioting !- fettered, paralyzed, and left to glower at
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