There is one portion of the journey of the _Toby Tyler_ which can
hardly fail to interest the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE, although they
might not care much for a record of the entire voyage. The trip
through the Dismal Swamp occupied nearly five days, not because the
little steamer could not have passed over the thirty miles of canal
sooner, but because all on board were disposed to linger where the
scenery was so novel and fascinating.
We will not try to give here a lesson in geography, nor to tell the
exact size, location, and characteristics of these three hundred
miles of submerged forest. This letter will simply contain an
account of what the passengers of the _Toby Tyler_ saw after
leaving Norfolk, sailing five miles up the Elizabeth River, and
entering what is known as the Dismal Swamp Canal.
Each one had expected to see a veritable swamp, where the trees
would appear to be growing in the water, and where it would be
impossible to walk, even a few paces, save at the risk of sinking
deep in the mud. But dismal as the swamp is, it is not quite as bad
as had been imagined. To be sure, there are miles and miles of
territory where one would find it impossible to walk, owing both to
the water and tangle of brake and vine; but along the banks of the
canal the land is not only quite as firm as elsewhere, but there
are several villages, where were found children who had read of the
coming of the _Toby Tyler_, and were watching for the little
steamer.
At those points where the marshy portions of the great swamp extend
fully out to the canal, hedges of cane and flags have been trained,
so that one sees only the masses of verdure which seem to have been
cut apart by the narrow ribbon of water on which floated great
barges and steamers, past which it seemed impossible the _Toby_
could go, from sheer lack of space.
And the water in the canal looked so very strange, because, instead
of being clear, it is exactly the color of strong tea, owing to the
juniper-trees, which grow in the swamp in such profusion as to
discolor it. But it tastes like the purest of spring water despite
its queer look, and the ships of war sailing from the Portsmouth
Navy-yard carry it for drinking purposes, because it will keep
sweet and fresh six or eight months.
The charm and beauty of the swamp are not to be seen as one sails
through its brown water-way; if one wishes to see it in all its
dismal waste, he should do as did the voyagers on the _Toby_, and
that is, explore some of the small rivers that cross the canal by
means of a boat. The one belonging to the _Toby_ is fourteen feet
long, and can sail where the water is not more than five or six
inches deep; it may also interest some of your readers to know that
it is named _Mr. Stubbs_. In this little craft the writer and the
artist almost forced their way up what is known as Old River,
pushing aside branches of trees and clinging vines that seemed
doing their best to prevent any one from entering the retreat they
guarded.
Fifty yards in from the canal it was as if one had gotten miles
away from all traces of civilization; not a sound was to be heard
save the hooting of an owl or the twitter of the small birds; on a
log just ahead an assembly of terrapin were holding a convention,
probably to protest against being considered such a delicacy in the
way of food; while just beyond, under the roots of an overturned
tree, could be seen the head of a small bear, that was trying to
make up his mind whether it would be better to run away, or stay
and find out what the intruders wanted. He concluded to leave,
however, and the terrapin followed his example by rolling off the
log with a great splash, thus leaving the two explorers alone in a
river that seemed all trees and but little water. It was indeed a
swamp, or rather a submerged forest, this river, and it was only
with the greatest difficulty the little boat could be forced along.
After the banks of the canal were left astern it was no longer
possible to distinguish the course of this river, for it stretched
out in one broad body of water, which so mingled with the swamp
that no one could say it had banks, or even a channel.
Perhaps a mile was passed over by alternate rowing and pulling, and
then further progress was impeded by huge trees that had fallen
into the water, completely blocking the way. Ahead, astern, and on
either hand could be seen the dark, shallow water, thickly studded
with trees from which hung the gray trailing moss so plentiful
here. No sound broke the silence, no sign of life could be seen, no
traces of man anywhere. It was certainly as wild a place as can be
imagined, and the two exploring it thought they had seen the most
dismal portion of this wonderful swamp.
In this, however, they found they were mistaken, when, on the
following day, the _Toby_ was anchored in the main canal, and in
_Mr. Stubbs_ the party rowed up a smaller canal into the lake of
the swamp--Lake Drummond. Imagine this vast swamp (for up this last
canal there was no question as to the swampy nature of the place),
in the heart of which is a large body of water separated from that
around it by an army of tree trunks bleached to a light gray by the
sun and weather. Back of this ashen-colored border the juniper and
pine trees lift their heads so high that the sun only illumines the
water at noonday, while at other times the shadows cast by the
trees on the brown water lend to all objects a purplish hue that is
at least startling when first seen. It is a strange, weird-looking
place, where one involuntarily whispers, as if he feared to waken
nature from its solemn repose.
To describe this body of water in the midst of the vast swamp is
impossible, so strange is the sensation the visitor has when seeing
it for the first time. It was early in the morning when the
passengers from the _Toby_ arrived at the lake, and it was late in
the afternoon before any of them remembered that they must return
to the little steamer. Then it was almost a race to get back to the
yacht in order that the village of South Mills could be reached
before dark.
In this attempt, however, the voyagers were unsuccessful, owing to
an exciting hunt which a party of gentlemen were having after a
deer. They succeeded in their murderous design, for they killed him
as he attempted to swim across the canal just under the bow of the
_Toby_.
Late that night, when the little steamer was made fast to the pier
at the village that marks the southern end of the canal, the
voyagers on the yacht had venison steaks for supper that were cut
from the deer they had seen killed, and all hands retired, almost
sad that the journey through the swamp was ended, but anticipating
very much from the trip down the Pasquotank River to Albemarle
Sound.