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of Norfolk, about six miles from the Massachusetts line, and about two miles northwest of South Norfolk. The spot is entirely inaccessible, except to the pedestrian. A walk of about half a mile is required to reach it from the road, following the course of the stream, a pretty brook, now tumbling over the rocks, or again so sluggishly pursuing its way through marshy ground as almost to lose itself under the high grass and the accumulation of decaying forest trees which have fallen across its course.
The village of Winsted originally centered on a lofty eminence, some three miles westward of which a large lake of pure clear water was embosomed among the hills, and encircled by the virgin forest. It poured its abundant stream down a descent of one hundred and fifty feet into the Mad River, rushing down from the northwest, and uniting a mile further eastward with the Still River, and then taking its course, first northward and then eastward to the Truxis, or Farmington. Beautiful and abundant were the trout that filled these streams in these early days. But more beautiful to the utilitarian were the constant succession of cascades, now submerged by dams and surrounded by factories. One of them, the most picturesque of all, still gives forth the music of nature in its primeval solitude.
The present sketch gives but a faint idea of the waterfall and its surrounding of jagged cliffs, arched rocks, and ancient trees. It is easily accessible, and a favorite resort of the lovers of nature.
The region of these streams was an unpenetrated wilderness until near the close of the last century. Deacon David Austin had penetrated from "Old Winchester," on the west, to the outlet of the lakes, and VOL. XII.-29
had there built a grist-mill as early as 1782, and a bridle path was opened thence to ancient Winsted. The Doolittles soon afterward built another mill on the Still River, at the eastern border of the present village. A few settlers about this time had also penetrated the valley from the south, and located on what is now called South-street.
THE FALLS NEAR WINSTED.
The pioneer manufacturers of Winsted were Benjamin Jenkins, from Bridgewater, Mass., and James Boyd, from New Windsor, N. Y., who, in 1795, established the first scythe factory in the state, and the third in the Union, they having respectively learned the trade at the two other establishments in the places from whence they came.
Their first establishment stood on the present site of the Winsted Scythe Company, in the northeastern part of the village. They soon afterward united with Thomas Spencer in building the first iron works in the town, on the lake stream below Austin's Mill. In 1799 they built a second scythe factory, near the junction of the lake stream and Mad River. These two branches of business have ever heretofore been the main stay and support of the village. The making of refined bar iron, for many years the staple article of the place, is now mainly abandoned, in consequence of competition from quarters more favorably located in respect to iron mines and charcoal. The scythe business is still sustained by three large establishments, together making some two hundred thousand scythes a year.
The Rockwell Brothers came into the village from Colebrook about 1800, and erected two iron works, a woolen factory, and a new grist-mill on the lake stream.
Hosea Hinsdale and James Shepard, about the same period, laid the foundations of the two largest tanneries in the state, which are still successfully carried on by their successors.
The illustration which I present of Plymouth Hollow was sketched from the height east of the village, near the road which leads to the village on the hill. There is certainly nothing that strikes one as particularly pleasing in the name of Plymouth Hollow. How much more euphonious, as well as suggestive of its situation, would be that of Plymouth on Naugatuck.
In 1739 this town received the name of Northbury, being the third society of Waterbury. The first record of the society is a warning for a meeting on the application of John Sutcliff and others.
They "maid choise" of Samuel Todd to be their minister, and voted to give him one hundred and fifty pounds settlement. . . . same meeting it was voted to give Mr. Samuel todd for ye two first years from ye first of last October one hundred pounds salary per year, and his fire-wood and two dayes work, a man from sixteen to sixty [years of age] per year, one in summer and one in ye winter, and provide comfortable house roome for him ye first year upon our own causte.
It would appear from this very liberal allowance, especially when we take into consideration the simple habits of that period, that Mr. Todd was much better
provided for than one of the earlier clergymen in the neighboring parish of Northfield, of whom it is related that he found such utter "nakedness in the land" that he gave out one Sunday from the pulpit, with considerable emphasis, the hymn commencing with the words,
Lord! what a wretched land is this! That yields us no supply.
To which the chorister quickly responded by giving the tune, "Northfield."
A disaffection seems, however, soon to have risen in Mr. Todd's society. About the time of his settlement the great revival in New England commenced. He was at first, it is stated, opposed to it, or, at least, regarded it with distrust. He went to Stockbridge to get a more intimate knowledge of its practical workings, and came back with opinions, wholly changed. He at once introduced "conference meetings," and labored to rouse the feelings of his church and people. The result was, many of his parishioners, and finally a majority, including some of the principal men in both Church and society, turned against him, denounced his doctrines and measures, and at length obtained control of the meeting-house and established in it Episcopal worship.
This part of the valley must have been well peopled in aboriginal times. The river was stocked with trout and salmon, the flats were fine stalking ground for deer, and there are those now living who have heard the clashing of the wild turkey's wings, as he passed over from one side of the valley to the other in his heavy flight.
Among the aborigines of this vicinity there was one old chief who, surviving all his kindred, lived and died in a manner worthy of the last of his tribe. He seldom descended into the valley, but was often seen, in the early light of the morning, on the brow of the mountain, about one mile below the village. There, on a projecting rock for a stage, with the dark and bare hill-side for a background, he would enact "heavy tragedy," singing his war song, and shaking his weapons over the valley below, now beginning to smile with cultivation. Nor did he seemingly confine himself entirely to the dramatic; occasional injuries done to the cattle made the settlers suspicious and apprehensive. In those days the life of the "red-skin" was held most cheap. The gaunt and lofty figure of
the aged chieftain was missed from his favorite haunt. He had played out his part upon the stage, the curtain had fallen, and the old chief had passed "behind the scenes" to the great hunting grounds of his fathers. But it was not until long after this that his body was found, with a bent and rusted gun lying beside it, on a heap of loose stones which had fallen through many centuries at the base of the rock on which he was accustomed to stand.
An old house is now standing a short distance from Plymouth Hollow, on a hillside, whose cellar or basement walls are five or six feet thick, but though intended for a defense against the Indians it seems never to have been needed. Indian arrow heads and other implements are sometimes found in the neighborhood. None knew better than the Indian where to find the sweetest waters, and sometimes, when clearing out the rock basin of some natural spring, rude vessels will be found at the
bottom, hollowed out of "cotton stone," a metamorphic rock common to this locality.
Under a mountain in the south part of Plymouth are extensive excavations made by one John Sutliff, in pursuit of gold and other precious metals which he expected to find in a state of fusion, so that they might be dipped up with a ladle. Mr. Sutliff commenced digging near the Waterbury road under the mountain. His route became very circuitous as he proceeded, and after years of labor, digging, as he supposed, into the heart of the mountain, he was surprised one day to find his solitude obtruded upon. The fact was, that he had dug out to nearly the same point where he had begun. This was discovered by some person passing along the road, who, hearing a noise under ground, conjectured that it must be Sutliff at his labors; he accordingly obtained assistance, and dug down to the spot, when he was met by Sutliff, in a very angry mood at being thus disturbed.
He was said to have been perfectly sane on all other subjects, this being a monomania with him. He continued his labors for a period of from thirty to forty years, and then only gave them up when compelled by the infirmities of age.
The village of Plymouth Hollow is greatly indebted to the enterprise of Seth Thomas, Esq., for its present prosperity. Here are manufactories of cotton, clocks, etc., etc., as well as an extensive brassrolling mill.
GIBRALTAR, ITS TOWN AND FORTIFICATIONS.
IBRALTAR, a town, has cer
Grtainly nothing to boast or. It consists
of two or three long streets running parallel with the sea-wall, intersected with steep narrow lanes leading up the rock by means of rough steps; so that here, as well as at Malta, you meet with "streets of stairs." No easy task it was, on that hot day, to climb these rugged, precipitous lanes and narrow alleys, assuredly not redolent with odors most grateful to the sense. Buildings of all shapes and sizes huddled together, and clinging to the bare rock, give to the town a close and uncomfortable appearance. It has been called, not inappropriately, a "military hothouse;" at every turn you are reminded
it is a crowded garrison town in which arms are not much accustomed to pay deference to the toga. The best houses are the officers' quarters, some of them very pleasantly situated; yet dull and wearisome must the place be to those whose prolonged sojourn there is not entirely optional. The military duty in the garrison is unavoidably, from the position and importance of the place, the strictest -in all the British service.
The public buildings in Gibraltar are insignificant. The principal church has no architectural beauty. The post-office is a miserable place, so retiringly situated as to be quite a puzzle for a stranger to find its locality. The governor's palace is an old Spanish convent, more spacious than splendid. The most striking building is the fine old Moorish castle, with its great square tower, and its horse-shoe Moorish arches, standing towering above the town; a venerable memorial of bygone days and dynasties. From inscriptions on the south gate and in the mosque, it appears to have been built about A. D. 739, by Aba Abul Hajez, a famous prince and warrior of Morocco. At present its massive walls, which have stood the sunshine and storms of eleven hundred years, mingle and contrast strangely with the surrounding muniments of modern war.
While passing through the marketplace, and the more busy parts of the
town, I was much interested in observing the different color, and character, and costume of the crowds congregated together. Here you meet the grave, stately Moor from Barbary, and his old enemy the Spaniard, each with his distinctive countenance, bearing, and attire. The Jew and the Greek jostle each other, and busily ply their different avocations in peace and amity; complete religious toleration being enjoyed by all. Here you see the dark-eyed Spanish senorita with her mantilla and her fan; there the contrabandista, ready for any deed of darkness and daring. Genoese and Africans, English soldiers in their red coats, and jolly tars in their blue jackets, meet you at every turn. What affected me most deeply were gangs of English convicts at work on the fortifications, or marching in droves to or from their cells, with the dress and stigma of infamy upon them. The sight made the heart sick. Sad proof that sin is its own punishment! Nor must I forget to mention the natives of the Rock, called "Scorpions," a singular looking race, no better than they should be, if all said about them is true. Indeed, the whole population seemed a medley of the most motley description; the town being peopled, they tell us, by stragglers and strangers from Patagonia to Poland.
We first made our way, with what speed we could, to the post-office, to send our first dispatches home, with the good news that hitherto all had gone on pros
perously with us. We then called on, the Wesleyan missionaries, whose labors among the soldiers have been much blessed. After visiting their chapel and schools, an excellent public library, and other objects of interest and utility, we commenced to climb the rock. Our party being good pedestrians, this we attempted on foot. The heat and the toil were great, but amply were we repaid. The steep, rough, winding ascent led us past the exterior walls of the old Moorish castle. The Great Tower is of prodigious solidity, and is now used as a powder magazine. Its venerable walls suffered much in the famous siege, being greatly exposed to the fire of the Spanish batteries. Within the castle are barracks. Here we obtained a guide to facilitate our way, and point out the wonders of this marvelous fortress. Up and still up the zig-zag paths we toiled, and found battery frowning above battery at every turn. By an excavated passage we at length reached "Willis's Batteries," so often referred to in the history of the siege. The view here is terrific. Precipices above and below, absolutely perpendicular, all along which you see extended black lines of openings, like the mouths of so many caves, and the muzzles of cannon peering out, ready to pour out their destructive fire, at any moment or any emergence. The excavated galleries are truly astonishing. When the Duke de Crillon, who commanded the combined