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Title: The corsair; a romantic legend of Hell Gate
Author: William Barney Allen
Release date: October 4, 2021 [eBook #66466]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
A ROMANTIC LEGEND OF HELL GATE,
ILLUSTRATING
THE BEAUTY OF INNOCENCE.
Date of the action: Midsummer, 1627.
Author Unknown, and now First Edited.
With a Historical Sketch of the Strait from the Earliest
Times.
NEW YORK:
Wm. B. Allen & Co., Publishers,
164 Fulton St., Opp. St. Paul’s.
{2}
{3} Copyright, 1885—by Wm. B. Allen & Co.
S we have invited the reader to a long Poem, we feel some misgiving in
setting before him a lengthy Preface. We will therefore bring to his
attention, as an Appendix, the matter intended as an Introduction, thus
leaving him free to begin with the Story of the Corsair at once, while
the former may afterward be read with advantage, should he feel
interested in the facts and history of the locality of which it treats.
He will also find therein some particulars relating to the leading
characters described in the Story. There he will also learn why the
Pirate’s daughter became so impressed with fear as the vessel approached
the turbulent Strait, whose name, even now, is suggestive of wreck and
{4}disaster.
HIS story of the sea,
IS said, in ancient times,
ELL Gate, the scene of the tragedy described in the foregoing pages, is
not now what it was in former times. Its turbulent character has been
modified to such a degree that it has already lost half its terrors. The
mariner now, by skillful piloting, can avoid its dangers and bring his
ship safely from the jaws of this modern Charybdis. Not so in days
remote,—its numerous rocks, islands, shelves and whirlpools rendering
it terrible to the most skillful pilot at certain times of tide. This
long-desired change has been brought about by the Government, which has
expended millions of dollars in making this narrow strait leading to the
Sound less dangerous to the navigator. Though it has been the scene of
numerous tragedies, its history is not altogether uninteresting—and
first, as regards its name. There having been considerable controversy,
in times past, as to its correct orthography, we have taken some trouble
to investigate the matter. Some writers have insisted that it should be
spelt Hurl Gate. Ancient records, however, do not bear them out in
this respect. The map in Van der Donck’s History, published in 1656;
Ogilvie’s History of America, 1671, and also a journal written in the
sixteenth century, found in Hazard’s State Papers, give the name as
printed in the Poem. Besides these ancient and trustworthy authorities,
there is a{24} venerable essay in French, which, speaking of various
changes made in names about New York, observes—“De Helle-gat, trou
d’Enfer, ils ont fait Hell-Gate, Porte d’Enfer.”
For aught we know the heroine of this strange legend, which the author has sought to illustrate in verse, may have read the above passage in French;—if so, her childish fear, after her father had spoken of their close proximity to the fatal strait, was no more intense than we can readily understand, when we take into account the superstitious age in which the actors lived.
The perching of a raven upon the boom of the vessel, off the Azores, contributed also to impress the Pirate’s daughter with evil forebodings. Nor could she escape observing the consternation of the sailors who beheld it fluttering over her father’s head, and overheard its dreadful prophecy. This bird, as is well known, is exceedingly intelligent, and can be taught to articulate words. It lives to a great age, a hundred years or more, and from remote periods of history has been connected with various popular superstitions. The Bible gives the first historical notice of this species. We are told that at the end of forty days, after the great flood had covered the earth, Noah, wishing to ascertain whether or no the waters had abated, sent forth a raven, which did not return into the ark. When Elijah provoked the enmity of Ahab, by prophesying against him, and hid himself by the Brook Cherith, the ravens were appointed by Heaven to bring him his daily food. Though thus honored, this bird seems in all ages to have been considered ominous of evil, and, in the days of auguries and divination, like the Banshee of the Irish, was thought to possess the power of foretelling future events—especially such as were dark, gloomy, and foreboding.
Perhaps no bird is more widely distributed over the{25} surface of the globe. A British writer says, it “croaks as gravely as with ourselves on the shores of the Black and Caspian Seas, visits our Indian metropolis of Calcutta, forces it way over the guarded shores of Japan, dwells among our busy descendants of America, ranges from Mount Etna to the Iceland cold of Hecla, and braves the rigor of the Arctic regions as far as Melville’s Island.” Dr. Richardson says that “it frequents the Barren Grounds of the most intense winter cold, its movements being directed in a great measure by those of the herds of reindeer, musk-oxen, and bisons, which it follows, ready to assist in devouring such as are killed by beasts of prey or by accident.” Captain Ross speaks of it as “one of the few birds capable of braving the severity of an Arctic winter.”
Although we have the pestering crow, with its unvarying “Caw, caw, caw!” almost everywhere in our Eastern States, the raven is rarely seen there, yet it is common in the West, and thence northward to the Fur Countries. In this State it has its favorite haunts, one of which is the region about Niagara Falls. Here, mingling its croakings with the roar of waters, it seems still more solemn and mysterious than elsewhere. Here one might read Poe’s “Raven,” which, by its spectral images, produces a striking effect on the imagination, and feel the force of the poet’s language as in no other locality:—
Sailors, it is well known, are very superstitious in regard to birds alighting on their vessels. On such occasions they call them devil’s birds, witches, etc. The appearance of stormy petrels at sea has been supposed to portend rough weather, and they are therefore not welcome visitors to sailors. These birds seem to delight in storm and tempest, now sweeping down into the trough of the sea, and now soaring high up among the clouds, and wheeling athwart them, as if enjoying a frolic. They are said to haunt the whole Atlantic seaboard. Their habit of paddling along the surface of the water obtained for them the name of petrel, from the Apostle Peter, who walked upon the water. It is probably to the birds of{27} this species—the fearless riders of the tempest—that Brainard refers in his song of “The Sea-Bird”:—
One word as to the Corsair’s nationality: Though not a historical fact, the legend, meagre as it is, is explicit enough in regard to his having been originally one of those bold Northmen who roamed the seas in the sixteenth century, though at the opening of the foregoing story he had his stronghold in some more salubrious climate than the North, probably on one of the Grecian Isles. But his early years were doubtless spent in quest of adventure in his native Norway seas. As in ages past, so even now the Norwegian youth who lives near{28} the coast, takes to the sea, though in legitimate pursuits, as naturally as his Berserker ancestors. The Vikings of Norway were the boldest of all ancient mariners of a piratical character. They looked upon the sea as their home;—the tempest was their delight. The ship to them was as a living thing;—they guided it with a spirit as exulting and confident as a rider does his steed. “Blow where thou wilt, O wind,” they cried, “whithersoever thou takest us, the land is ours!”
As regards the obstructions in Hell Gate, we have gathered a few facts which may interest the reader. Though the sources are various, their authenticity may be relied on. The East River, of which Hell Gate forms a part, receives the tide at its two extremities; at the eastern extremity, the Sound tide; at the western, the Sandy Hook tide. The times as well as the heights of these tides are different. To make it still more difficult for the mariner, there are three channels existing at this historic place; that is, between the north point of Blackwell’s Island and Negro Point on Ward’s Island. The eastern channel is six hundred feet wide, and lies between the Astoria shore and the middle reef, parts of which were formerly known as the Indian Flood Rock, Chickens, and Negro Head; then we have the middle channel, between the middle reef and the reef containing Great and Little Mill Rocks, and finally the main ship channel, between the last reef and the New York shore. Formerly, vessels bound eastward on the flood, taking the eastern channel, in the endeavor to get around the reef at Hallet’s Point, ran the risk of being carried upon the Frying Pan, near Ward’s Island, while vessels bound westward on the ebb, were thrown so much off by the reef at Hallet’s Point as to be endangered by the set of the tide directly upon the middle reef. It was obvious, therefore, that the reef at Hallet’s Point and the middle{29} reef constituted the chief obstacles to the safe passage of ships and other craft.
Besides these great barriers, many smaller rocks contributed to increase the dangers awaiting the hapless mariner who boldly sought the waters of the Sound at unpropitious times of tide and weather. More dangerous because hidden, we give the names of a few of these formidable obstructions: Pot Rock, situated in mid channel between Ward’s Island and the Astoria shore, was a pyramidal rock, the depth over it being about eighteen feet. Frying Pan had a depth of nine feet over it. Way’s Reef and Shelldrake, situated in Pot Cove, had depths of water of five and eight feet respectively. In the main channel there were two great obstructions—the Heel Tap Rocks, north of Great Mill Rock, and Rylander Reef, on the New York shore, near 92d street.
Old Dutch chronicles inform us that the unwieldy vessels from the fatherland were sometimes drawn into the vortex of that tremendous whirlpool called the Pot, where they were whirled about in giddy mazes until the senses of their commanders and crews were overpowered by the horror of the scene, and the strangeness of the revolution.
Certain it is, that to the horrific accounts of Dutch navigators may be traced some of the various traditions handed down of this marvellous Strait. It is also true that these ancient mariners gave this pass the name of Helle-gat, or as it has been interpreted, Hell Gate.
For nearly half a century men have been blasting away at the jagged reefs which jut out into the narrow channels which connect Long Island Sound with the Bay of New York. For centuries ships have struck on these same rocks. The average, in years lately passed, has been nearly one vessel a week. Though many of the obstructions were cleared out by the great explosion, planned and executed by Gen. John Newton, U.S.A.,{30} some ten years ago, yet the dangerous character of the strait remained. At last, the Government decided to tunnel underneath the middle reef (Flood Rock)—and at one tremendous explosion blow everything skyward. For nearly a decade men worked night and day to accomplish that end. The quantity of dynamite and powder used in charging the mine is said to have been 275,000 pounds.
Great Mill Rock, lying midway in Hell Gate, almost opposite the island-reef that has just been doomed to destruction, is supposed to have been the Rock on which the Corsair’s daughter was thrown when her father’s ship went down. The writer of these pages once knew a lady who, in her youth, lived with her parents on this same island, her father at that time being in the employ of the Government. This lady always seemed delighted when telling any one how she had often carried convicts, who had escaped from the prisons on Blackwell’s Island, in her skiff to the main-land. Of course, such little frolics happened when she was young, romantic, and—sympathetic. To make these feats of bravery appear more daring, they were accomplished late at night.
There were nearly four miles of tunneling under Flood Rock, or about 21,670 feet. The longest galleries were four blocks in length, or 1,200 feet. If these galleries had been in a straight line their distance would have been equal to a walk from the Battery to Forty-second street. Twenty-four galleries or tunnels were run from north to south, which were intersected by forty-six others, running nearly east and west. The tunnels were on an average ten feet from floor to ceiling and six or eight feet wide. The rock taken from them measured 80,000 cubic yards. There were 467 huge pillars supporting the roof. All through these galleries and corridors workmen had bored holes nine feet deep and three inches in diameter.{31} The columns were also honey-combed with holes. There were 13,286 of such holes, which were filled with dynamite and powder cartridges. The chief engineer had only to touch an electric button to explode all this destructive compound. Had one of those unpleasant looking cartridges fallen from the hand of a workman upon the rocky floor, and exploded, it would have ignited all the rest, and thus caused a terrible disaster. Each cartridge weighed about six pounds. They resembled rolling-pins in size, and were delivered at Flood Rock by a tug-boat. They were received in square boxes, and, if they had been placed in a line, they would have reached twenty-two miles. The previous explosion at Hell Gate, directed by the same engineer, was effected with 50,000 pounds of rack-a-rock. During the charging of the mine at that time the workmen dropped three cartridges. We have heard of but one having been dropped at Flood Rock. Of course the greatest precaution was exercised to prevent a catastrophe. Twenty picked miners had charge of placing the cartridges in position. An elevator ran up and down the shaft bringing explosives to the men below. The cartridges were hoisted on cars and trundled away by mule power to the different corridors.
There was a weird, strange fascination about those dimly-lighted caverns, and the visitor often stopped to admire the marvellous effect of light on the great blocks of crystal quartz over which the clear water rippled in brightness and splendor. A wooden bridge spanned a deep ditch, which was so accurately laid out that it collected nearly all the water that found its way into the tunnels. The pumps disposed of this at the rate of 40,000 gallons per hour. The late explosion, it is asserted by those familiar with the subject, was the greatest ever known in the world. Now that the nine or ten acres of rock and island are blown up, dredging machines{32} will clear the channel, and dump the stone into almost bottomless holes in the neighborhood. The mixing of such an immense quantity of powder so near the city was done on Little Mill Rock Island, under the careful supervision of Lieutenant Derby. The compound was mixed in a lead-lined tank by men who used wooden hoes. It was then poked from a trough into copper cylinders two and a half inches in diameter and two feet long, and pressed down solid with wooden rammers. Each cylinder when full was soldered so as to make it water-tight.
When compared to the great operations that have just terminated, those of the past seem like child’s play. Maillefort’s process of discharging cans filled with gunpowder was only useful in removing projecting points of rock. It was entirely inadequate to cope with flat areas of rock, and after three years—1851, 1852, and 1853—operations were suspended, with no great results, while the hungry reefs and boiling floods claimed their victims as before.
Though this work has cost much treasure, never was money better spent. The scene of this great undertaking lies in the collection district of New York, the nearest port of entry. The amount of revenue collected during the year 1884, was, in round numbers, over $135,000,000. The amount of commerce and navigation that will be benefitted by the completion of this work daily is estimated at millions of dollars.
The cry—so familiar to those who ply the waters of the Sound—“Look out for breakers!” will resound in this often-fatal locality no more—and Flood Rock, with all its obstructions, it is hoped, has disappeared forever beneath the green tide that swells through this once-turbulent Strait.
A Souvenir
OF THE
GREAT EXPLOSION.
WITH A
Historical Sketch of the Famous Strait
during the last 250 Years.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] In Scandinavian mythology, the three fates, past, present, and future.
[B] Pico is a very high mountain on one of the Azores, from which the island derives its name.
[C] It is said that the inhabitants of the Azores are much addicted to gallantry.
[D] That usually reliable, though sometimes facetious historian, Diedrich Knickerbocker, informs us that Dutch traders, bartering for furs among the Indians, two or three centuries ago, were wont to tell them that a Dutchman’s foot invariably weighed a pound, thus taking in the red man’s peltry—and the Indian into the bargain!