The Oswego, just at that place, was a deep dark stream of no great
width, its still, gloomy-looking current winding its way among
overhanging trees, which, in particular spots, almost shut out
the light of the heavens. Here and there some half-fallen giant of
the forest lay nearly across its surface, rendering care necessary
to avoid the limbs; and most of the distance, the lower branches
and leaves of the trees of smaller growth were laved by its waters.
The picture so beautifully described by our own admirable poet,
and which we have placed at the head of this chapter, was here
realized; the earth fattened by the decayed vegetation of centuries,
and black with loam, the stream that filled the banks nearly to
overflowing, and the "fresh and boundless wood," being all as visible
to the eye as the pen of Bryant has elsewhere vividly presented them
to the imagination. In short, the entire scene was one of a rich
and benevolent nature, before it had been subjected to the uses and
desires of man; luxuriant, wild, full of promise, and not without
the charm of the picturesque, even in its rudest state. It will
be remembered that this was in the year 175-, or long before even
speculation had brought any portion of western New York within the
bounds of civilization. At that distant day there were two great
channels of military communication between the inhabited portion
of the colony of New York and the frontiers which lay adjacent
to the Canadas, -- that by Lakes Champlain and George, and that by
means of the Mohawk, Wood Creek, the Oneida, and the rivers we have
been describing. Along both these lines of communication military
posts had been established, though there existed a blank space of
a hundred miles between the last fort at the head of the Mohawk
and the outlet of the Oswego, which embraced most of the distance
that Cap and Mabel had journeyed under the protection of Arrowhead.