BARBED-WIRE FENCES.
We were off in the morning, after an early breakfast at the Stoughton
inn. Our host kindly sent down his porter to help us over the
mill-dam,--our first and easiest portage, and one of the few in which
we received assistance of any kind. Below this, as below all of the
dams on the river, there are broad shallows. The water in the stream,
being at a low stage, is mainly absorbed in the mill-race, and the
apron spreads the slight overflow evenly over the width of the bed, so
that there is left a wide expanse of gravel and rocks below the chute,
which is not covered sufficiently deep for navigating even our little
craft, drawing but five inches when fully loaded. We soon grounded on
the shallows and I was obliged to get out and tow the lightened boat
to the tail of the race, where deeper water was henceforth assured.
This experience became quite familiar before the end of the trip. I
had fortunately brought a pair of rubbers in my satchel, and found
them invaluable as wading-shoes, where the river bottom is strewn with
sharp gravel and slimy round-heads.
Below Stoughton the river winds along in most graceful curves, for the
most part between banks from six to twenty feet high, with occasional
pocket-marshes, in which the skunk-cabbage luxuriates. The stream is
often thickly studded with lily-pads, which the wind, blowing fresh
astern, frequently ruffles so as to give the appearance of rapids
ahead, inducing caution where none is necessary. But every half-mile
or so there are genuine little rapids, some of them requiring care to
successfully shoot; in low water the canoe goes bumping along over the
small moss-grown rocks, and now and then plumps solidly on a big one;
when the stream is turbid,--as often happens below a pasture, where
the cattle stir up the bank mud,--the danger of being overturned by
scarcely submerged bowlders is imminent.
There are some decidedly romantic spots, where little densely-wooded
and grape-tangled glens run off at right angles, leading up to the
bases of commanding hillocks, which they drain; or where the noisy
little river, five or six rods wide, goes swishing around the foot of
a precipitous, bush-grown bluff. It is noticeable that in such
beauty-spots as these are generally to be found poverty-stricken
cabins, the homes of small fishermen and hunters; while the more
generous farm-houses seek the fertile but prosaic openings.
All of a sudden, around a lovely bend, a barbed-wire fence of four
strands savagely disputed the passage. A vigorous back-water stroke
alone saved us from going full tilt into the bayonets of the enemy. We
landed, and there was a council of war. As every stream in Wisconsin
capable of floating a saw-log is "navigable" in the eye of the law, it
is plain that this obstruction is an illegal one. Being an illegal
fence, it follows that any canoeist is entitled to clip the wires, if
he does not care to stop and prosecute the fencers for barring his
way. The object of the structure is to prevent cattle from walking
around through the shallow river into neighboring pastures. Along the
upper Catfish, where boating is more frequently indulged in, farmers
accomplish the same object by fencing in a few feet of the stream
parallel with the shore. But below Stoughton, where canoeing is seldom
practiced, the cattle-owners run their fences directly across the
river as a measure of economy. Taking into consideration the fact that
the lower Catfish is seldom used as a highway, we concluded that we
would be charitable and leave the fences intact, getting under or over
them as best we might. I am afraid that had we known that twenty-one
of these formidable barriers were before us, the council would not
have agreed on so conciliatory a campaign.
Having taken in our awning and disposed of our baggage amidships, so
that nothing remained above the gunwale, W----, kneeling, took the
oars astern, while I knelt in the bow with the paddle borne like a
battering-ram. Pushing off into the channel we bore down on the centre
of the works, which were strong and thickly-posted, with wires drawn
as tight as a drum-string. Catching the lower strand midway between
two posts, on the blade end of the paddle, the speed of the canoe was
checked. Then, seizing that strand with my right hand, so that the
thick-strewn barbs came between my fingers, I forced it up to the
second strand, and held the two rigidly together, thus making a slight
arch. The canoe being crowded down into the water by sheer exercise of
muscle, I crouched low in the bow, at the same time forcing the canoe
under and forward through the arch. When half-way through, W---- was
able similarly to clutch the wires, and perform the same office for
the stern. This operation, ungraceful but effective, was frequently
repeated during the day. When the current is swift and the wind fresh
a special exertion is necessary on the part of the stern oar to keep
the craft at right angles with the fence,--the tendency being, as soon
as the bow is snubbed, to drift alongside and become entangled in the
wires, with the danger of being either badly scratched or upset. It is
with a feeling of no slight relief that a canoeist emerges from a
tussle with a barbed-wire fence; and if hands, clothing, and boat have
escaped without a scratch, he may consider himself fortunate, indeed.
Before the day was through, when our twenty-one fences had been
conquered without any serious accident, it was unanimously voted that
the exercise was not to be recommended to those weak in muscle or
patience.
Eight miles below Stoughton is Dunkirk. There is a neat frame
grist-mill there; and up a gentle slope to the right are four or five
weather-beaten farm-houses, in the corners of the cross-roads. It was
an easy portage at the dam. After pushing through the shallows below
with some difficulty, we ran in under the shadow of a substantial
wagon-bridge, and beached. Going up to the corners, we filled the
canteen with ice-cold water from a moss-grown well, and interviewed
the patriarchal miller, who assured us that "nigh onter a dozen year
ago, Dunkirk had a bigger show for growin' than Stoughton, but the
railroad went 'round us."
A few miles down stream and we come to Stebbinsville. The water is
backset by a mill-dam for two miles, forming a small lake. The course
now changing, the wind came dead ahead, and we rowed down to the dam
in a rolling sea, with much exertion. The river is six rods wide here,
flowing between smooth, well-rounded, grass-grown banks, from fifteen
to thirty feet in height, the fields on either side sloping up to
wood-crowned ridges. There are a mill and two houses at Stebbinsville,
and the country round about has a prosperous appearance. A tall,
pleasant-spoken young miller came across the road-bridge and talked to
us about the crops and the river, while we made a comfortable portage
of five rods, up the grassy bank and through a close-cropped pasture,
down to a sequestered little bay at the tail of an abandoned race,
where the spray of the falls spattered us as we reloaded. We pushed
off, with the joint opinion that Stebbinsville was a charming little
place, with ideal riverside homes, that would be utterly spoiled by
building the city on its site which the young man said his father had
always hoped would be established there. A quarter of a mile below,
around the bend, is a disused mill, thirty feet up, on the right bank.
There is a suspended platform over a ravine, to one side of the
building, and upon its handrail leaned two dusty millers, who had
doubtless hastened across from the upper mill, to watch the progress
down the little rapids here of what was indeed a novel craft to these
waters. They waved their caps and gave us a cheery shout as we quickly
disappeared around another curve; but while it still rung in our ears
we were suddenly confronted by one of the tightest fences on the
course, and had neither time nor disposition to return the salute.
And so we slid along, down rapids, through long stretches of quiet
water and scraping over shallows, plying both oars and paddle, while
now and then "making" a fence and comparing its savagery with that of
the preceding one. Here and there the high vine-clad banks, from
overshadowing us would irregularly recede, leaving little meadows,
full of painted-cups, the wild rose-colored phlox and saxifrage; or
bits of woodland in the dryer bottoms, radiant, amid the underbrush,
with the daisy, cinque-foil, and puccoon. Kingfishers and blue herons
abound. Great turtles, disturbed by the unwonted splash of oars, slide
down high, sunny banks of sand, where they have been to lay their
eggs, and amid a cloud of dust shuffle off into the water, their
castle of safety. These eggs, so trustfully left to be hatched by the
warmth of the sun, form toothsome food for coons and skunks, which in
turn fall victims to farmers' lads,--as witness the rows of peltries
stretched inside out on shingles, and tacked up on the sunny sides of
the barns and woodsheds along the river highway.
As we begin to approach the valley of the Rock, the hills grow higher,
groups of red cedar appear, the banks of red clay often attain the
height of fifty or sixty feet, broken by deep, staring gullies and
wooded ravines, through which little brooklets run, the output of
back-country springs; while the pocket-meadows are less frequent,
although more charmingly diversified as to color and background.
We had our mid-day lunch on a pleasant bank, that had been covered
earlier in the season with hepatica, blood-root, and dicentra, and
was now resplendent with Solomon's seal, the dark-purple water-leaf,
and graceful maidenhair ferns, with here and there a dogwood in full
bloom. Behind us were thick woods and an overlooking ridge; opposite,
a meadow-glade on which herds of cattle and black hogs grazed. A bell
cow waded into the water, followed by several other members of the
herd, and the train pensively proceeded in single file diagonally
across the shallow stream to another feeding-ground below. The
leader's bell had a peculiarly mournful note, and the scene strongly
reminded one of an ecclesiastical procession.
In the middle of the afternoon the little village of Fulton was
reached. It is a dead-alive, moss-grown settlement, situated on a
prairie, through which the river has cut a deep channel. There are a
cheese-factory, a grist-mill, a church, a school-house, three or four
stores, and some twenty-five houses, with but a solitary boat in
sight, and that of the punt variety. It was recess at the school as we
rowed past, and boys and girls were chiefly engaged in climbing the
trees which cluster in the little schoolhouse yard. A chorus of shouts
and whistles greeted us from the leafy perches, in which we could
distinguish "Shoot the roof!"--an exclamation called forth by the
awning, which doubtless seemed the chief feature of our outfit, viewed
from the top of the bank.
At the mill-dam, a dozen lazy, shiftless fellows were fishing at the
foot of the chute, and stared at our movements with expressionless
eyes. The portage was somewhat difficult, being over a high bank,
across a rocky road, and down through a stretch of bog. When we had
completed the carry, W---- waited in the canoe while I went up to the
fishermen for information as to the lay of the country.
"How far is it to the mouth of the Catfish, my friend?" I asked the
most intelligent member of the party.
"D'no! Never was thar." He jerked in his bait, to pull off a weed
that had become entangled in it, and from the leer he gave his
comrades it was plain that I had struck the would-be wag of the
village.
"How far do you think it is?" I insisted, curious to see how far he
would carry his obstinacy.
"Don' think nuthin' 'bout 't; don' care t' know."
"Didn't you ever hear any one say how far it is?" and I sat beside him
on the stone pier, as if I had come to stay.
"Nah!"
"Suppose you were placed in a boat here and had to float down to the
Rock, how long do you imagine you'd be?"
"Aint no man goin' t' place me in no boat! No siree!" pugnaciously.
"Don't you ever row?"
"Nah!" contemptuously; "what I want of a boat? Bridge 's good 'nough
fer us fellers, a-fishin'."
"Whose boat is that, over there, on the shore?"
"Schoolmaster's. He's a dood, he is. Bridge isn't rich 'nough fer his
blood. Boats is fer doods." And with this withering remark he relapsed
into so intent an observation of his line that I thought it best to
disturb him no longer.
Below Fulton, the stream is quite swift and the scenery more rugged,
the evidences of disastrous spring overflows and back-water from the
Rock being visible on every hand. At five o'clock, we came to a point
where the river divides into three channels, there being a clump of
four small islands. A barbed-wire fence, the last we were fated to
meet, was stretched across each channel. Selecting the central
mouth,--for this is the delta of the Catfish,--we shot down with a
rush, but were soon lodged on a sandbank. It required wading and much
pushing and twisting and towing before we were again off, but in the
length of a few rods more we swung free into the Rock, which was to be
our highway for over two hundred miles more of canoe travel.
The Rock River is nearly a quarter of a mile wide at this point, and
comes down with a majestic sweep from the north, having its chief
source in the gloomily picturesque Lake Koshkonong. The banks of the
river at and below the mouth of the Catfish, are quite imposing,
rising into a succession of graceful, round-topped mounds, from fifty
to one hundred feet high, and finely wooded except where cleared for
pasture or as the site of farm-buildings. While the immediate edges of
the stream are generally firm and grass-grown, with occasional
gravelly beaches, there are frequent narrow strips of marsh at the
bases of the mounds, especially on the left bank where innumerable
springs send forth trickling rills to feed the river. A stiff wind
up-stream had broken the surface into white caps, and more than
counteracted the force of the lazy current, so that progress now
depended upon vigorous exercise at the oars and paddle.
Three miles above Janesville is Pope's Springs, a pleasant summer
resort, with white tents and gayly painted cottages commingled. It is
situated in a park-like wood, on the right bank, while directly
opposite are some bold, rocky cliffs, or palisades, their feet laved
in the stream. We spread our supper cloth on the edge of a
wheat-field, in view of the pretty scene. The sun was setting behind a
bank of roseate clouds, and shooting up broad, sharply defined bands
of radiance nearly to the zenith. The wind was blowing cold, wraps
were essential, and we were glad to be on our way once more, paddling
along in the dying light, past palisades and fields and meadows,
reaching prosperous Janesville, on her rolling prairie, just as dusk
was thickening into dark.