Utica to Syracuse · Salt-Works · Auburn and its Prison

We had to choose between the canal de la Mohawk or the railroad to go from Utica to Rochester. We chose the railroad so as to be able to stop in 2 or 3 towns which had been pointed out to us, as deserving our attention.

Having left Utica in the morning, we were putting up at midday at one of the hotels of Syracuse. In certain places, the railroad runs along the canal. We saw several covered boats towed at a trot by lean and gaunt horses. These boats were filled with European emigrants, who floated along thus, off to discover a new homeland. The railroad passes almost constantly through forests, which give way from time to time to great spaces cleared and divided into different lots. Thousands of tree trunks raise above the grass their remains mutilated by iron and fire. Woodcutters cut and saw wood meant to feed the fire of the locomotives. We stopped several times, in full solitude to let our engine take on water and fuel.

One of the villages we passed through, bears the name of Oneida, it is that of an Indian tribe, which emigrated a short time ago to go and pitch its tents at la baie verte [Green Bay]. Another village bore the famous name of Rome. Everywhere, in inhabited places, were there but a single street, one saw shops and carriages. The most curious thing we caught sight of, is a little village improvised in the middle of the woods, in a space recently cleared. One heard hammer-blows ringing out. Already a few wooden houses, painted white, appeared peopled with emigrants, whom curiosity drew to their doors. Further off, one saw carcasses of framing, between which partitions were being fitted. All these houses rested on rollers, ready to be carried elsewhere, at the owners' pleasure. The blue smoke of the chimneys rose in spirals above the thick trees and ragged children played in the middle of the felled trunks. It was a true American scene and these lands of little value were, within some twenty years, to turn their modest owners into millionaires. We had for a neighbour in our wagon an American who held between his legs, one of those forced-ball carbines, so renowned in the hands of the hunters of the west. After a half hour of taciturnity this individual began to load his carbine with great strokes of the ramrod then, opening the window, he fired, without troubling himself about what might come of it. He then began to load his weapon again, without lowering the hammer, at the risk of blowing our brains out = We pointed out to him that the manœuvre wanted prudence. He answered us, "I don't care", which one may translate as "Je m'en fiche" [I don't care]. He took aim at a hen pecking in a meadow. Fortunately for the poor animal, the train was tearing along at full speed. He missed his mark. The disagreeable neighbour would no doubt have tried his skill a 3rd time, if the village, where he was to get down had not been on the road to prevent him.

Syracuse is a rather pretty little town. One notices in the environs the accademy and several dwellings with white porticoes and colonnades. We went to visit, with an American of our acquaintance, some salt works situated at some distance from the town, on the shore of a beautiful lake. The salt water is drawn from the bottom of a well and raised to a great height by means of a machine driven by a waterfall.

From there it is distributed to the different places where the salt is extracted from it either by fire or by means of evaporation in the open air.

A ton of salt sells for 87 sous and a half. From this must be deducted 25 sous price of freight and 37 sous of tax paid to the government. At this price the salt cannot compete with the imported salts. And so it is shipped only to the north and to the west.

The journey we made by railroad, from Syracuse to Auburn was of the most agreeable. To enjoy it the more, we had placed ourselves on the balcon [balcony, the car's end platform] at the head of the wagon [railway carriage]. On leaving Syracuse the railroad follows the flanks of a deep valley watered by a river. It is dominated by wooded mountains. Horses, which were grazing in the meadows raised their heads, whinnied, and set off at a gallop at our approach.

One heard the axe-blows of the clearers.

We arrived at Auburn early enough to go over the town, which has in some respects, a more European physiognomy than the towns we had seen. The houses, built of stone have a more French look than those of New York.

Passing near a temple, whose bells were ringing at full peal, we entered a great hall where we saw light; the minister — Presbyterian, Methodist Unitarian or Anabaptist — was distributing notices and papers relating to the missions. The old ladies of the congregation, went off afterwards, a lantern in hand, with airs full of compunction. Our object in visiting Auburn, is to see the state prison which rises in this town. This prison is, I believe the first in which the present cellular system was put in force.

The building, constructed of brown stone, has the look of a middle-ages castle. Its sombre walls are flanked with crenellations, crowned with machicolations and dominated by a dome whose summit is entrusted to the guard of a tin soldier. Warders in black tailcoats, wearing silk hats walk about, weapon on the arm, on the outer enclosure.

On arriving in the vestibule of the prison, we found ourselves before an enormous wooden barrier, bristling with great nails and entrusted to two overseers. One of them offered to guide us into the interior of the prison. Thanks to a dollar we slipped into his hand, the enormous grating opened before us.

The enclosure of the prison comprises the lodging of the governor and of the employees on a first courtyard. Around a 2nd courtyard are the refectories, the kitchens, the workshops and the cells. The workshops are divided into different compartments, according to the nature of the work, to which they are assigned.

The prisoners pass the whole day at work. They are left from time to time a few moments of rest. At eight o'clock in the evening, they are shut into their cells. The cells are pierced in a mass of masonry which rises to the height of the roof. Wooden balconies run around the various storeys and the warder, placed below, beneath this white wall all pierced with grated doors, can at a glance watch over an entire face of the block.

The silence is general in the prison and admirably observed a few words would be enough to send the offender to the dungeon. Isolation, discouragement, complete darkness, quickly bring him back to résipiscence [repentance].

All the movements are executed automatically. The prisoners go from one hall to another in ranks and in cadenced step. They are divided into brigades, each brigade is entrusted to an overseer. We saw the preparations for dinner, which had nothing attractive about it. We visited also all the workshops. There reigns in them a perfect order and a silence that astonishes. The gaze of the warder who, however is not ostensibly armed seems to intimidate extraordinarily the 60 men who work under his direction. All that is necessary for the use of the prison, is manufactured in the establishment, not excepting the masonry work. Moreover, the prisoners work by contract for the Cte [account] of merchants of Auburn and of other towns. We saw there carriage braid, bridles, furniture, fire pumps spun wools, carpets made on the loom. Their attempts at sewing-silk were less successful.

The present number (1842) of prisoners is 700 the duration of their sentence varies from 2 to 5 years. Last year (1841) the product of their labour net of costs brought the government $ 17000, that is 85000 francs.

The guard, who went before us, showed us, as we crossed the kitchens a man, who was smoking in a corner "There is one of your compatriots", he said to us "he is the only Frenchman at present at Auburn. As he has gone mad, he is allowed to smoke." We saw, among the prisoners a fairly large number of negroes and three white-haired old men.

The prince de Joinville had visited the prison, the previous autumn.

On coming out of the narrow staircases, the dark corridors of the prison, one finds oneself happy to breathe the open air again. As we passed the grating of the entrance door, we heard the sounds of a piano, which was playing the gayest waltzes. It was the governor's daughter seeking to distract herself. A tame gazelle was gamboling on the grass of the first enclosure. The porter was smoking his pipe in the sun; tranquil scenes, which contrasted with the sorrows of the prison.