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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