CRUISE OF THE AURORA
CHAPTER VI.
IN WHICH THE PADDLE IS EXCHANGED FOR A CLUB.
IT is Saturday. Sunday is the cruiser's day of rest,
repairs and letter writing. We look forward to tomorrow's camp with no
little degree of pleasure. By the exertions of the past week we have
fully earned the rest. Here is a spot suitable for the camp, and
although it is still early in the afternoon, we haul out. Here we seem
to be somewhat isolated from other human beings, as we have not passed
a habitation in the last hour, and there are no signs of any on the
long reach ahead of us. Our camp is pitched on a sloping bank, among
some very large boulders. In the rear the forest is dense; the opposite
shore is very abrupt and heavily wooded to its summit with beech, birch
and maple, whose brilliant leaves are just beginning to fall in the
light wind that carries them sailing far out on to the bosom of the
stream, whose waters are to bear them on their voyage toward the Gulf.
Everything is taken out of the canoes tonight, piled in a heap and
covered with a tarpaulin, and the craft are turned bottom up,
preparatory to the morrow's inspection.
Careening.
Barnacle builds the fireplace. This is not often
done; but as we are to remain here for more than twenty-four hours, we
intend to live well, and we need a good fireplace for cooking. Barnacle
hashes up half a can of corned beef with half that quantity of sweet
corn, and with some onions, warms the mass over the fire. I make the
tea, toast some of the stale bread, and open a can of peaches.
Our Sunday breakfast was the usual one -- a can of Boston
baked beans, bread and coffee. Then we set about the opening of the
various packages constituting the cargo, and spreading their contents
out to air, and in some instances to dry. The contents of the clothes
bag were hung on the branches, the blankets were whipped, shaken and
hung up to air; and then the razor was stropped and the chin shorn of
its stubby accumulation of a week. Then we turned to the canoes and
carefully examined their bottoms. The Aurora had come out in good shape
thus far, and had but few cuts. Here and there I found a pebble firmly
imbedded in her planking, and in one place a small piece of tin had
been driven in and doubled over, evidently a memento of the empty cans
of Salamanca. All pebbles, tin and dirt were carefully scraped away,
and the cuts and dents filled in and smoothed over with beeswax,
followed by a coat of boiled oil. Then she looked as if she had just
come from the hands of the varnisher Before the sunshine left them the
blankets were stowed in the tent, the packages again made up, and the
clothes bag packed and stowed in its accustomed place. This was to have
been a day of rest, but we had made it, thus far, one of continuous
work.
We had a can of oysters among our stores, and with a
little milk we might have a stew. Barnacle told me he had heard a
rooster crowing down stream, so I took a kettle and started on a
foraging expedition. A mile below the camp I came upon a small
clearing. In the center stood a log building almost covered by vines
and bushes. I opened the rickety gate which led through the rail fence,
and seeing no one about, whistled to attract attention. It had
immediate effect, for as I approached the low porch of the cabin, a
long, lean, gaunt dog put in an appearance, looking for all the world
as if he had just waked from a long sleep after a night among sheep.
Catching sight of me, with a low growl and gleaming teeth, he made a
spring for my throat. I dodged the attack. But the brute was as quick
as I. Before I could fairly recover from my surprise he again sprang
for me. I dealt him a blow with my kettle in his fiery red eyes. As his
teeth snapped in rage, I saw that, unarmed, I was no match for the
vicious beast; and remembering the stick at the gate, I sprang for it,
and by the time the brute could gather from the kick I had dealt him
with my heavy shoe, I had a firm grip on the cudgel, and the next
instant I dealt him a blow that doubled him up like a ball. Following
up my success with another well-directed blow, I had him at my feet,
his eyes bloodshot and tongue protruding between his teeth. Of course,
with the barking and growling of the enraged brute, and the yelling
that I had kept up, the inmates of the cabin had been attracted to the
scene.
Milking Under Difficulties.
Oh, what a racket there was then. The old man, with
long, tangled hair, tawny beard and tattered clothing, was going to
"How the head off the --- tramp," while the sour-visaged skeleton of a
woman at his side cursed me for my attempt on the life of her pet. We
all tried to talk at once; and they gave me no chance to explain
myself, but kept up their infernal din of curses and gesticulations.
Meanwhile the dog had recovered from my blow, and crept to his
mistress's side with his tail between his legs, looking like the
whipped cur he was. He was careful to keep out of the reach of the
club, which I still held in my hand. When the anger of the two
scarecrows had abated somewhat, I gained a chance to explain my errand,
and soon succeeded in obtaining the milk, a dozen of eggs and a cake of
honey. The kettle had to undergo some manipulation in order to restore
it to any resemblance to its former shape; the eggs I stowed between my
shirts, first drawing my belt snugly about my waist. I tendered a
silver half dollar in payment for the stores, but it was with
considerable hesitation that they accepted it, first biting its edges,
and then whacking it down on the table. "Thar's so many counterfeiters
'roun now days. no one knows what money's what," said the male bundle
of rags. I told him that in the country I came from we did not
discriminate between good and bad coins, so long as we could see the
date. But with the eggs in my shirt, the honey in one hand and the milk
in the other, how was I to carry the club? I dared not go out without
it so long as the brute of a dog was at liberty; and the old heathen
obstinately refused to tie him up, but he promised not to let him
follow me. I eyed him closely as he lay under the table while I sneaked
out of the door, and cast hurried glances over my shoulder as I made
tracks for the river bank, thankful that I was out of the presence of
so vicious a brute and his equally vicious-looking owners. It may have
been owing to excitement produced by my recent encounter that I
stumbled and fell full length over a rock on my way back to camp. I
saved the honey and most of the milk; but, oh, dear! there were but
eight whole eggs left when I fished them out from between my shirts.
So we had our oyster stew; and perhaps I enjoyed it all
the more after such a hard fight for the milk.
CHAPTER VII.
A SCOW, A COW AND A ROW.
THE hoo-hoo-to-hoo of an owl wakes me at daylight, and I
bound out of the tent with the agility of a young buck. How this life
is strengthening wind and limb, expanding the chest and developing the
muscles. Fried eggs and bacon, bread, butter and coffee constitute our
breakfast, and before the sun has dried the dew on our canoe decks we
are afloat. Passing the scene of my encounter of yesterday, I yell at
the top of my voice, for why sneak by in fear of another attack? What
fear have I now; have I not my revolver lying by my side and my heavy
hunting knife in my belt, to say nothing of the stout paddle in my
hand? But he comes not, neither is there sign of life about the cabin;
and we go on down between the mountains as the sun lifts his red eye
over their summits. About ten o'clock we landed on the muddy shores at
the town of Elmenton to mail letters. We attracted considerable
attention here, for a story had gone the rounds of the local press that
we were bound on a cruise around the Horn to the Golden Gate, instead
of a quiet, health-seeking voyage to the Gulf of Mexico. Much time was
spent in the effort to convince two skeptics that a craft built of
strips and ribs could be a canoe as well as one cut out of a log. They
doubted their ability to navigate our style of canoe, and we willingly
left them in that doubt.
We had a fair current and made a good run in the Indian
summer day; and as the evening was so pleasant, we paddled on until
night overtook us, just as we ran into a lot of jutting rocks. It had
become so dark that we could barely discern the shore line, as we
carefully picked our way by feeling for the bottom with our paddles. We
came finally to a huge timber raft, and on this hauled out and made our
camp. We pitched the large tent over the Comfort, making the bottom
fast by driving pegs into the soft pine logs of the raft, while the
Aurora had her own little tent buttoned down snugly to the gunwales.
Our rule, on landing for the night, is always first to
prepare our sleeping arrangements, and then to get supper. Tonight an
occasional drop of rain warns us that we must hasten our supper and get
beneath the shelter of our canvas roofs. Hardly is the tea steeped
before the rain comes gently down, driving us to the shelter of our
tents. Lighting my candle and setting it on the forward hatch, I
convert the after hatch into a table, on which I have a steaming cup of
tea, two or three good slices of bread and butter, some cold corned
beef and a jar of orange marmalade. The rain is pattering gently on the
canvas roof of my snug quarters, making music
From Fog to Sunshine.
pleasant to my ears. Reaching under the starboard
side, pipe and tobacco are produced from the canvas pocket, and drawing
from under the forward hatch a small hand bag, which contains a little
of everything, I fish out a rubber-wrapped note book and jot down the
events of the day. Then, stretched at full length, with head resting on
the clothes-bag pillow, and while puffing away at my pipe, I enjoy the
perusal of "A Sailor's Sweetheart" until, overcome by drowsiness, I
"douse the glimm," and wake up the next morning to find a heavy fog all
about us, and Barnacle in a sputter because his tobacco has got wet and
won't burn.
About nine o'clock the fog lifts a trifle, and we shoot
out into the channel, which is now quite straight and has a current
that carries us along at a fair speed without help from the paddle. The
morning train to Oil City rattles past us through the fog as we land at
East Brady to lay in a store of bread and potatoes. The mist hides our
canoes from view of the loungers, and thus we escape attention, but
excite suspicion that we are tramps, because of the small amount of
stores we purchase, and by reason of our dilapidated appearance. By
noon the sun sends a ray or two through the fog and lights up the high
hilltops on the left; and in the middle of the afternoon the fog
disappears, and the sun is so warm that we paddle comfortably with arms
bared to the elbow and heads uncovered. We are carried around a bend,
and my eyes rest upon the hamlet of Templeton, where in 1869 I spent
several pleasant days, and where I separated from a party of pleasant
companions after a tramp across the mountains from the Susquehanna
River. Here the Mahoning Creek adds its waters to the Allegheny and
broadens the river to a quarter of a mile, while it is so straight that
objects are lost to view in the distance. Opposite Templeton we came
upon a rope ferry. The boat was a huge scow. It bore a cargo of
household goods and a cow made fast to one of the stanchions. Perched
high up on the load was a daughter of the Emerald Isle. Her interest in
the strange craft coming down on the boat was so intense that she did
not notice the effect our long paddles had on the nerves of her
quadruped until, all of a sudden, she was tumbled to the bottom of the
scow and almost spilled overboard, as the cow pulled back, upsetting a
table and pulling down the chairs and a tin wash-boiler. The din of the
tin boiler, the shouts of the ferryman and the screams of the woman
rose on the air; while Bossy stood with head and tail erect, ready for
some more rampage on the slightest provocation. "It's me that id loik
to git a whack at yez wid one o' thim long poles, ye dirty divils,"
cried Mrs. Ireland, as we again swung the paddles and headed for Dick's
Island for our camp.
Barnacle hangs the kettle over the fire, and while the
water is heating, picks to pieces half a can of corned beef while I
peel two onions, half a dozen potatoes and one turnip; these sliced
very thin, together with the beef, are well seasoned and put into the
boiling water. When thoroughly cooked the whole is thickened with flour
gravy.
Canoeist's Stew.
The mess chests form a table, on which are our
cups, pannikins, knife, fork and spoon. A jar of chow-chow, can of
condensed milk, can of sugar and one of honey are flanked by bread and
butter. Soon the air is redolent with the savory odors of the
"canoeists' stew." Having satisfied the cravings of the inner man, it
is with difficulty that we summon enough energy to go about the
scullion duties. Here a bit of advice. Never put off until tomorrow
what can be done tonight -- especially the dish washing. If you leave
until morning the washing of the kettle in which the stew has been
made, or the pan in which the bacon has been fried, you will find
double the quantity of grease in them, and no doubt receive a
left-handed blessing from the cook, who will invariably want the
frying-pan just when you have got it filled with grease, sand and
ashes.
CHAPTER VIII.
WHICH ENDS IN A CLOUD OF SMOKE.
THE next morning we head for the tall spire in the
distance, which I know to be in Kittanning, five miles away. The
hillsides are pierced with holes almost as far along as the eye can
reach. We paddle close along the shore opposite one of these dark
holes, when we see a railroad car standing beneath a high trestle with
broad platform at its top. Leading up the face of the hill we can see a
narrow railway track and make out the little cars, one going up empty
while the other comes down with its load of black diamonds. Half way up
the hillside, while the loaded car keeps the main track, by a simple
mechanical contrivance the switch is turned by the empty one, and it
turns off to the right and midway they pass one another, each on its
own track. Arrived at the bottom the contents of the loaded one are
dumped into a car beneath. With the arrival of the loaded car at the
bottom the empty one reaches the mouth of the tunnel, where it is
unhitched and run far back into the hill where the miner is at work
with pick and shovel cutting down the black walls of coal, which dimly
reflect the rays of his tiny covered light.
Kittanning.
With the increasing breadth of the river we find a
lessening of the current, and in consequence make slower time, but
anxiety for the safety of our craft from the treacherous rocks has
passed, and we paddle on with laughter and song, paying little heed to
the drizzling rain which has set in. The five miles between Kittanning
and our last night's stopping place have required as many strokes of
the paddle as a like distance on the canals, so that the whistles and
bells are summoning the workmen from their mid-day meal as the bows of
our canoes grate on the sand beneath the first bridge that spans the
Allegheny. We don oil skins, and the skipper of the Aurora attracts no
little attention as he stalks through the main street and up to the
Post Office. Purchasing a late New York paper and a peck of onions, he
returns and finds Barnacle entertaining a number of gentlemen. They
have been looking for us for more than a week and feared we had passed
in the night. One in particular, who had imbibed more corn juice than
was good for the condition of his mind, wanted a "lift as far as
Pittsburgh," and almost insisted on coming on board.
High hills crowd the waters into a narrow channel again,
and we experience the delights of a rapid current, until some miles
below we go into camp. While Barnacle is building the fire, I go off on
a foraging expedition and return with sou'wester filled with fine
potatoes from a neighboring patch. Supper and the evening past, and
candle burning low, I am soon in dreamland.
"Well, now, if that ain't the purtiest bit of a
boat I ever see, I'm a sinner."
Am I dreaming? No, it is broad daylight, and as I open the
door of my little cabin I see a tall shaggy individual with a shotgun
resting carelessly in his hands.
"Good morning, neighbor, is that your potato
patch just across the road there? I borrowed some potatoes from it last
night, and am ready to pay for them now." I didn't know the meaning of
that shotgun in his hands.
"Yer welcome to all the pertates yer want," said he, and
then he explained that he was out looking for strayed sheep, and as
quail were abundant, had brought the gun to knock one over for
breakfast. I had the water boiled and coffee made as Barnacle put in an
appearance with a loaf of fresh bread and a string of sausages. The
appetizing odor from the sizzling links came from the frying-pan, and
our visitor did not resist the invitation to sit by and have a bite.
The morning was bright and clear, with a steady breeze
down stream. A goodbye from our friend, and we were again afloat with
Pittsburgh twenty-five miles away. While we were considering the
expediency of raising sail, the river made a turn and the wind sweeping
down a narrow valley, came out dead ahead, giving us a hard day's work.
About mid-day we passed Freeport, and at three o'clock, on a low sandy
island about five miles above Pittsburgh, made our camp. Tomorrow we
would land at the Iron City. The night is dark, with heavy clouds
threatening rain before daybreak. The shores on either side of us are
thickly dotted with the homes of mechanics, and now and then the
hilarity of half drunken men is borne to the ear from the low drinking
saloon opposite.
Pittsburgh.
We smother our campfire at an early hour and draw
the low-hanging willow branches close, that the light from the lantern
within the tent may not attract the attention of inquisitive visitors.
Before turning in I take a peep outside and discover that the clouds
have disappeared, disclosing the clear heavens studded with bright
stars, which the frost-tipped leaves and grasses reflect, while the
dark waters of the river flow silently by. The fire is going and the
coffee steaming before the sun gets a peep at us the following morning,
and before he has a chance to thaw the heavy coating of frost from off
the tent and canoes, we have made our breakfast, civilized our faces by
the use of a razor, and are rapidly shortening the distance between us
and the great Iron City, over which, like a pall, hangs the dense cloud
of black smoke from hundreds of tall chimneys and the smoke stacks of
steamers. Cautiously we approach the only available landing stage
located at the abutment of the bridge which spans the river.
CHAPTER IX.
DOWN THE OHIO.
AT the Post Office we receive each a budget of letters;
and then with our arms filled with stores we return to the water's
edge, and just as a steamer passes under the bridge, we shoot out in
her wake, and at 1:30 o'clock are caught in the whirl of meeting waters
at the junction of the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers, and are on the
great Ohio, which is a tributary to the mighty Mississippi. The river
here has a width of about half a mile, and this is its medial width
along its winding course to it debouchure into the Mississippi at
Cairo. The head of the river has an elevation of 1150 feet above the
sea, while in its long descent to its mouth there is a gradual fall of
only 400 feet; thus its current, except at the season of freshets, is
more uniform than that of any other river in North America of equal
length. The stage of water is now so low that only the lightest draft
steamers can navigate its channels, in consequence of which the
Allegheny and Monongahela rivers are blocked with hundreds of
coal-laden scows awaiting a "coal rise," that they may be towed to
their far southern destinations.
A Camp on Dead Man's Island.
On our left the shores are high, and along the face
of the hills can be seen the dark, dismal entrances to the mines, and
the long troughs down which the coal is sent to the great scow-like
boat at the water's edge. One steamer will usually take down a tow of
from twenty to thirty of these "coal floats." I am told that not
infrequently a whole tow will be sunk, and that a steamer will seldom
reach New Orleans without losing one or more of these flats with
hundreds of tons of black wealth.
It was not until we were about five miles below the city
that the smoke cloud thinned out enough to allow a glimpse of the sun
and breathing without inhaling more or less of the sooty deposit into
our lungs. Dead Man's Island, one mile above Shoustown, Pa., offering a
suitable camp site, we landed and made an early camp, as the air was
disagreeably raw and cold. Again, on the following morning, a heavy fog
covered all things with a wet blanket, and it was not until ten o'clock
that we broke camp and paddled to the forlorn village, where we mailed
the answers to the letters we received at Pittsburgh. The day was wet
and generally disagreeable; and as we passed town after town, with the
black smoke issuing from the chimneys, depositing its soot on land and
water alike, filling eyes, nose and mouth with its grime, we did wish
for a breath of the fresh air of the glorious Adirondacks and a draft
of Horicon's pure waters. We had no longer to guard against running
foul of sharp rocks or boulders, as the channel was now clear to the
mouth; but a new cause of anxiety presented itself -- the great
sternwheel steamers, which a man has told me frequently capsize the
large river skiffs with their tremendous swells; but after a day or two
of experience we not only lost all fear, but came to have a certain
fondness for these craft and hailed the sight of one with delight. If
they were coming up stream we paddled so close to them that their
guards could be touched with the paddle. It was amusing to see the
passengers and crew run aft to see us "overturned" in the great swells
that our little craft rode as buoyantly as though they were but corks
on the water. Here comes one now, a freight towboat, heading directly
for us. We can scarcely see her hull, it is so low in the water, little
more than a foot of it rising above the surface, and much of that is
hidden by the wave that piles up ahead of her. As we pass within three
feet of the guards I can see the negro stokers shoveling the soft
bituminous coal into the fireboxes.
A break in the hills shows us the mouth of Beaver River;
and notwithstanding that the rain is falling in heavy showers and now
and then is driven with force against our faces by a strong blast of
wind, we experience a sense of rejoicing on beholding the goodly amount
of water that is flowing into the Ohio. I look at it and wonder if I
will ever be satisfied with the amount of water. Like the money-making
man, "the more I get the more I want." The bread is getting low, and
although it is Sunday, we land in front of Georgetown, and while
Barnacle makes the necessary purchases, I am interviewed by about half
the populace and am asked all sorts of odd questions, one man wanting
to know if my companion is trying to hire a hall to show in.
Through the Fog.
The river has now broadened, and the channel is so
straight that we are anxious that the wind would come out fair for us,
that we may relieve the monotony of paddling by some sailing.
We have left Pennsylvania, and now go into camp on Line
Island, in West Virginia. I am awakened in the morning by what I
supposed to be rain, but what proves to be a heavy fog dripping off the
branches overhanging the canoe. As we are about to push off into the
stream I hear the slow puff-puff of a steamer, and shortly after her
whistle sounds the signal to keep out of the way, as she pushes her tow
of barges against the current. In strong contrast to the one whistle of
our Northern steamers are those of the Ohio and Mississippi craft,
which seldom have less than three, and from that up to a full octave.
Paddling cautiously, with the sense of hearing constantly on the alert,
that we may not be run down by a steamer, we reach Steubenville, Ohio,
where the fog gradually rises and enables us to have a fair view of the
Pan-Handle Railroad bridge which here spans the river. With the lifting
of the fog a breeze springs up from the north, and the heart beats
quickly in anticipation of the delights of a sail. The loungers along
the shore look with amazement marked on their countenances as they
witness the quick rigging of the little ships, and one of them waves
his hat as the Aurora's white wings, filled with the welcome wind, heel
her over, while the waters part with a hissing sound at her fore. Oh,
what a delightful relief after the weary miles of paddling. The breeze
carries us on at so fair a speed that we find our craft and their
occupants the center of attraction as we sail past the busy
manufacturing town of Wheeling, W. Va. The wind leaves us soon after,
and we make camp, well satisfied with the run of forty-seven miles
under sail and paddle. The city of Wheeling presents an interesting
scene as viewed from our camp, with the heavy cloud of smoke through
which shoot the flames from the many chimneys of forges and glass works
which make it the busy city it is. The heavy pounding of the
trip-hammer; the rap-a-tap-tap of the riveting hammer as it heads the
rivets binding together the plates of boiler iron; the piercing shrieks
of steam whistles and the loud calls of the teamsters as they urge
their mule teams up the steep cobble-paved levee, are all in strong
contrast to the quiet of the upriver country through which we had so
lately come. After having well shaken the sails and tents and washed
the decks of the canoes to free them from the coating of soot that the
heavy cloud of smoke had deposited upon them during the night, we again
set sail, and before a favoring but fitful breeze, soon reach
Moundsville, the location of one of the prehistoric mounds which are so
plentiful throughout the Ohio Valley. Again the high hills have closed
in on the river, which here takes a sharp turn to the right and shuts
off the wind.
Sunshine and Gloom.
We furl the sails, but leave them on deck, in
readiness for use on the slightest intimation of a breeze. The sun has
come over the hilltops undimmed by fog or cloud, and sheds his genial
warmth upon us, brightening up all nature and instilling new life and
activity into the birds that sweetly warble from their perches in the
branches of the high trees. The river now winds in and out among the
hills, constantly changing the scene.
The night of October 24 was the coldest yet experienced on
the cruise, and although I slept warm and comfortable, when I turned
out to take my usual morning bath I found a heavy fog being driven
before a strong upstream wind, and that the paddles had been frozen to
the ground. While we were at breakfast a native came along, and
stopping to admire our craft, informed us that "we had a right smart of
ice in our hog-trough last night." All day we paddled against the head
wind and chilling fog with aching fingers, which received very little
protection from the soaked woolen mittens. Except the sight of a
steamer slowly ascending the river, we met with nothing to enliven the
monotony of the sunless day, and gladly accepted an inviting camp site
on Grape Island early in the afternoon.
© 2000 Craig O'Donnell
May not be reproduced without my permission.
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