Читать книгу A Ramble of Six Thousand Miles through the United States of America - S. A. Ferrall - Страница 5

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Having determined on quitting "the London of the States," as my friends the Yankees call New York, I had bag and baggage conveyed on board a steamer bound for Albany. The arrangements and accommodations on board this boat were superb, and surpassed any thing of the kind I ever met with in Europe, on the same scale; and the groups of well-dressed passengers fully indicated the general prosperity of the country.

The distance between New York and Albany is about 165 miles. The scenery on the Hudson is said to be the most beautiful of any in America, and I believe cannot be surpassed in any country. Many of the beauties of rich European scenery are to be found along the banks of that noble river. In the highlands, about fifty miles from New York, is West Point, on which stands a strong fortress, containing an arsenal, a military-school, and a garrison. It is romantically situated among lofty crags and mountains, which rise above the level of the water from 1100 to 1500 feet. There are many handsome country seats and villages between West Point and Hudson, where the river is more than a mile wide.

After a passage of about sixteen or seventeen hours, we arrived at Albany. The charge for passage, including dinner and tea, was only three dollars; and the day following the cost was reduced, through the spirit of opposition, to one dollar.

Albany is the legislative capital of New York. It is a handsome city, and one of the oldest in the Union. Most of the houses are built of wood, which, when tastefully painted (not often the case) have rather a pleasing appearance. The situation of this city is advantageous, both from the direct communication which it enjoys with the Atlantic, by means of sloops and schooners, and the large tract of back country which it commands. A trade with Canada is established by means of the Erie and Hudson canal. The capitol, and other public buildings, are large and handsome, and being constructed of either brick or stone, give the city a respectable appearance.

Albany, in 1614, was first settled by the Dutch, and was by them called Orange. On its passing into the hands of the English, in 1664, its present name was given to it, in honour of the Duke of York. It was chartered in 1686.

From Albany I proceeded along the canal, by West Troy and Junction, and near the latter place we came to Cohoe's Falls, on the Mohawk. The river here is about 250 yards wide, which rushing over a jagged and uneven bed of rocks, produces a very picturesque effect. The canal runs nearly parallel with this river from Junction to Utica, crossing it twice, at an interval of seven miles, over aqueducts nearly fifty rods in length, constructed of solid beams of timber. The country is very beautiful, and for the most part well cultivated. The soil possesses every variety of good and bad. The farms along the canal are valuable, land being generally worth from fifty to a hundred dollars per acre.

Above Schenectady, a very ancient town, the bed of the canal gave way, which of course obliged us to come to a dead halt. I hired, for myself and two others, a family waggon (dignified here with the appellation of carriage) to take us beyond the break, in expectation of being able to get a boat thence onwards, but unfortunately all the upward-bound boats had proceeded. We were, therefore, obliged to wait until next morning. My fellow travellers having light luggage, got themselves and it into a hut at the other side of the lock; but I, having heavy baggage, which it was impossible to carry across, was compelled to remain on the banks, between the canal and the Mohawk, all night. On the river there were several canoes, with fishermen spearing by torch-light; while on the banks the boatmen and boys, Mulattos and whites, were occupied in gambling. They had tables, candles, dice, and cards. With these, and with a quantum sufficit of spirits, they contrived to while away the time until day-break; of course interlarding their conversation with a reasonable quantity of oaths and imprecations. The breach being repaired early in the morning, the boats came up, and we proceeded to Utica.

Seven miles above Utica is seated Rome, a small and dirty town, bearing no possible resemblance to the "Eternal City," even in its more modern condition, as the residence of the "Triple Prince;" but, on the contrary, having, if one could judge from the habitations, every appearance of squalid poverty. Fifteen miles further on, we passed the Little Falls. It was night when we came to them, but it being moonlight, we had an opportunity of seeing them to advantage. The crags are here stupendous—irregular and massive piles of rocks, from which spring the lofty pine and cedar, are heaped in frightful disorder on each other, and give the scene a terrifically grand appearance.

From Rome to Syracuse, a distance of forty-six miles, the canal is cut through a swampy forest, a great portion of which is composed of dead trees. One of the most dismal scenes imaginable is a forest of charred trees, which is occasionally to be met with in this country, especially in the route by which I was travelling. It is caused by the woods being fired, by accident or otherwise. The aspect of these blasted monuments of ruined vegetation is strange and peculiar; and the air of desertion and desolation which pervades their neighbourhood, reminds one of the stories that are told of the Upas valley of Java, for here too not a bird is to be seen. The smell arising from this swamp in the night, was so bad as to oblige us to shut all the windows and doors of the boat, which, added to the bellowing and croaking of the bull frogs—the harsh and incessant noise of the grasshoppers, and the melancholy cry of the whip-poor-will, formed a combination not of the most agreeable nature. Yet, in defiance of all this, we were induced occasionally to brave the terrors of the night, in order to admire that beautiful insect the fire-fly, or as it is called by the natives, "lightning bug." They emit a greenish phosphorescent light, and are seen at this season in every part of the country. The woods here were full of them, and seemed literally to be studded with small stars, which emitted a bright flickering light.

After you pass Syracuse, the country begins to improve; but still it is low and marshy, and for the most part unhealthy, as the appearance of the people clearly indicates. In this country, as in every other, the canals are generally cut through comparatively low lands, and the low lands here, with few exceptions, are all swampy; however, a great deal of the unhealthiness which pervades this district, arises from want of attention. A large portion of the inhabitants are Low Dutch, who appear never to be in their proper element, unless when settled down in the midst of a swamp. They allow rotten timber to accumulate, and stagnant pools to remain about their houses, and from these there arises an effluvium which is most unpleasant in warm weather, which, however, they do not seem to perceive.

We entered Rochester, through an aqueduct thirty rods in length, built of stone, across the Genessee river. Rochester is the handsomest town on this line. Some of the houses here are tastefully decorated. All the windows have Venetian blinds, and generally there are one or two covered balconies attached to the front of each house. Before the doors there are small parterres, planted with rose-trees, and other fragrant shrubs. About half a mile from the town are the Falls of Genessee. The water glides over an even bed of limestone rock, ninety-six feet above the level of the river below. There is a beautiful regularity in this fall, but its extreme uniformity divests it of picturesque effect. Here the celebrated diver, Sam. Patch, subsequently met his fate in diving off this precipice. He had performed similar feats at the Falls of Niagara, without sustaining any injury. He was not killed by the fall; but is supposed to have fainted when midway from, his leap, as his arms were observed to relax, and his legs to open, before he reached the water.

On my journey I met with an Englishman, a Mr. W——. He dressed à la Mungo Park, wearing a jacket and trowsers of jean, and a straw hat. He was a great pedestrian; had travelled through most of the southern States, and was now on his tour through this part of the country. He was a gentleman about fifty—silent and retiring in his habits. Enamoured of the orange-trees of Georgia, he intended returning there or to Carolina, and ending his days. We agreed to visit the Falls of Niagara together, and accordingly quitted the boat at Tonawanta. When we had dined, and had deposited our luggage in the safe keeping of the Niagara hotel-keeper, my companion shouldered his vigne stick, and to one end of which he appended a small bundle, containing a change of linen, &c., and I put on my shooting coat of many pockets, and shouldered my gun. Thus equipped, we commenced our journey to the Great Falls. The distance from Tonawanta to the village of the Falls, now called Manchester, is about eleven miles. The way lies through a forest, in which there are but a few scattered habitations. A great part of the road runs close to the river Niagara; and the occasional glimpses of this broad sheet of water, which are obtained through the rich foliage of the forest, added to the refreshing breeze that approached us through the openings, rendered our pedestrian excursion extremely delightful.

Towards evening we arrived at the village, and proceeded to reconnoitre, in order to fix our position for the night. After having done this satisfactorily, we then turned our attention to the all-important operation of eating and drinking. While supping, an eccentric-looking person passed out through the apartment in which we were. His odd appearance excited our curiosity, and we inquired who this mysterious-looking gentleman was. We were informed that he was an Englishman, and that he had been lodging there for the last six months, but that he concealed his real name. He slept in one corner of a large barrack room, in which there were of course several other beds. On a small table by his bed-side there were a few French and Latin books, and some scraps of poetry touching on the tender passion. These, and a German flute, which we observed standing against the window, gave us some clue to his character. He was a tall, romantic-looking young man, apparently about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age. His dress was particularly shabby. This the landlord told us was from choice, not from necessity, as he had two trunks full of clothes nearly new. The reason he gave for dressing as he did, was his knowing, he said, that if he dressed well, people would be talking to him, which he wished to avoid; but, that by dressing as he did, he made sure that no one would ever think of giving him any annoyance of that kind. I thought this idea unique: and whether he be still at Niagara, or has taken up his abode at the foot of the Rocky mountains, I pronounce him to be a Diogenes without a tub. He has read at least one page in the natural history of civilized man.

We visited the Falls, at the American side by moonlight. There was then an air of grandeur and sublimity in the scene which I shall long remember. Yet at this side they are not seen to the greatest advantage. Next morning I crossed the Niagara river, below the Falls, into Canada. I did not ascend the bank to take the usual route to the Niagara hotel, at which place there is a spiral staircase descending 120 feet towards the foot of the Falls, but clambered along at the base of the cliffs until I reached the point immediately below the stairs. I here rested, and indeed required it much, for the day was excessively warm, and I had unfortunately encumbered myself with my gun and shot pouch. The Falls are here seen in all their grandeur. Two immense volumes of water glide over perpendicular precipices upwards of 170 feet in height, and tumble among the crags below with a roaring that we distinctly heard on our approach to the village, at the distance of five miles up the river: and down the river it can be heard at a much greater distance. The Falls are divided by Goat Island into two parts. The body of water which falls to the right of the island is much greater than that which falls to the left; and the cliffs to the right assume the form of a horse-shoe. To the left there is also a considerable indentation, caused by a late falling in of the rock; but it scarcely appears from the Canadian side. The rushing of the waters over such immense precipices—the dashing of the spray, which rises in a white cloud at the base of the Falls, and is felt at the distance of a quarter of a mile—the many and beautiful rainbows that occasionally appear—united, form a grand and imposing coup d'oeil.

The Fall is supposed to have been originally at the table-land near Lewiston; and indeed, from the nature of the ground, and its present condition below the Falls, no reasonable objection can be entertained to that supposition. The upper part of the cliffs is composed of hard limestone, and underneath is a bed of schistus. Now this schistus is continually worn away by the water's dashing against it. This leaves the upper part, or immediate bed of the river, without foundation. When, therefore, from extraordinary floods, the pressure of the incumbent fluid becomes more than usually great, the rock gives way; and thus, gradually, the Falls have receded several miles.

I at length ascended the stairs, and popped my head into the shanty, sans ceremonie, to the no small amazement of the cunning compounder of "cock-tails," and "mint julaps" who presided at the bar. It was clear that I had ascended the stairs, but how the deuce I had got down was the question. I drank my "brandy sling," and retreated before he had recovered from his surprise, and thus I escaped the volley of interrogatories with which I should have been most unsparingly assailed. I walked for some distance along the Canadian heights, and then crossed the river, where I met my friend waiting my return under a clump of scrub oak.

We had previously determined on visiting the Tuscarora village, an Indian settlement about eight miles down the river, and not far from Ontario. This is a tribe of one of the six nations, the last that was admitted into the Confederation. They live in a state of community; and in their arrangements for the production and distribution of wealth, approach nearer to the Utopean system than any community with which I am acquainted. The squaws told us that no Indian there could claim any thing but what was contained within his own cabin; that the produce of the land was common property, and that they never quarrelled about its division. We dined in one of their cabins, on lean mutton and corn bread. The interior of their habitations is not conspicuous for cleanliness; nor are they so far civilized as to be capable of breaking their word. The people at the Niagara village told us, that with the exception of two individuals in that community, any Indian could get from them on credit either money or goods to whatever amount he required.

I here parted with my fellow traveller, perhaps for ever. He went to Lewiston, whence he intended to cross into Canada, and to walk along the shores of Ontario; whilst I made the best of my way back through the woods to Manchester. I certainly think our landlord had some misgivings respecting the fate of my companion. We had both departed together: I alone was armed—and I alone returned. However, as I unflinchingly stood examination and cross-examination, and sojourned until next morning, his fears seemed to be entirely dispelled. Next day I took a long, last look at Niagara, and departed for Tonawanta.

At Tonawanta I again took the canal-boat to Buffalo, a considerable town on the shores of lake Erie, and at the head of the canal navigation. There are several good buildings in this town, and some well-appointed hotels. Lake schooners, and steam and canal boats are here in abundance, it being an entrepôt for western produce and eastern merchandize. A few straggling Indians are to be seen skulking about Buffalo, like dogs in Cairo, the victims of the inordinate use of ardent spirits.

From Buffalo I proceeded in a steamer along lake Erie, to Portland in Ohio, now called Sandusky City; the distance 240 miles. After about an hour's sail, we entirely lost sight of the Canadian shores. The scenery on the American side is very fine, particularly from Presqu' Isle onward to the head of the lake, or rather from its magnitude, it might be termed an inland sea.

On landing at Sandusky, I learned that there were several Indian reserves between that place and Columbus, the seat of government. This determined me on making a pedestrian tour to that city. Accordingly, having forwarded my luggage, and made other necessary arrangements, I commenced my pergrinations among the Aborigines.

The woods in the upper part of Ohio, nearest the lake, are tolerably open, and occasionally interspersed with sumach and sassafras: the soil somewhat sandy. I met with but few Indians, until my arrival at Lower Sandusky, on the Sandusky river; here there were several groups returning to their reserves, from Canada, where they had been to receive the annual presents made them by the British government. In the next county (Seneca) there is a reservation of about three miles square, occupied by Senecas, Cayugas, and part of the Iroquois or six nations, once a most powerful confederation amongst the red men.^[1] In Crawford county there is a very large reserve belonging to the Huron or Wyandot Indians. These, though speaking a dialect of the Iroquois tongue, are more in connexion with the Delawares than with the Iroquois. The Wyandots are much esteemed by their white neighbours, for probity and good behaviour. They dress very tastefully. A handsome chintz shawl tied in the Moorish fashion about the head—leggings of blue cloth, reaching half way up the thigh, sewn at the outside, leaving a hem of about an inch deep—mocassins, or Indian boots, made of deer-skin, to fit the foot close, like a glove—a shirt or tunic of white calico—and a hunting shirt, or frock, made of strong blue-figured cotton or woollen cloth, with a small fringed cape, and long sleeves—a tomahawk and scalping knife stuck in a broad leather belt. Accoutred in this manner, and mounted on a small hardy horse, called here an Indian pony, imagine a tall, athletic, brown man, with black hair and eyes—the hair generally plaited in front, and sometimes hanging in long wavy curls behind—aquiline nose, and fearless aspect, and you have a fair idea of the Wyandot and Cayuga Indian. The Senecas and Oneidas whom I met with, were not so handsome in general, but as athletic, and about the same average height—five feet nine or ten.

The Indians here, as every where else, are governed by their own laws, and never have recourse to the whites to settle their disputes. That silent unbending spirit, which has always characterized the Indian, has alone kept in check the rapacious disposition of the whites. Several attempts have been made to induce the Indians to sell their lands, and go beyond the Mississippi, but hitherto without effect. The Indian replies to the fine speeches and wily language of the whites, "We hold this small bit of land, in the vast country of our fathers, by your written talk, and it is noted on our wampums—the bones of our fathers lie here, and we cannot forsake them. You tell us our great father (the president) is powerful, and that his arm is long and strong—we believe it is so; but we are in hopes that he will not strike his red children for their lands, and that he will leave us this little piece to live upon—the hatchet is long buried, let it not be disturbed."

Jackson has lately published a manifesto to all the Indian tribes within the limits of the United States, commanding them to sell their reserves; and with few exceptions, has been answered in this manner.

A circumstance occurred a few days previous to my arrival, in the Seneca reserve, which may serve to illustrate the determined character of the Indian. There were three brothers (chiefs) dwelling in this reservation. "Seneca John," the eldest brother, was the principal chief of the tribe, and a man much esteemed by the white people. He died by poison. The chiefs in council, having satisfactorily ascertained that his second brother "Red-hand," and a squaw, had poisoned him, decreed that Red-hand should be put to death. "Black-snake," the other brother, told the chiefs that if Red-hand must die, he himself would kill him, in order to prevent feuds arising in the tribe. Accordingly in the evening he repaired to the hut of Red-hand, and after having sat in silence for some time, said, "My best chiefs say, you have killed my father's son—they say my brother must die." Red-hand merely replied, "They say so;" and continued to smoke. After about fifteen minutes further silence, Black-snake said, pointing to the setting sun, "When he appears above those trees"—moving his arm round to the opposite direction—"I come to kill you." Red-hand nodded his head in the short significant style of the Indian, and said "Good." The next morning Black-snake came, followed by two chiefs, and having entered the hut, first put out the squaw, he then returned and stood before his brother, his eyes bent on the ground. Red-hand said calmly, "Has my brother come that I may die?"—"It is so," was the reply. "Then," exclaimed Red-hand, grasping his brother's left hand with his own right, and dashing the shawl from his head, "Strike sure!" In an instant the tomahawk was from the girdle of Black-snake, and buried in the skull of the unfortunate man. He received several blows before he fell, uttering the exclamation "hugh," each time. The Indians placed him on the grass to die, where the backwoodsman who told me the story, saw him after the lapse of two hours, and life was not then extinct—with such tenacity does it cling to the body of an Indian. The scalping knife was at length passed across his throat, and thus ended the scene.

From Sandusky city, in Huron county, I passed into Sandusky county, and from thence through Seneca county. These three counties are entirely woodlands, with the exception of a few small prairies which lay eastward of my course. The land is generally fertile. Some light sandy soil is occasionally to be met with, which produces more quickly than the heavier soil, but not so abundantly. I saw in my travels through these counties a few persons who were ill of ague-fever, as it is here called. The prevalence of this disease is not to be attributed to a general unhealthiness of the climate, but can at all times be referred to localities.

I next entered Crawford county, and crossed the Wyandot prairie, about seven miles in length, to Upper Sandusky. This was the first of those extensive meadows I had seen, and I was much pleased with its appearance—although this prairie is comparatively but small, yet its beauty cannot be surpassed; and the groves, and clusters of trees, iles de bois, with which it is interspersed, make it much resemble a beautiful domain.

Attached to the Wyandot reserve (nine miles by sixteen) is that of the Delawares (three miles square). On reaching Little Sandusky—Kahama's curse on the town baptizers of America!—there are often five or six places named alike in one state: upper and lower, little and big, great and small—and invariably the same names that are given to towns in one State, are to be found in every other. Then their vile plagiarisms of European names causes a Babelonish confusion of ideas, enough to disturb the equanimity of a "grisly saint;" and, with all humility, I disclaim having any pretensions to that character. I have frequently heard a long-legged, sallow-looking backwoodsman talk of having come lately from Paris, or Mecca, when instead of meaning the capital of La grande nation, or the city of "the holy prophet," he spoke of some town containing a few hundred inhabitants, situated in the backwoods of Kentucky, or amidst the gloomy forests of Indiana. The Americans too speak in prospective, when they talk of great places; no doubt "calculating" that, one day, all the mighty productions of the old world will be surpassed by their ingenuity and perseverance.

I reached Little Sandusky about one o'clock in the day, and there learned that there was a treaty being holden with the Delawares—accordingly I repaired to the council ground. On a mat, under the shade of seven large elm trees, which in more prosperous times had waved over the war-like ancestors of this unfortunate people, were seated three old sachems, the principal of the tribe. The oldest appeared to be nearly eighty years of age, the next about seventy, and the last about fifty. On a chair to the right of the Indians was seated a young "half-breed" chief, the son of one of the sachems by a white squaw; and on their left, seated on another chair, a Delaware dressed in the costume of the whites. This young man was in the pay of the States, and acted as interpreter—he interpreting into and from the Delaware language, and a gentleman of the mission (a Captain Walker) into and from the Wyandot. At a table opposite the Indians were seated the commissioners.

The Lenni Lenapé, or Delawares, as they were called by the English, from the circumstance of their holding their great "Council-fire" on the banks of the Delaware river, were once the most powerful of the several tribes that spoke the Delaware tongue, and possessed an immense tract of country east of the Alleghany mountains. This unfortunate people had been driven from place to place, until at last they were obliged to accept of an asylum from the Wyandot, whom they call their uncle; and now are forced to sell this, and go beyond the Mississippi. To a reflecting mind, the scene was touching beyond description. Here was the sad remnant of a great nation, who having been forced back from the original country of their fathers, by successive acts of rapacity, are now compelled to enter into a compact which obliges them, half civilized as they are, to return to the forest. The case is this—the white people, or rather Jackson and the southerns, say, that the Indians "retard improvement"—precisely in the same sense that a brigand, when he robs a traveller, might say, that the traveller retarded improvement—that is, retarded his improvement, inasmuch as he had in his pocket, what would improve the condition of the brigand. The Indians have cultivated farms, and valuable tracts of land, and no doubt it will improve the condition of the whites, to get possession of those farms and rich lands, for one tenth of their saleable value. The profits that have accrued to the United States from the systematic plunder of the Indians, are immense, and a great portion of the national debt has been liquidated by this dishonest means.^[2]

The reserve of the Delawares contained nine square miles, or 5760 acres. For this it was agreed at the treaty, that they should be paid 6000 dollars, and the value of the improvements, which I conceived to be a fair bargain. I was not then aware of the practice pursued by the government, of making deductions, under various pretences, from the purchase-money, until the unfortunate Indian is left scarcely anything in lieu of his lands, and says, that "the justice of the white man is not like the justice of the red man," and that he cannot understand the honesty of his Christian brother. The following extract, taken from the New York American, will give some insight into the mode of dealing with the Indians.

"The last of the Ottowas.—Maumee Bay, Ohio, Sept. 3, 1831.—Mr. James B. Gardiner has concluded a very important treaty at Maumee Bay, in Michigan, for a cession of all the lands owned by the Ottowa Indians in Ohio, about 50,000 acres. It was attended with more labour and greater difficulties than any other treaty made in this state: it was the last foothold which that savage, warlike, and hostile tribe held in their ancient dominion. The conditions of this treaty are very similar to those treaties of Lewistown and Wapaghkenetta, with this exception, that the surplus avails of their lands, after deducting seventy cents per acre to indemnify the government, are to be appropriated for paying the debts of their nation, which amount to about 20,000 dollars." [Query, what are those debts?—could they be the amount of presents made them on former occasions?] "The balance, if any, accrues to the tribe. Seventy thousand acres of land are granted to them west of the Mississippi.^[3] The Ottowas are the most depredating, drunken, and ferocious in Ohio. The reservations ceded by them are very valuable, and those on the Miami of the lake embrace some of the best mill privileges in the State."

The Delawares were too few (being but fifty-one in number) to contend the matter, and therefore accepted of the proposed terms. At the conclusion of the conference, the Commissioners told them that they should have a barrel of flour, with the beef that had been killed for the occasion, which was received with "Yo-ha!—Yo-ha!" They then said, laughing, "that they hoped their father would allow them a little milk," meaning whisky, which was accordingly granted. They drank of this modern Lethé and forgot for a time their misfortunes.

On the Osage fork of the Merrimack river, there are two settlements of the Delawares, to the neighbourhood of which these Indians intend to remove.

Near the Delaware reserve, I fell in with a young Indian, apparently about twenty years of age, and we journeyed together for several miles through the forest. He spoke English fluently, and conformed as far as his taste would permit him, to the habits of the whites. His dress consisted of a blue frock coat, blue cloth leggings, moccasins, a shawl tied about the head, and a red sash round his waste. In conversation, I asked him if he were not a Cayuga—: "No," says he, "an Oneida," placing both his hands on his breast—"a clear Oneida." I could not help smiling at his national pride;—yet this is man: in every country and condition he is proud of his descent, and loves the race to which he belongs. This Oneida was a widow's son. He had sixteen acres of cleared land, which, with occasional assistance, he cultivated himself. When the produce was sold, he divided the proceeds with his mother, and then set out, and travelled until his funds were exhausted. He had just then returned from a tour to New York and Philadelphia, and had visited almost every city in the Union. As Guedeldk—that was the Oneida's name—and I were rambling along, we met a negro who was journeying in great haste—he stopped to inquire if we had seen that day, or the day previous, any nigger-woman going towards the lake. I had passed the day before two waggon loads of negros, which were being transported, by the state, to Canada. A local law prohibits the settlement of people of colour within the state of Ohio, which was now put in force, although it had remained dormant for many years.

There was much hardship in the case of this poor fellow. He had left his family at Cincinnati, and had gone to work on the canal some eighteen or twenty miles distant. He had been absent about a week; and on his return he found his house empty, and was informed that his wife and children had been seized, and transported to Canada. The enforcement of this law has been since abandoned; and I must say, although the law itself is at variance with the Constitution of the United States, which is paramount to all other laws, that its abandonment is due entirely to the good feeling of the people of Ohio, who exclaimed loudly against the cruelty of the measure.

FOOTNOTES:

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