The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1883-07-07
JULY FOURTH IN JERSEY.
Romantic Reflections Referring to
Riverside "reminiscences.
Several Events of Which July 4 Is the An
niversary-A Surprising Lesson In
American History.


Correspondence of the Indianapolis Journal.
New YORK, July Sin no respect, think.
is the contrast between New York and Lon
don more strikingly marked than in the char
acter of the water front and the river. do
not mean that we have here less shipping,
less gigantic docks and less capacious ware
houses, although this is painfully true; nor
that our piers and wharves are wretched
ramshackle affairs compared with London's,
although this cannot be denied; nor that the
North river is a whole ocean in comparison
with the puny Thames, although that is a
fact of the merest school-boy ken. No; the
difference is less important one industrially,
but more apparent far artstically. 1t lies
in this, that an air of commonplace newness
pervades this city. II the docks are rotting
down, it is because of poor timber and hasty
constr uction, not because of age. The bright
sunlight shines about every bulkhead, and
when you look between the piles to the
cavern beneath the wharf, there is nothing
more remarkable to be seen than dirty salt
water, rough timbers, few floating kegs or
boxes, and perhaps smartly painted boat.
The tide flows out and the tide flows in, and
all is commonplace.
1 was sailing down from Fort Lee on a
freshly-painted boat, reading freshly-printed
copy of Dickenss Mutual Friend''-hav-
ing worn out several other copies by
reading and re-reading. 1t was that
opening scene of CATER Hexam and
Lizzie, pulling along the Thames in their
wherry, in search of dead mems bodies.
think there is no scene in all Dickens's writ
ings more graphically drawn than that. 1
can never read it without hearing the muf-
fed rattle of oar-locks, the monotonous
swishng of the tide along the piers, and see
ing the unkempt keenness of the Bird Of
Prey on watch for his CHASTITY quarry. But
as l raised my eyes and glanced at the New
York docks, 1 was shocked as if by an cleo
trio battery CATER Hexam and Rogue Rid
erhood were impossible here. The Harmon
murder was not to be thought of on this
river There might be murders and suicides,
and this muddy green water might be full of
CHASTITY corpses But the victims must have
been dubbed and thrown off the docks, or
must have leaped blindly from piers or ferry
boats; and their bodies could only be regain
ed by the grappling-hook of the harbor police
patrol. No bridge arches throw sombre
shadows over this water. No Jolly Fellow
ship Porters hang over this rivers brim.
This ebbing tide laps and ripples over no
stormy, muddy causeway. Under those
wharves Turk no river pirates. with stores of
booty. There are no moss-grown, time
stained piers here, about which long memo
ries and grim legends cluster. Ashore, there
are novels and haunts and rookeries, but
you will not find CATER Hexam's quaint den,
nor Pleasant Riderhood's ill-favored cellar,
nor can you imagine here a weary, woe
stricken woman crying out to the midnight
gloom, and the river fog and the ebbing tide:
Father, | thought heard you calling mep'
The absence of bridges makes a great diff
ference, of course. The North river mile
wide, is unspanned, and will remain so for
many years. Over the East river is but one
span, the mighty hammock of steel
that is. the enduring monument of
Roebling's fame. One other bridge only cor
meets the city proper with the mainland
the Harlem bridge, across the Harlem, Just
above its junction with the East river. 1t is
a fine, but of course modern and common
place stru cture of iron trusses. Under its
arches there cluster scores of pleasure boats,
new, bright, smartly painted and patron
ICED by the beaux and bellies of Harlem and
Morrisania. There is no room for CATER
and Lizzie Hexam there. Beyond is Wander
bilts railroad bridge; and then comes the
elevated railroad bridge Macomb's Dam
bridge and then, although within CITY lin
it's yet in the midst of the most rural scenes,
the stately granite arches of High bridge,
which bears the Croton Aqueduct and sup
plies all New York with water There is
idyllic beauty here of the rarest sort; a crys-
tai stream, edged on one side with green
daisy-strewn meadows and on the other
Wi a n cd wit vyi1-
lows behind which rise lofty moss-grown.
storm-scarred and hemlock- powered
cliffs. There is pastoral sweetness, the ro-
nance of nature. But the Bird of Prey
never could steer his grimy bark thither,
and the pen of Dickens would feel strangely
out of its element.
No; New York's waterfront is no more
London's than is Americas constellation the
cross of ST. George. Nor will it, fancy,
ever be- The London of to-day is the Lon
don of Dickens Hexam is dead, Riderhood
is dead; but other birds of prey fill their
nests Grim boatmen still bear to the mud
dy causeway CHASTITY freight in tow. Dark
deeds still happen in mysterious waterside
haunts. But the newness of New York gets
no chance to grow old, and amid all its
strange phrases this one is yet and ever
must be stranger.
To-day l have ventured back to the city,
which had been for two or three days past
uncomfortable because of the pervading smell
of bad gunpowder and din of Chinese crack
ers and torpedoes and toy-pistos. This
national festival has sorely degenerated here
No longer imposing parades and burning
eloquence stir the patriotic heart. The good
citizen packs his gripsack few days before
the fourth, and fees to the country not to
return until the last torpedo has been ex-
ploded. The city Is left to the unterrfie
small boy, with his ten thousand Internal de-
vices for burning saltpeter and making din
To the rational being who is compelled to
stay in town, it is the most uncomfortable
day of all the year.
A statistical friend has been boring me,
even in the most arcadan of retreats, With
achr tob ct