See America First Part 24

Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear, They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free.

--Felicia Henaans.

CHAPTER XII

LAKE CHAMPLAIN

How richly glows the water's breast, Before us tinged with evening's hues, When facing thus the crimson west, The boat her silent course pursues, And see how dark the backward stream, A little moment past so smiling!

And still perhaps some faithless gleam, Some other loiterer beguiling.

Such views the youthful bard allure, But heedless of the following gloom, He dreams their colors shall endure Till peace go with him to the tomb.

And let him nurse his fond deceit; And what if he must die in sorrow Who would not cherish dreams so sweet; Though grief and pain may come tomorrow.

--Wordsworth.

The ancients believed that the alchemists could create rose blooms out of their ashes. We are p.r.o.ne to believe it for, at the close of a fair New England day we have seen the Master Alchemist, the sun, beneath his s.p.a.cious workshop of July skies, trans.m.u.ting the gray mists and vapors into sunset's glow; and lo! we had the blooming roses there. He melted his many ingredients with the falling dew and distilled from them the gold with which he burnished the western sky, making it glow like a gla.s.sy sea. Seizing upon some more potent fluid, he threw it among the fleecy clouds, kindling them all along the horizon until they shone like a vast lake of flame; then taking his magic wand, he waved it over the glowing ma.s.s and crimson changed to rosy pink, pink to glowing purple; forming those royal gates through which the magician pa.s.sed behind the distant foothills of the Adirondacks.

During such a pageant of splendor as this o'er head, did we first behold the placid waters of Lake Champlain.

Far away beyond the Vermont sh.o.r.e rose the Green mountains behind their misty veils of purplish-blue. High above the lower undulations loomed the forest crowned ridges, gloriously colored and radiant, forming a mysterious yet fitting background for the exquisite picture before us. The nearer hills from their tops and extending far down their sides were covered with evergreens; below them a purple belt of deciduous trees and bright green meadows made a vivid contrast; while the nearer valley was filled with clumps of trees, fields of grain and crimson clover.

Before us lay the tranquil lake flecked with islands, which looked like floating gardens of green on a purple mirror. Near us a wooden bridge led across a shallow cove pa.s.sing between myriads of pickerel weed whose light purple spathes formed a striking ma.s.s of color. Beneath it long, slender patches of silvery blue rushes made magic hedges, so symmetrical as to seem clipped by the hand of art. So ethereal in their loveliness were they, we could account for their presence in no other way than being woven by the genii of the lake out of the purple bloom that surrounded it.

It was a royal path fit for any of the n.o.bility of earth to journey upon. The air was so clear and transparent and the surface of the lake so calm that a boat with some fishermen appeared to be drifting in mid-air among a "veiled shower of shadowy roses." The flight of a kingfisher was revealed in the lake below as distinctly as in the sky above. A great blue- heron, making one think of a French soldier at attention, was silently awaiting a green-coated Boche to make his appearance over the top of his lily-pad dugout. The stillness was so p.r.o.nounced it seemed as if all Nature held her breath while super-powers of both lake and mountain wrought their miracles.

It must have been such a scene as this which Tennyson portrayed in his "Lotus-Eaters:"

There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the gra.s.s, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite in a gleaming pa.s.s; Music that gentler on the spirit lies Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes, Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies Here are cool mosses deep, And through the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.

Another heaven arched below us in which the Green mountains joined their bases with still others that seemed like fairy creations floating upon the water. An ideal remoteness and perfection were thrown o'er the landscape by the crystalline atmosphere. Mountains, fields, woods and lake all made "ethereal pictures" in the mild evening light. Above in the blue dome, Nature hung her finely woven drapery of rose-colored clouds, whose glory was repeated by the unfathomable lake, seemingly as deep as the blue dome it reflected. Its hues were not those of earth, but were borrowed from heaven with which the poem of evening was written on the twilight sky, for the delight of all mankind.

Such scenes as this naturally call for comparisons, but having seen but one that will in any measure compare with it, we shall try to recall an evening on the Mediterranean.

The afternoon had been spent on the island of St. Marguerite, a short distance off the coast of Nice. Here we visited the old tower where Marshal Bazaine got over the stone wall, the cell in which the prisoner of the Iron Mask resided, and the old Spanish well dating from the eleventh century. How delicious it was--the rest, the quiet, the box-scented breeze, the sheen of the sunset on the dark blue waves! The very atmosphere breathed of romance.

The sinking sun was gilding the distant peaks of the Alps, causing them to grow radiant with rosy splendor, as we pushed out from the island in our sail-boat. The place was remarkably still. Only the nightingale broke into song among the fragrant bushes by the frowning prison. All else was silent, save the silvery plash of the oars that broke the surface of the water in measured and rythmical strokes.

Rising from the edge of the glorious Bay of the Angels at Nice, domes, palaces and casino, all steeped in those deep, delicious hues, appeared like some vast work of art. As we drew nearer the whole scene opened to us in all its marvelous beauty. We floated slowly o'er the deep blue water which so perfectly mirrored a few pearly clouds that we seemed to be drifting above rather than beneath them. Then the little boats with their orange- colored sails made the place more romantic still. Just in front of us lay the dome-shaped casino, whose windows glowed like rare jewels; all along the sh.o.r.e magnificent hotels of white stone with red tile roofs looked from among their royal palms; while numberless villas, rising one above another with their orange trees, vines and flowers, made a picture of rare beauty. Higher still the rich green, brown and gray of the mountains rose, until they blended with the serene and airy hues of the snow- clad Alps.

Fair as this scene was, it yet lacked that irresistible and magic charm that we beheld in Lake Champlain. It was the most divinely placid and clear sheet of water we ever beheld; one of Nature's famous works of art, that perchance come to one only once in a lifetime. As we gazed in admiration and wonder at those ethereal hues that seem unrealized in Nature, we said, "Here is beauty enough, not for one evening, but for all future evenings of our lifetime." It was a vast mirror that carried in its bosom heaven itself, reflecting the Master Artist's most rare designs.

A boat came round a point of land with three fishermen in it.

One of the occupants was heard to exclaim "I am fifty cents to the good, old man Grump, for remember, on each black ba.s.s caught we had a nickel up. Whoopee! Say, d'ye see that darned big ba.s.s I would have got if the line would of held him? Oh, man! My heart stopped throbbing and I felt it in my throat and had ter swaller it fore I could breathe again. Such luck as that would of made a preacher go wrong."

His companions began talking now, telling how if something or other hadn't interfered they would have made their record catch; which has been the tale of woe of all hunters and fishers from Esau's time on down.

"Been a most unG.o.dly hot day. My old hide is blistered all over."

"Serves you right, old dill pickle. If you had got your just dues for robbing me of that pike I'll be switched you'd be burnt to a cinder."

Such was the general trend of the conversation. As the boat disappeared round a jutting point of land, one of the number was heard to exclaim:

"Gee, but I got a peachy bunch of black ba.s.s. Golly, we'll have to hurry or it'll be dark fore we git to camp."

Thus they drifted over the waters far out to where the huge purple rocks made soft outlines with wild, mysterious impressiveness. They may have been expert fishermen, but it is to be feared not real anglers; although they took a fine string of black ba.s.s, they caught but few of the glorious reflections and little of the unearthly beauty of the lake. Heaven had come down to earth for them and "beauty pervaded the atmosphere like a Presence." Think of fis.h.i.+ng amid scenes like this! One wonders if there will be fis.h.i.+ng in Paradise.

What glorious vistas those waters opened up to all, stretching away to those purple haunting distances, where may be had a fleeting glimpse of things which are eternal and the perceiving ear may catch strains of long remembered melodies ("those songs without words") which only the finest souls may know. Yet here were three men who, in their modern Ago, were returning from their search of the golden fleece. Jason, Hercules and Theseus could have experienced no greater joy in object won, than these three "heroes" of the lake returning in the resin-scented twilight with their long-sought prize of ba.s.s! A nickel up on each black ba.s.s and not one red cent on the placid lake and the radiant sky! Columbus, when he viewed from afar the fronded palms of the Indies, could not have been more enraptured than the one with fifty cents to the good.

Looking out over the lake and then at the wonderful grouping of the elms, birches, vines and sedge along the sh.o.r.e that stood hushed and expectant, as the glory slowly faded from the sky, we said, "had this place a voice, how full of hope and calm serenity it would be!"

Near us a boat grated softly on the pebbly bottom of a cove and swung in. From the deep purple shadow of the wooded sh.o.r.e, out over the lake a thin white veil was slowly creeping as if the purple bloom had faded to silvery whiteness. It seemed not unlike the breath of the sleeping water, and the spirit of the silent lake.

Suddenly a melody that seemed as serene as the mountains and as pure as the lake broke the silence; far up on a wooded ridge a thrush was chanting his evening hymn to the Creator. It was as if the soul of the quiet lake spoke to us; the spirit that haunts high mountains, clear lakes, shadowy forests, and all that is pure and beautiful in life; its hopes, longings and faith were voiced in that mellow "angelus" of the forest.

We would love to see the twilight linger, but all things must end, and we pursued our way down the winding sh.o.r.e road, already gray with the coming night. Before we said good-night the mister said, "I wonder what eternity will be like?" His comrade spoke with a clearness of speech, declaring a truth that no one could doubt: "Eternity is here and now, and this is our first glimpse into paradise."

Long after retiring the words of George Herbert came and went through memory:

"Sweet day! so cool, so calm, so bright The bridal of the earth and sky, The dews shall weep thy fall tonight; For thou must die.

Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye; Thy root is ever in the grave And thou must die.

Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses; A box where sweets compacted lie; My music shows you have your closes And all must die.

Only a great and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But, though the whole world turns to coal Then chiefly lives."

CHAPTER XIII

THE ADIRONDACKS

Whoever pa.s.ses through the Green mountains and arrives at Burlington in the evening of a fair day will he rewarded by one of the most beautiful views of natural scenery the world has to offer. The outlook from the hilltop here is enchanting. Looking westward you see the beautiful expanse of Lake Champlain, dotted with numerous islands that stretch away to the purple wall of the Adirondacks, whose summits are outlined by a bright golden light which slowly ascends and diffuses along the horizon as if striving to linger around the loveliness below. The sun disappears, leaving an ocean of flame where he pa.s.ses, and the fleecy clouds which swim in the ether look down at their images in the lake. Here you behold the Green mountains, showing majestically against the sky. They are clothed in soft blue veils, as lovely as any that Italian mountains can boast. The highest peaks of the range, Mount Mansfield and Camel's Hump, thrust their outlines like purple silhouettes against their glowing background.

William Dean Howells, standing with a friend on the sh.o.r.e of the Bay of Naples, remarked that he considered one scene in the world more beautiful than that upon which they were gazing--Lake Champlain and the Adirondacks, as seen from Burlington.

Morning came bright and clear; a cool breeze waved the clinging foliage of birch and elm, rippling the lake near the sh.o.r.e and tossing the waves far out on its bosom, which gleamed white along their crests. This was the real Lake Champlain, for it is a very turbulent ma.s.s of water and rarely presents a picture of such calm and quiet beauty as we beheld on the preceding evening. Numerous islands, "each fair enough to have keen the Garden of Eden," seen through the level rays of the morning sun, formed a glorious veil of color. Dark green arbor vitae trees grew near their edges; nearer still the elm and willows flung down their lighter ma.s.ses of foliage to the water, and birch gleamed silvery white against their shadowy background.

"After the French had built Fort Saint Anne on Isle la Motte a party of men went out in search of game. They crossed the lake in a southwesterly direction and were surprised by a band of Mohawk Indians, who took some of the white men prisoners, and killed Captain de Traversy and Sieur de Chasy." The place where they were killed has since been known as Chasy's landing. We crossed a long causeway, which led to the landing, where we took the ferry across to Chasy. The first auto on the boat was from Ma.s.sachusetts, followed by "another Nash" from New Hamps.h.i.+re; then Ohio filled the middle s.p.a.ce of the boat, and was followed by a horse and buggy; as neither bore a license, we could not tell the state from which they came. The distance to Chasy was about one mile, and we were soon on our way to Plattsburg.

Fields of ripening wheat, oats, alfalfa and buckwheat, all divided by stone fences into squares and triangles, began to appear. Meadows in which Holstein cattle were grazing dotted the low ranges of foothills that spread away until lost in blue distance.

Between the Adirondack mountains in New York state and the Green mountains of Vermont on the sh.o.r.e of Lake Champlain, in the heart of Champlain valley, lies the historic town of Plattsburg.

It is noted in recent years as the home of the "Plattsburg Idea," the movement for universal military training inaugurated by Major General Leonard Wood, through the establishment at Plattsburg in the summer of 1915 of the first summer camp of military instruction for the regular army. It was noon when we arrived here, and we found that quite a few had adopted the idea, for a long line of hungry khaki-clad men were awaiting their turn at the mess hall.