FROM CINCINNATI TO THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER
CINCINNATI.-- MUSIC AND PORK IN PORKOPOLIS.-- THE BIG BONE LICK OF
FOSSIL ELEPHANTS.-- COLONEL CROGHAN'S VISIT TO THE LICK.-- PORTAGE
AROUND THE "FALLS," AT LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY.-- STUCK IN THE MUD.-- THE
FIRST STEAMBOAT OF THE WEST.-- VICTOR HUGO ON THE SITUATION.-- A
FREEBOOTER'S DEN.-- WHOOPING AND SAND-HILL CRANES.-- THE SNEAK-BOX
ENTERS THE MISSISSIPPI.--
THE next day being Saturday, and the mercury still standing at seven
degrees above zero, I walked to Covington, and crossed the suspension-
bridge to Cincinnati. It was the season of the year when the vast
pork-packing establishments were in full blast, and the amount of work
done spoke well for western enterprise.
Pork-raising and pork-packing is one of the great industries of the
Ohio valley, and the Cincinnati and Louisville merchants have control
of the largest portion of the business growing out of it.
When a stranger visits the pork-packing establishments of Cincinnati
he marvels at the immensity and celerity of the various manipulations,
which commence with the killing of a squealing pig, and the
transformation of his hogship, in a few minutes, into a well-cleaned
animal, hanging up to cool in a store-room, from which he is taken a
little later and immediately cut up and packed in barrels for market.
The reader may have a distaste for statistics, but I cannot impress
upon him the magnitude of this great industry without giving a few
reliable figures.
The number of hogs packed in Cincinnati during the past twenty-one
years, from 1853 to 1875, was 9,242,972. While Cincinnati was at work
on one season's crop of pork of 632,302 pigs, her rival, Chicago, on
the shore of Lake Michigan, killed and packed in the same time her
crop of 2,501,285 animals.
The "Twenty-ninth Annual Report of the Cincinnati Price Current,"
published while the author has been writing this chapter, shows what
our country can do in supplying meat for foreign as well as home
markets. The states of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin,
Michigan, Minnesota, Nebraska, Missouri, Kansas, Kentucky, and
Tennessee, contributed to the packing establishments between November
1, 1877, and March 1, 1878, during the winter season of six months,
6,505,446 hogs; and during the summer season, from March 1 to November
1, 2,543,120 animals,--making a one year's total of 9,048,566 pigs,
which averaged a net weight, when dressed, of two hundred and twenty-
six pounds. Thus the weight of meat alone packed in one year was
2,044,975,916 pounds. Add to this the crop of California, Oregon, and
Canada of the same year, and the total swells to 12,301,589 hogs, duly
registered as having been killed by the pork-packers, and there still
remain uncounted all the pigs killed in thirty-eight states by farmers
for their own and neighbors' consumption.
This annual crop of pork a jocund professor once described as "a
prodigious mass of heavy carburetted hydrogen gas and scrofula;" but
the chemists of our day would more properly stigmatize it as a vast
quantity of Luzic, Myristic, Palmitic, Margaric, and Stearic acids in
combination with glycerine and fibre.
A western savant, having investigated the parasites existing in hogs,
affirms that in western pork, eight animals out of every one hundred
are affected by that muscle-boring pest so dangerous to those who have
eaten the infected meat, and so well known to all students as the
Trichina spiralis. The distinguished writer Letheby says of this
parasite: "As found in the human subject (after death) it is usually
in the encysted state, when it has passed beyond its dangerous
condition, and has become harmless. In most cases, when thus
discovered, there is no record of its action, and therefore it was
once thought to be an innocent visitor; but we now know that while it
was free, (that is, before nature had barricaded it up in the little
cyst,) its presence was the cause of frightful disorders, killing
about fifty per centum of its victims in terrible agony. The young
worms having hatched in the body of man, migrate to the numerous
muscles, causing the most excruciating pain, so that the patient,
fearing to move his inflamed muscles, would lie motionless upon his
back, and if he did not die in this state of the disorder, nature came
to the rescue and imprisoned the creature by surrounding it with a
fibrous cyst, where it lives for years, being ready at any moment to
acquire activity when it is swallowed and released from its cell."
Another parasite found in the muscles of the pig is known as the
Cysticercus cellulosus, and the animals afflicted by it are said to
have the measles. This larva of the tapeworm exists in the pig in
little sacs not larger than a pin's head, and can be seen by the naked
eye. The strong brine of the packer does not kill them, and I have
known them to be taken alive from a boiled ham. The great heat of
frying alone renders them harmless. When partially-cooked, measly pork
is eaten by man, the gastric juice of the stomach dissolves the
membranous sac which contains the living larva, and the animal soon
passes into the intestines, where, clinging by its hooks, it holds on
with wonderful tenacity, rapidly sending out joint after joint, until
the perfect tapeworm sometimes attains a length of thirty feet.
Let us hope, for the credit of humanity, that these facts are not
generally known, for man has ills enough without incurring the risks
of such a diet. If pork must form a staple, let the genealogical tree
of his pigship be carefully sought after, and let the would-be
consumer ask the question considered so important in a certain river-
bounded city of Pennsylvania, "Who was his grandfather?"
In the year 1800 Cincinnati was a little pioneer settlement of seven
hundred and fifty men, women, and children. Her census of 1880 will
not fall far short of a quarter of a million. She contributes more
than her share to feed the world, and is, strange to say, as
celebrated for the terpsichorean art as for her pork. Even Boston must
yield her the palm as a musical centre, and give to the inhabitants of
the once rough western city the credit due them for their versatility
of talent, and the ease with which they render Beethoven, or "take a
turn in pork," as occasion may demand, many of the music-loving
citizens being engaged at times in a commercial way with this staple.
Having obtained at a bookstore a copy of Lloyd's Map of the
Mississippi River, I returned to the tailor's, where I was greeted in
the most kindly manner, and informed that the young lady of the house,
the only daughter of my host, had voluntarily left home to visit some
city relations, that I might occupy her comfortably furnished room,
with the open fireplace, which was now filled with blazing wood, and
sending forth a genial glow into the heavily-curtained apartment. When
I protested against this promotion in the social scale, and refused to
deprive the young lady of her room, I was informed that she knew "WHO
WAS WHO," and had insisted upon leaving her room that a gentleman
might be properly entertained in it. From this time my now agreeable
host stoutly refused to accept payment in advance for my daily
rations, while, with his family and apprentices, he took up his
quarters each evening in my new room, relating his experiences during
the war, and giving me many original ideas.
It grew warmer, but the ice of the creek in which my boat lay did not
melt. The water was, however, falling, and it became necessary to cut
out the sneak-box, and slide her over the ice into the unfrozen Ohio.
My host had become alarmed, and kept an anxious eye upon the boat. "De
peoples knows de poat is here, and some of dem hab told others about
it. If you don't hide her down de rivver to-night, she will be stolen
by de rivver thieves." I was thus forced to leave these kind people,
who about noon escorted me to the duck-boat, and showered upon me
their best wishes for a prosperous voyage. It was a glorious
afternoon, and the sun poured all his wealth of light and cheerfulness
upon the valley.
Late in the day I passed the mouth of the Big Miami River. Indiana was
on the right, while Kentucky still skirted the left bank of the river.
The state of Ohio had furnished the Ohio River with a margin for four
hundred and seventy-five miles. The Little Miami River joins the Ohio
six miles above Cincinnati; the Big Miami enters it twenty miles below
the city. These streams flow through rich farming regions, but they
are not navigable. After passing the town of Aurora, which is six
miles below the Big Miami, I caught sight of the mouth of a creek,
whose thickets of trees, in the gloom of the fast approaching night,
almost hid from view the outlines of a forlorn-looking shanty-boat.
Clouds of smoke, with the bright glare of the fire, shot out of the
rusty stove-pipe in the roof, but I soon discovered that it was the
abode of one who attended strictly to his own business, and expected
the same behavior from his neighbors. So, saying good evening to this
man of solitary habits, I quickly rowed past his floating hermitage
into the darkness of the neighboring swamp. I soon put my own home in
order, ate my supper, and retired, feeling happy in the thought that I
should before long reach a climate where my out-door life would not be
attended with so many inconveniences.
The next day a milder but damper atmosphere greeted me. By noon I had
rowed twenty-two miles, and was off the mouth of Big Bone Lick Creek,
in Kentucky. Two miles from the mouth of this creek are some springs,
the waters of which are charged with sulphur and salt. The most
interesting feature of this locality was the fact that here were
buried in one vast bed the fossil bones of "The Mastodon and the
Arctic Elephant." Formerly these prehistoric relics of a departed
fauna were scattered over the surface of the earth. The first mention
of this locality was made, I think, by a French explorer in 1649. It
is again referred to by a British subject in 1765. A rare copy of a
private journal kept by this early explorer of the Ohio, Colonel
George Croghan, was published in G. W. Featherstonhaugh's "American
Journal of Geology," of December, 1831. This monthly publication ended
with its first year's existence. Only five copies of this number were
known to be in print three years since, when Professor Thomas, of
Mount Holly, New Jersey, encouraged the issue of a reprint of one
hundred copies, from which some of our public libraries have been
supplied.
This Colonel George Croghan, in company with deputies from the Seneca,
Shawnesse, and Delaware nations, left Fort Pitt (Pittsburgh), in two
bateaux, on the 15th of May, 1765, bound on a mission to the Indian
tribes of the Ohio valley. On the 29th of the month the expedition
reached the Little Miami River. Colonel Croghan there commences his
account of the Big Bone Lick region. He says: "May 30th we passed the
Great Miami River, about thirty miles from the little river of that
name, and in the EVENING arrived at the place WHERE THE ELEPHANTS'
BONES ARE FOUND, when we encamped, intending to take a view of the
place next morning. This day we came about seventy miles. The country
on both sides level, and rich bottoms, well watered. May 31st. Early
in the morning we went to the great Lick, where those bones are only
found, about four miles from the river, on the south-east side. In our
way we passed through a fine-timbered, clear wood: we passed into a
large road, which the buffaloes have beaten, spacious enough for two
wagons to go abreast, and leading straight into the Lick. It appears
that there are vast quantities of these bones lying five or six feet
under ground, which we discovered in the bank at the edge of the Lick.
We found here two tusks above six feet long; we carried one, with some
other bones, to our boat, and set off."
In relation to the aboriginal inhabitants of the country of the Ohio
valley, it is interesting to note that the "Six Nations" held six of
the gates to New York, and were strong because they were united, for
Colonel Croghan's enumeration of them shows that they had only two
thousand one hundred and twenty fighting-men, and were never supported
by more than about two thousand warriors from tributary tribes, when
at war with the whites.
That the Iroquois, with their adopted children, have not lost in
numbers up to the present day, is a curious fact. About six thousand
of the descendants of the "Six Nations" are at Forestville, Wisconsin,
on government reservations; and the official agent reports that nearly
two thousand of them can read and write; that they have twenty-nine
day schools, and two manual-labor schools; that they cultivate their
lands so diligently that they pay all the expenses of their living.
They are reported as advancing in church discipline, growing in
temperance; and are making rapid progress towards a complete
civilization.
These six thousand, with other descendants of the Iroquois in Canada,
will no doubt make up a total equal in number to the members of the
old "Indian Confederacy," so graphically pictured in the glowing pages
of Mr. Francis Parkman, the reliable historian, who has given us such
vivid descriptions of the French rule in America as have called forth
the unqualified praise of students of American history on both sides
of the Atlantic.
Having rowed forty-three miles in twelve hours, I reached the town of
Vevay, Indiana, which was first settled by a Swiss colony, to whom
Congress granted lands for the purpose of encouraging grape-culture.
Keeping close under the banks of the river, I entered a little creek a
mile below the village, where a night, restful as usual, was passed.
On Tuesday I rose with the moon, though it was as late as five o'clock
in the morning; but, although fertile farms were stretched along the
river's bank, and the land gave every sign of careful culture, it was
anything but an enjoyable day, as the rain fell in almost
uninterrupted showers from eight o'clock A. M. until dusk, when I was
glad to find an inviting creek on the Kentucky shore, about one mile
below Bethlehem, and had the great satisfaction of logging thirty-
eight miles as the day's run.
It was necessary to make an early start the next day, as I must run
the falls of the Ohio at Louisville, Kentucky, or make a portage round
them. The river was enveloped in fog; but I followed the shore
closely, hour after hour, until the sun dispelled the mists, and my
little duck-boat ran in among the barges at the great Kentucky city.
Here, at Louisville, is the only barrier to safe navigation on the
Ohio River. These so-called Falls of the Ohio are in fact rapids which
almost disappear when the river is at its full height. At such times,
steam-boats, with skilful pilots aboard, safely follow the channel,
which avoids the rocks of the river. During the low stage of the
water, navigation is entirely suspended. The fall of the current is
twenty-three feet in two miles. To avoid this descent, in low water,
and to allow vessels to ascend the river at all times, a canal was
excavated along the left shore of the rapids from Louisville to
Shippingsport, a distance of two miles and a half. It was a stupendous
enterprise, as the passage was cut almost the entire distance through
the solid rock, and in some places to the great depth of forty feet.
On the 25th of September, 1816, when Louisville had a population of
three thousand inhabitants, her first steamboat, the Washington, left
the young city for New Orleans. A second trip was commenced by the
Washington on March 3, 1817. The whole time consumed by the voyage
from Louisville to New Orleans, including the return trip, was forty-
one days. The now confident Captain Shreve, of the Washington,
predicted that steamboats would be built which could make the passage
to New Orleans in ten days. I have been a passenger on a steamboat
which ascended the strong currents of the river from New Orleans to
Louisville in five days; while the once pioneer hamlet now boasts a
population exceeding one hundred thousand souls.
As the bow of my little craft grounded upon the city levee, a crowd of
good-natured men gathered round to examine her. From them I
ascertained that the descent of the rapids could not be made without a
pilot; and as the limited quarters of the sneak-box would not allow
any addition to her passenger-list, a portage round the falls became a
necessity. The canal was not to be thought of as it would have been a
troublesome matter, without special passes from some official, to have
obtained the privilege of passing through with so small a boat. The
crowd cheerfully lifted the sneak-box into an express-wagon, and
fifteen minutes after reaching Louisville I was en route for Portland,
mailing letters as I passed through the city. The portage was made in
about an hour. At sunset the little boat was launched in the Ohio, and
I felt that I had returned to an old friend. The expressman entered
with entire sympathy into the voyage, and could not be prevailed upon
to accept more than a dollar and a half for transporting the boat and
her captain four miles.
When night came on, and no friendly creek offered me shelter, I pushed
the boat into a soft, muddy flat of willows, which fringed a portion
of the Kentucky shore, where there was just enough water to float the
sneak-box. The passing steamers during the night sent swashy waves
into my lair, which kept me in constant fear of a ducking, and gave me
anything but a peaceful night. This was, however, all forgotten the
next morning, when the startling discovery was made that the river had
fallen during the night and left me in a quagmire, from which it
seemed at first impossible to extricate myself.
The boat was imbedded in the mud, which was so soft and slimy that it
would not support my weight when I attempted to step upon it for the
purpose of pushing my little craft into the water, which had receded
only a few feet from my camp. I tried pushing With my oak oar; but it
sunk into the mire almost out of sight. Then a small watch-tackle was
rigged, one block fastened to the boat, the other to the limb of a
willow which projected over the water. The result of this was a
successful downward movement of the willow, but the boat remained in
statu quo, the soft mud holding it as though it possessed the sucking
powers of a cuttlefish.
I could not reach the firm shore, for the willow brush would not
support my weight. There was no assistance to be looked for from
fellow-voyagers, as the river-craft seemed to follow the channel of
the opposite shore; and my camp could not be seen from the river, as I
had taken pains to hide myself in the thicket of young willows from
all curious eyes. There was no hope that my voice would penetrate to
the other side of the stream, neither could I reach the water beyond
the soft ooze. Being well provisioned, however, it would be an easy
matter to await the rise of the river; and if no friendly freshet sent
me the required assistance, the winds would harden the ooze in a few
days so that it would bear my weight, and enable me to escape from my
bonds of mud.
While partaking of a light breakfast, an idea suddenly presented
itself to my mind. I had frequently built crossways over treacherous
swamps. Why not mattress the muddy flat? Standing upon the deck of my
boat, I grasped every twig and bough of willow I could reach, and
making a mattress of them, about two feet square and a few inches
thick, on the surface of the mud at the stern of my craft, I placed
upon it the hatch-cover of my boat. Standing upon this, the sneak-box
was relieved of my weight, and by dint of persevering effort the after
part was successful]y lifted, and the heavy burden slowly worked out
of its tenacious bed, and moved two or three feet nearer the water. By
shifting the willow mattress nearer the boat, which was now ON the
surface of the mud, and not IN it, my floating home was soon again
upon the current, and its captain had a new experience, which, though
dearly bought, would teach him to avoid in future a camp on a soft
flat when a river was falling.
A foggy day followed my departure from the unfortunate camp of
willows; but through the mist I caught glimpses of the fine lands of
the Kentucky farmers, with the grand old trees shading their
comfortable homes. In the drizzle I had passed French's Creek, and
after dark ran upon a stony beach, where, high and dry upon the bank,
was a shanty-boat, which had been converted into a landing-house, and
was occupied by two men who received the freight left there by passing
steamers. The locality was six miles below Brandenburg, Kentucky, and
was known as "Richardson's Landing." Having rowed forty miles since
morning, I "turned in" soon after drawing my boat upon the shelving
strand, anticipating a quiet night.
At midnight a loud noise, accompanied with bright flashes of light,
warned me of the approach of a steamboat. She soon after ran her bow
hard on to the beach, within a few feet of my boat. Though the rain
was falling in torrents, the passengers crowded upon the upper deck to
examine the snow-white, peculiarly shaped craft, or "skiff" as they
called it, which lay upon the bank, little suspecting that her owner
was snugly stowed beneath her deck. I suddenly threw up the hatch and
sat upright, while the strong glare of light from the steamer's
furnaces brought out every detail of the boat's interior.
This sudden apparition struck the crowd with surprise, and, as is
usual upon such an occasion in western America, the whole company
showered a fire of raillery and "chaff" upon me, to which, on account
of the heavy rain, I could not reply, but, dropping backward into my
bed, drew the hatch into its place. The good-natured crowd would not
permit me to escape so easily. Calling the entire ship's company from
the state-rooms and cabins to join them, they used every artifice in
their power to induce me to show my head above the deck of my boat.
One shouted, "Here, you deck-hand, don't cut that man's rope; it's
mean to steal a fellow's painter!" Another cried, "Don't put that
heavy plank against that little skiff!" Suspecting their game,
however, I kept under cover during the fifteen minutes' stay of the
boat, when, moving off; they all shouted a jolly farewell, which
mingled in the darkness with the hoarse whistle of the steamer, while
the night air echoed with cries of; "Snug as a bug in a rug;" "I never
seed the like afore;" "He'll git used to livin'in a coffin afore he
needs one," &c.
The reader who may have looked heretofore upon swamps and gloomy
creeks as too lonely for camping-grounds, may now appreciate the
necessity for selecting such places, and understand why a voyager
prefers the security of the wilderness to the annoying curiosity of
his fellow-man.
The rains of the past two days had swollen the Kentucky River, which
enters the Ohio above Louisville, as well as the Salt River, which I
had passed twenty miles below that city, besides many other branches,
so that the main stream was now rapidly rising. After leaving
Richardson's Landing, the rain continued to fall, and as each
tributary, affected by the freshet, poured logs, fallen trees, fence-
rails, stumps from clearings, and even occasionally a small frame
shanty, into the Ohio, there was a floating raft of these materials
miles in length. Sometimes an unlucky shanty-boat was caught in an
eddy by the mass of floating timber, and at once becoming an integral
portion of the whole, would float with the great raft for two or three
days. The owners, being in the mean time unable to free themselves
from their prison-like surroundings, made the best of the blockade,
and their fires burned all the brighter, while the enlivening music of
the fiddle, and the hilarity induced by frequent potions of corn
whiskey, with the inevitable games of cards, made all "merry as a
marriage bell," as they floated down the river.
In the evening, a little creek below Alton was reached, which
sheltered me during the night. Soon the rain ceased, and the stars
shone kindly upon my lonely camp. I left the creek at half-past four
o'clock in the morning. The water had risen two feet and a half in ten
hours, and the broad river was in places covered from shore to shore
with drift stuff; which made my course a devious one, and the little
duck-boat had many a narrow escape in my attempts to avoid the
floating mass. The booming of guns along the shore reminded me that it
was Christmas, and, in imagination, I pictured to myself the many
happy families in the valley enjoying their Christmas cheer. The
contrast between their condition and mine was great, for I could not
even find enough dry wood to cook my simple camp-fare.
An hour before sunset, while skirting the Indiana shore, I passed a
little village called Batesville, and soon after came to the mouth of
a crooked creek, out of which, borne on the flood of a freshet, came a
long, narrow line of drift stuff. Just within the mouth of the creek,
in a deep indenture of the high bank, a shanty-boat was snugly lashed
to the trees. A young man stood in the open doorway of the cabin,
washing dishes, and as I passed he kindly wished me a "Merry
Christmas," inviting me on board. He eagerly inspected the sneak-box,
and pronounced it one of the prettiest "tricks" afloat. "How my father
and brother would like to see you and your boat!" exclaimed he. "Can't
you tie up here, just under yonder p'int on the bank? There's an eddy
there, and the drift won't work in enough to trouble you."
The invitation so kindly given was accepted, and with the assistance
of my new acquaintance my boat was worked against the strong current
into a curve of the bank, and there securely fastened. I set to work
about my house-keeping cares, and had my cabin comfortably arranged
for the night, when I was hailed from the shanty-boat to "come
aboard." Entering the rough cabin, a surprise greeted me, for a table
stood in the centre of the room, covered with a clean white cloth, and
groaning under the weight of such a variety of appetizing dishes as I
had not seen for many a day.
"I thought," said the boy, "that you hadn't had much Christmas to-day,
being as you're away from your folks; and we had a royal dinner, and
there's lots left fur you--so help yourself." He then explained that
his father and brother had gone to a shooting-match on the other side
of the river; and when I expressed my astonishment at the excellent
fare, which, upon closer acquaintance, proved to be of a dainty nature
(game and delicate pastry making a menu rather peculiar for a shanty-
boat), he informed me that his brother had been first cook on a big
passenger steamer, and had received good wages; but their mother died,
and their father married a second time, and--Here the young fellow
paused, evidently considering how much of their private life he should
show to a stranger. "Well," he continued, "our new mother liked cities
better than flatboats, and father's a good quiet man, who likes to
live in peace with every one, so he lets mother live in Arkansas, and
he stays on the shanty-boat. We boys joined him, fur he's a good old
fellow, and we have all that's going. We git plenty of cat-fish,
buffalo-fish, yellow perch, and bass, and sell them at the little
towns along the river. Then in summer we hire a high flat ashore,--not
a flatboat,--I mean a bit of land along the river, and raise a crop of
corn, 'taters, and cabbage. We have plenty of shooting, and don't git
much fever 'n ager."
I had rowed fifty-three miles that day, and did ample justice to the
Christmas dinner on the flatboat. The father and brother joined us in
the evening, and gave me much good advice in regard to river
navigation. The rain fell heavily before midnight, and they insisted
that I should share one of their beds in the boat; but as small
streams of water were trickling through the roof of the shanty, and my
little craft was water-tight, I declined the kindly offer, and bade
them good-night.
The next day being Sunday, I again visited my new acquaintances upon
the shanty-boat, and gathered from their varied experiences much of
the river's lore. The rain continued, accompanied with lightning and
thunder, during the entire day, so that Monday's sun was indeed
welcome; and with kind farewells on all sides I broke camp and
descended the current with the now almost continuous raft of drift-
wood. For several hours a sewing-machine repair-shop and a
photographic gallery floated with me.
The creeks were now so swollen from the heavy rains, and so full of
drift-wood, that my usual retreat into some creek seemed cut off; so I
ran under the sheltered side of "Three Mile Island," below Newburg,
Indiana. The climate was daily improving, and I no longer feared an
ice blockade; but a new difficulty arose. The heavy rafts of timber
threatened to shut me in my camp. At dusk, all might be open water;
but at break of day "a change came o'er the spirit of my dream," and
heavy blockades of timber rafts made it no easy matter to escape.
There were times when, shut in behind these barriers, I looked out
upon the river with envious eyes at the steamboats steadily plodding
up stream against the current, keeping free of the rafts by the skill
of their pilots; and thoughts of the genius and perseverance of the
inventors of these peculiar craft crowded my mind.
In these days of successful application of mechanical inventions, but
few persons can realize the amount of distrust and opposition against
which a Watts or a Fulton had to contend while forcing upon an
illiberal and unappreciative public the valuable results of their busy
brains and fertile genius. It is well for us who now enjoy these
blessings,--the utilized ideas of a lifetime of unrequited labors,--to
look back upon the epoch of history so full of gloom for the men to
whom we owe so much.
At the beginning of the present century the navigation of the Ohio was
limited to canoes, bateaux, scows, rafts, arks, and the rudest models
of sailing-boats. The ever downward course of the strong current must
be stemmed in ascending the river. Against this powerful resistance
upon tortuous streams, wind, as a motor, was found to be only
partially successful, and for sure and rapid transit between
settlements along the banks of great waterways a most discouraging
failure. Down-river journeys were easily made, but the up-river or
return trip was a very slow and unsatisfactory affair, excepting to
those who travelled in light canoes.
The influx of population to the fertile Ohio valley, and the settling
up of the rich bottoms of the Mississippi, demanded a more expeditious
system of communication. The necessities of the people called loudly
for this improvement, but at the same time their prejudices and
ignorance prevented them from aiding or encouraging any such plans.
The hour came at length for the delivery of the people of the great
West, and with it the man. Fulton, aided by Watts, offered to solve
the problem by unravelling rather than by cutting the "Gordian knot."
It was whispered through the wilderness that a fire-ship, called the
"Clermont," built by a crazy speculator named Fulton, had started from
New York, and, steaming up the Hudson, had forced itself against the
current one hundred and fifty miles to Albany, in thirty-six hours.
This was in September, 1807.
The fool and the fool's fire-ship became the butt of all sensible
people in Europe as well as in America. Victor Hugo remarks that, "In
the year 1807, when the first steamboat of Fulton, commanded by
Livingston, furnished with one of Watts's engines sent from England,
and manoeuvred, besides her ordinary crew, by two Frenchmen only,
Andr Michaux and another, made her first voyage from New York to
Albany, it happened that she set sail on the 17th of August. The
ministers took up this important fact, and in numberless chapels
preachers were heard calling down a malediction on the machine, and
declaring that this number seventeen was no other than the total of
the ten horns and seven heads of the beasts in the Apocalypse. In
America they invoked against the steamboat the beast from the book of
Revelation; in Europe, the reptile of the book of Genesis. The SAVANS
had rejected steamboats as impossible; the PRIESTS had anathematized
them as impious; SCIENCE had condemned, and RELIGION consigned them to
perdition."
"In the archipelago of the British Channel islands," this learned
author goes on to say, "the first steamboat which made its appearance
received the name of the 'Devil Boat.' In the eyes of these worthy
fishermen, once Catholics, now Calvinists, but always bigots, it
seemed to be a portion of the infernal regions which had been somehow
set afloat. A local preacher selected for his discourse the question
of, 'Whether man has the right to make fire and water work together
when God had divided them.' (Gen. ch. i. v.4.) No; this beast composed
of iron and fire did not resemble leviathan! Was it not an attempt to
bring chaos again into the universe?"
So much for young America, and so much for old mother England! Now
listen, men and women of to-day, to the wisdom of France--scientific
France. "A mad notion, a gross delusion, an absurdity!" Such was the
verdict of the Academy of Sciences when consulted by Napoleon on the
subject of steamboats early in the present century.
It seems scarcely credible now that all this transpired in the days of
our fathers, not so very long ago. Time is a great leveller. Education
of the head as well as of the heart has liberalized the pulpit, and
the man of theoretical science to-day would not dare to stake his
reputation by denying any apparently well-established theory, while
the inventors of telephones, perpetual-motion motors, &c., are gladly
hailed as leaders in the march of progress so dear to every American
heart. The pulpit is now on the side of honest science, and the savant
teaches great truths, while the public mind is being educated to
receive and utilize the heretofore concealed or undeveloped mysteries
of a wise and generous Creator, who has taught his children that they
must labor in order to possess.
The Clermont was the pioneer steamer of the Hudson River, and its
trial trip was made in 1807. The first steamboat which descended the
Ohio and Mississippi rivers was christened the New Orleans." It was
designed and built by Mr. N.J. Roosevelt, and commenced its voyage
from Pittsburgh in September, 1811. The bold proprietor of this
enterprise, with his wife, Mrs. Lydia M. Roosevelt, accompanied the
captain, engineer, pilot, six hands, two female servants, a man
waiter, a cook, and a large Newfoundland dog, to the end of the
voyage. The friends of this lady--the first woman who descended the
great rivers of the West in a steamboat--used every argument they
could offer to dissuade her from undertaking what was considered a
dangerous experiment, an absolute folly. The good wife, however, clung
to her husband, and accepted the risks, preferring to be drowned or
blown up, as her friends predicted, rather than to desert her better-
half in his hour of trial. A few weeks would decide his success or
failure, and she would be at his side to condole or rejoice with him,
as the case might be.
The citizens of Pittsburgh gathered upon the banks of the Monongahela
to witness the inception of the enterprise which was to change the
whole destiny of the West. One can imagine the criticisms flung at the
departing steamer as she left her moorings and boldly faced her fate.
As the curious craft was borne along the current of the river, the
Indians attempted to approach her, bent upon hostile attempts, and
once a party of them pursued the boat in hot chase, but their
endurance was not equal to that of steam. These children of the forest
gazed upon the snorting, fire-breathing monster with undisguised awe,
and called it "Penelore"--the fire-canoe. They imagined it to have
close relationship with the comet that they believed had produced the
earthquakes of that year. The voyage of the "New Orleans" was a
romantic reality in two ways. The wonderful experiment was proved a
success, and its originator won his laurel wreath; while the bold
captain of the fire-ship, falling in love with one of the
chambermaids, won a wife.
The river's travel now became somewhat monotonous. I had reached a low
country, heavily wooded in places, and was entering the great prairie
region of Illinois. Having left my island camp by starlight on Tuesday
morning, and having rowed steadily all day until dusk, I passed the
wild-looking mouth of the Wabash River, and went into camp behind an
island, logging with pleasure my day's run at sixty-seven miles. I was
now only one hundred and forty-two miles from the mouth of the Ohio,
and with the rising and rapidly increasing current there were only a
few hours' travel between me and the Mississippi.
Wednesday morning, December 29th, I discovered that the river had
risen two feet during the night, and the stump of the tree to which I
had moored my boat was submerged. The river was wide and the banks
covered with heavy forests, with clearings here and there, which
afforded attractive vistas of prairies in the background. I passed a
bold, stratified crag, covered with a little growth of cedars. These
adventurous trees, growing out of the crevices of the rock, formed a
picturesque covering for its rough surface. A cavern, about thirty
feet in width, penetrated a short distance into the rock. This natural
curiosity bore the name of "Cave-in-Rock," and was, in 1801, the
rendezvous of a band of outlaws, who lived by plundering the boats
going up and down the river, oftentimes adding the crime of murder to
their other misdeeds. Just below the cliff nestled a little village
also called "Cave-in-Rock."
Wild birds flew about me on all sides, and had I cared to linger I
might have had a good bag of game. This was not, however, a gunning
cruise, and the temptation was set aside as inconsistent with the
systematic pulling which alone would take me to my goal. The birds
were left for my quondam friends of the shanty-boat, they being the
happy possessors of more TIME than they could well handle, and the
killing of it the aim of their existence.
The soft shores of alluvium were constantly caving and falling into
the river, bringing down tons of earth and tall forest-trees. The
latter, after freeing their roots of the soil, would be swept out into
the stream as contributions to the great floating raft of drift-wood,
a large portion of which was destined to a long voyage, for much of
this floating forest is carried into the Gulf of Mexico, and travels
over many hundreds of miles of salt water, until it is washed up on to
the strands of the isles of the sea or the beaches of the continent.
Having tied up for the night to a low bank, with no thought of danger,
it was startling, to say the least, to have an avalanche of earth from
the bank above deposit itself upon my boat, so effectually sealing
down my hatch-cover that it seemed at first impossible to break from
my prison. After repeated trials I succeeded in dislodging the mass,
and, thankful to escape premature interment, at once pushed off in
search of a better camp.
A creek soon appeared, but its entrance was barred by a large tree
which had fallen across its mouth. My heavy hatchet now proved a
friend in need, and putting my boat close to the tree, I went
systematically to work, and soon cut out a section five feet in
length. Entering through this gateway, my labors were rewarded by
finding upon the bank some dry fence-rails, with which a rude kitchen
was soon constructed to protect me from the wind while preparing my
meal. The unusual luxury of a fire brightened the weird scene, and the
flames shot upward, cheering the lone voyager and frightening the owls
and coons from their accustomed lairs. The strong current had been of
great assistance, for that night my log registered sixty-two miles for
the day's row.
Leaving the creek the next morning by starlight, I passed large flocks
of geese and ducks, while Whooping-cranes (Grus Americanus) and Sand-
hill cranes (Grus Canadensis), in little flocks, dotted the grassy
prairies, or flew from one swamp to another, filling the air with
their startling cries. Both these species are found associated in
flocks upon the cultivated prairie farms, where they pillage the grain
and vegetable fields of the farmer. Their habits are somewhat similar,
though the whooping-crane is the most wary of the two. The adult
Whooping-cranes are white, the younger birds of a brownish color. This
species is larger than the Sand-hill Crane, the latter having a total
length of from forty to forty-two inches. The Sand-hill species may be
distinguished from the Whooping-crane by its slate-blue color. The
cackling, whooping, and screaming voices of an assembled multitude of
these birds cannot be described. They can be heard for miles upon the
open plains. These birds are found in Florida and along the Gulf coast
as well as over large areas of the northern states. They feed upon
soft roots, which they excavate from the swamps, and upon bugs and
reptiles of all kinds. It requires the most cautious stalking on the
part of the hunter to get within gunshot of them, and when so
approached the Whooping-crane is usually the first of the two species
which takes to the wing. The social customs of these birds are most
entertaining to the observer who may lie hidden in the grass and watch
them through a glass. Their tall, angular figures, made up of so much
wing, leg, neck, and bill, counterpoised by so little body, incline
the spectator to look upon them as ornithological caricatures. After
balancing himself upon one foot for an hour, with the other drawn up
close to his scanty robe of feathers, and his head poised in a most
contemplative attitude, one of these queer birds will suddenly turn a
somersault, and, returning to his previous posture, continue his
cogitations as though nothing had interrupted his reflections. With
wings spread, they slowly winnow the air, rising or hopping from the
ground a few feet at a time, then whirling in circles upon their toes,
as though going through the mazes of a dance. Their most popular
diversion seems to be the game of leap-frog, and their long legs being
specially adapted to this sport, they achieve a wonderful success. One
of the birds quietly assumes a squatting position upon the ground,
when his sportive companions hop in turn over his expectant head. They
then pirouette, turn somersaults, and go through various exercises
with the skill of gymnasts. Their sportive proclivities seem to have
no bounds; and being true humorists, they preserve through their
gambols a ridiculously sedate appearance. Popular accounts of the
nidification of these birds are frequently untrue. We are told that
they build their cone-shaped nests of mud, sticks, and grass in
shallow water, in colonies, and that their nests, BEING PLACED ON
RAFTS of buoyant material, float about in the bayous, and are
propelled and guided at the will of the sitting bird by the use of her
long legs and feet as oars. The position of the bird upon the nest is
also ludicrously depicted. It is described as sitting astride the
nest, with the toes touching the ground; and to add still more
comicality to the picture, it is asserted that the limbs are often
thrust out horizontally behind the bird. The results of close
observations prove that these accounts are in keeping with many others
related by parlor naturalists. The cranes sit upon their nests like
other birds, with their feet drawn up close to the body. The mound-
shaped nests are built of sticks, grass, and mud, and usually placed
in a shallow pond or partially submerged swamp, while at times a
grassy hassock furnishes the foundation of the structure. In the
saucer-shaped top of the nest two eggs are deposited, upon which the
bird sits most assiduously, having no time at this season for aquatic
amusements, such as paddling about with her nest.
[Popular idea of the nesting of cranes.]
The young birds are most hilarious babies, for they inherit the social
qualities of their parents, and are ready to play or fight with each
other before they are fairly out of the nest. A close observer of
their habits writes from the prairies of Indiana: "When the young get
a little strength they attack each other with great fury, and can only
be made to desist by the parent bird separating them, and taking one
under its fostering care, and holding them at a respectable distance
until they reach crane-hood, when they seem to make up in joyous
hilarity for the quarrelsome proclivities of youth."
Like geese and ducks, cranes winter in one locality so long as the
ponds are open, but the first cold snap that freezes their swamp
drives them two or three degrees further south. From this migration
they soon return to their old haunts, the first thawing of the ice
being the signal.
The mouths of the Tennessee and Cumberland rivers were passed, and the
Ohio, widening in places until it seemed like a lake, assumed a new
grandeur as it approached the Mississippi. Three miles below
Wilkinsonville, but on the Kentucky side, I stole into a dark creek
and rested until the next morning, Friday, December 31st, which was to
be my last day on the Ohio River.
I entered a long reach in the river soon after nine o'clock on Friday
morning, and could plainly see the town of Cairo, resting upon the
flat prairies in the distance. The now yellow, muddy current of the
Ohio rolled along the great railroad dike, which had cost one million
dollars to erect, and formed a barrier strong enough to resist the
rushing waters of the freshets. Across the southern apex of this
prairie city could be seen the "Father of Waters," its wide surface
bounded on the west by the wilderness. A few moments more, and my
little craft was whirled into its rapid, eddying current; and with the
boat's prow now pointed southward, I commenced, as it were, a life of
new experiences as I descended the great river, where each day I was
to feel the genial influences of a warmer climate.
The thought of entering warm and sunny regions was, indeed, welcome to
a man who had forced his way through rafts of ice, under cloudy skies,
through a smoky atmosphere, and had partaken of food of the same
chilling temperature for so many days. This prospect of a genial
clime, with the more comfortable camping and rowing it was sure to
bring, gave new vigor to my arms, daily growing stronger with their
task, and each long, steady pull TOLD as it swept me down the river.
The faithful sneak-box had carried me more than a thousand miles since
I entered her at Pittsburgh. This, of course, includes the various
detours made in searching for camping-grounds, frequent crossings of
the wide river to avoid drift stuff; &c. The descent of the Ohio had
occupied about twenty-nine days, but many hours had been lost by
storms keeping me in camp, and other unavoidable delays. As an offset
to these stoppages, it must be remembered that the current, increased
by freshets, was with me, and to it, as much as to the industrious
arms of the rower, must be given the credit for the long route gone
over in so short a time, by so small a boat.
[Stern-wheel Western tow-boat pushing flatboats.]