THROUGH the sultry afternoon of Wednesday, July 25th, "Sometub" ran for
hours under the willows that fringe the Maryland meadows in Montgomery
county. Across the river the Virginia shore presented an endless
panorama of wooded hills that grew less rugged in their outlines as we
proceeded down the stream. At sunset we were running through a marshy
region and decided to keep on rather than invite malaria by spending
the night on the border of a swamp. We were happy when, in the receding
twilight, we espied the hills of Seneca creek and knew by consulting
our topographical maps that we would have a more healthy mooring place.
At Seneca a widewater covers about ten acres and under a big sycamore
tree beside the little lake we tied "Sometub," preparing dinner on our
"canned heat" range and serving it on our poncho which was spread on
the soft, green turf.
The dying embers of a campfire were visible across an arm of the lake
and after dinner we went to pay a neighborly call. Beside the fire was
a tiny "pup" tent supported by two canoe paddles. On our approach three
young men greeted us. A week before, they told us, they had started out
from their homes in Washington on a fishing trip up the river. In the
Potomac the bass were not biting but the mosquitoes were and betwixt
hope and desperation they had turned into the canal. Now they were
having fairly good luck and were comfortable.
Our new friends punctilously returned the call. One of the youths was
the son of a naval officer and expressed much interest in "Sometub,"
and its unique cabin arrangement. We sat in the lantern light till
midnight swapping motorboat experiences for fish stories. In this we
had the better of the deal.
Thursday dawned clear and hot. Our neighbors, the fishermen, were out
before sunrise and had breakfasted on their catch of perch, catfish
and "sunnies" before we were stirring. Old Sol drank up the dew within
a few minutes after his appearance over the Virginia hills and we
made an excursion into a blackberry thicket where we picked a dish
of luscious fruit for breakfast. It was our last berry feast of the
season. After reciprocating photographs of our respective "camps," we
headed for Seneca lock and were lowered through it by members of a
troop of Washington Boy Scouts who volunteered their assistance to the
lockmaster.
At noon we reached Great Falls. Here are 13 locks in a series of two,
seven chambers in the first and six in the second. The actual time in
making the descent was considerably less than two hours. We stopped
at the first lock, and upon payment of a small fee to the lockmaster,
were admitted to the private park surrounding the Great Falls of the
Potomac. Crossing a swinging bridge to an island in the river we
obtained a magnificent view of the cataract. The stream was at flood
stage and the scene rivaled the rapids of the lower Niagara.
In the late summer and autumn of 1861 the Union and Confederate pickets
frequently exchanged compliments at short range from behind the rocks
and boulders along this stretch of the Potomac. If you have any friends
among the survivors of the Pennsylvania Reserves, ask them to tell
you of their experiences during the open season for snipers in those
exciting days.
In the middle of the afternoon we passed Cabin John bridge and moored
"Sometub" at the lock at the foot of Glen Echo park. In the shade of
the trees everything looked cool and refreshing and we decided to
spend the evening with friends in Washington, but a few minutes after
we stepped off the boat we realized that it was the hottest day of
the summer. The lockmaster's wife invited us to go into her house and
assigned us "spare rooms" to change our clothes. Going to Washington
by trolley, we found the heat in the city almost intolerable after
our fortnight in the open air of the mountains. After dinner in town
against the protests of friends we returned to the boat and were lulled
to slumber by the music in the dancing pavilion of the park.
* * * * *
JUPITER PLUVIUS had been on hand at the beginning of the voyage and now
at its close he was in evidence again. Rain interrupted us at breakfast
and continued through the forenoon. Disregarding the showers we started
on the last lap of our cruise and at 11 o'clock reached Lock No. 1,
or, according to our count, No. 75 from Cumberland. We surrendered
our waybill with the request that the canal company would return it
to us to keep as a souvenir. After a pleasant chat to the lockmaster
during which time we took refuge from a particularly annoying shower,
"Sometub" was lowered to the Georgetown level. A few minutes later
the lofty towers supporting the arials of the naval radio station at
Arlington were visible and rounding a majestic curve to the eastward,
we beheld the fantastic skyline of the National Capital.
[Illustration: "BACK HOME"]
Threading our way between a fleet of canal boats, tugs, skiffs and
nondescript craft we reached the coal wharf in Georgetown and ran
"Sometub" into the mud at the ancient lock which connects the canal
with Rock creek, its outlet into the waters of the Potomac. The
waterfront at Georgetown is no prepossessing place and the attitude
of the bystanders was not calculated to lead the boatman to leave his
property unguarded. Asking the obliging lockmaster to "keep an eye"
on "Sometub" I went up a side street to the office of the Chesapeake
and Ohio Canal Company to report our arrival and to meet in person Mr.
A. Sahli, the secretary, with whom I had had an interesting telephone
conversation last winter when in Washington arranging for the voyage.
Mr. Sahli had been most obliging and we felt grateful for his advice.
He told me that a short distance below the lock at the railroad yards
I could take the boat from the water and ship it back to Pittsburgh.
It seemed that every possible convenience was provided for the skipper
directing a "portable cruise."
I cannot describe my feelings when I returned to the wharf. We refused
to realize that our voyage was at an end. It seemed that to take down
the canopy, pack our stores and utensils and lift "Sometub" from the
water would leave us absolutely homeless. It was still raining. For
a long time we sat in the boat debating what to do. It was Friday
and we had three days remaining on our hands. The little boat never
looked more friendly, cozy and hospitable than just now. We had been
companions on a most interesting journey and to leave it to pursue our
own pleasure was like parting with a faithful partner in adversity.
We compromised by exploring new waters. Giving the signal to the
lockmaster, we were lowered into Rock creek and started up that winding
stream toward Rock Creek park where we hoped to find a quiet place
to tie up. We ran under the arched bridge of Pennsylvania avenue and
under the trees to a point at the foot of the hill below DuPont circle
but here shoal water checked our progress. Reluctantly we turned back
and ran out to the dam where the creek empties into the Potomac. Here
our cruise came near terminating in a tragedy. We were within 30 yards
of the dam before we saw that water to a depth of a foot or more was
pouring over its crest into the swirling river 15 feet below. The motor
refused to reverse. We were caught in the current and drifted broadside
toward the dam.
Then we learned that a spruce canoe paddle is the most reliable of all
motors for a small boat in moments of emergency. It was impossible to
stem the current, but we succeeded in edging off from the middle of the
stream and when almost at the edge of the dam caught some wisps of
willows and held "Sometub" until a line was thrown ashore.
After extricating ourselves from this predicament we ran back to the
entrance of the canal and met a great, whole-souled man in the person
of Mr. Michael O'Leary, night watchman in a machine shop on the river
front and the owner of a houseboat in Rock Creek. True to all the
virtues of his nationality, Mr. O'Leary possesses a generous heart and
bountiful hospitality. Shure, it would be all right to tie up to his
boat and he would be plased to keep an eye on the wee tub.
Honesty was written all over his face and we left "Sometub" in his
care, going downtown to spend another evening with friends but returned
at night to our cabin. Saturday morning we were confronted by the
inevitable necessity of "taking down" the superstructure of the boat
and packing our baggage. Mr. O'Leary was on hand with a group of
longshoremen who lifted "Sometub" from the water and carried it to a
freight car as if it were a toy. We felt homeless now indeed. Only the
refreshing good humor of Michael O'Leary mellowed our regret that our
voyage was at an end.
"Sometub" in its freight car berth started that night on its return to
Pittsburgh for many subsequent weekend excursions on the Allegheny, but
we tarried a day longer. On Sunday morning we crossed over to Virginia
and went to old Christ Church in Alexandria. There in that historic
temple of worship, with its sacred memories of George Washington, we
rounded our fortnight's journey. From first to last we had followed in
the footsteps of the greatest American.
[Illustration]