CHAPTER XXIII.
ONCE MORE AT NIAGARA.
Ontario was sleeping in the sunshine when they crossed it on Monday morning.
“Is this an English or American fort?” asked Norman, as he looked at the massive walls of Fort Niagara at the mouth of the river. “It is an American fort,” said a young English officer, who stood near, “but we will come down and take it soon.”
“Not so easily as you think,” replied Norman.
“Yes we will,” said the Lieutenant; “we will come down and take it, and keep it too.”
“I don’t believe you will,” said Norman.
“We took it once,” rejoined the officer, “in the last war.”
“But you did not keep it,” Norman replied.
As Norman was going off the boat the Englishman said: “We will soon come and annex the United States.”
From the boat to the cars, for the short ride to Clifton Station, there is a superb view of the Queenstown Heights, and Brock’s monument rising proudly on its grand pedestal.
The window of Mrs. Lester’s room, at the Clifton House, commanded a fine view of the falls, so that they could be enjoyed even in the moments of rest and dressing.
It was a lovely day, and the walk to Table Rock is probably the most magnificent in the world, commanding as it does, through its entire length, a noble view of both falls. The sunlight on the white foaming water made it almost painful for the eyes to look upon.
They sat on Table Rock and looked down upon the dazzling beauty of those falling waters so quaintly described by the French missionary, Father Hennepin, who saw them in 1678. “A vast and prodigious cadence of water, which falls down after a surprising and astonishing manner, insomuch that the universe does not afford its parallel.”
They had a more extensive view of the rapids, in connection with the falls, from the observatory of the house near Table Rock. Then they went to the Pagoda, and after ascending several flights of stairs, entered a small room containing a round table covered with white muslin. Norman wondered why they had come, when the old man closed the window, and on this white table was thrown a picture that the greatest painter of earth cannot equal.
Soft and beautiful, a moving picture first of the American falls, then of the brown crags of Goat Island, and the soft foliage of its forests, then of the Horse-Shoe Fall, with its brown stone tower. And while they were looking at this the little steamer Maid of the Mist, was seen making its way through the foam and spray to the foot of that mighty cataract, and then turning for its return voyage.
“What a beautiful picture!” cried Norman, laughing aloud with delight; “what would not the Queen of England give for such a table in her drawing room?”
“No table of mosaic or enamel can ever equal the soft tints of that lovely picture,” replied his mother.
“O look there! look there!” cried Norman, as Table Rock and the road leading to it appeared on the wonderful table. “See those ladies with their parasols seated on the rock, and that little girl with her brown straw flat, and that carriage filled with gentlemen driving up there; and look at these ladies walking away; how little do they know that their portraits are painted on this table?
“In old times, mother,” continued Norman, “people would have thought this a magic table, but because we know that it is a camera obscura we do not think it so wonderful.”
“There is the Clifton House,” said the man, “and see that bit of foreground, masses of foliage.”
“Norman, we must leave this enchanted picture, for it will soon be time for us to go back to dinner.”
One more view from Table Rock, more beautiful than ever, crowned as it was with a brilliant rainbow spanning the British and American Falls, a type of the bow of peace which should unite the nations.
Once more the Maid of the Mist was seen urging her way close beneath the American Falls. The figures on her deck, in their waterproof dresses, looked weird and unearthly as they stood looking up to that mass of descending waters, and enveloped in the clouds of spray. On their way home Mrs. Lester stopped to purchase some curious fossils from a man who had his stand under some trees, and she sat awhile on a chair he placed for her on the grass, looking at the view, which is exceedingly fine from this point, commanding the fearful chasm and the rugged rocks on the Canada side.
The same walk in the afternoon, when they descended the stone steps leading to the path under Table Rock: down, down by the side of those stupendous cliffs, towering upward in their might, the water trickling along the crevices, till they stood beneath the overhanging Table Rock and looked upward at that mass of falling waters.
“This I like better than all,” said Norman; “how much I would like to go behind the sheet of water.”
“No, indeed,” replied his mother, “I do not mean that you shall go there. But is not this grand!”
A few minutes only and they retraced their steps, gathering some blue hare-bells growing out of the crevices of these rude cliffs.
Slowly, slowly the shadow of the hills crept up the falls, vailing their dazzling beauty, and obscuring their radiant bows. The sunset came too soon to close that day of exceeding beauty; but then the moon faintly lighted up the splendors of the scene, kindling the rapids above the falls, and making a path of light in the profound depths below. A little way in the moonlight, down the road to the ferry, to gaze on the wonders of that fearful chasm, softened rather than heightened by that silvery light.
No lunar bow to be seen till late in the night from the Canada side. Those who looked that night from Goat Island and the Tower saw it in great beauty.