An industrial region--Steubenville--Mingo Bottom--In a steel
mill--Indian character.
Mingo Junction, Ohio, Wednesday, May 9th.--We had a cold night upon
our island. Upon arising this morning, a heavy fog enveloped us, at
first completely veiling the sun; soon it became faintly visible, a
great ball of burnished copper reflected in the dimpled flood which
poured between us and the Ohio shore. Weeds and willows were sopping
wet, as was also our wash, and the breakfast fire was a comfortable
companion. But by the time we were off, the cloud had lifted, and the
sun gushed out with promise of a warm day.
Throughout the morning, Pilgrim glided through a thickly settled
district, reminding us of the Monongahela. Sewer-pipe and
vitrified-brick works, and iron and steel plants, abound on the
narrow bottoms. The factories and mills themselves generally wear
a prosperous look; but the dependent towns vary in appearance, from
clusters of shabby, down-at-the-heel cabins, to lines of neat and
well-painted houses and shops.
We visited the vitrified-brick works at New Cumberland, W. Va. (56
miles), where the proprietor kindly explained his methods, and talked
freely of his business. It was the old story, too close a competition
for profit, although the use of brick pavements is fast spreading.
Fire clay available for the purpose is abundant on the banks of the
Ohio all the way from Pittsburg to Kingston (60 miles). A few miles
below New Cumberland, on the Ohio shore, we inspected the tile works
at Freeman, and admired the dexterity which the workmen had attained.
But what interested us most of all was the appalling havoc which these
clay and iron industries are making with the once beautiful banks of
the river. Each of them has a large daily output of debris, which is
dumped unmercifully upon the water's edge in heaps from fifty to a
hundred feet high. Sometimes for nearly a mile in length, the natural
bank is deep buried out of sight; and we have from our canoe naught
but a dismal wall of rubbish, crowding upon the river to the
uttermost limit of governmental allowance. Fifty years hence, if these
enterprises multiply at the present ratio, and continue their present
methods, the Upper Ohio will roll between continuous banks of clay and
iron offal, down to Wheeling and beyond.
Before noon we had left behind us this industrial region, and were
again in rustic surroundings. The wind had gone down, the atmosphere
was oppressively warm, the sun's reflection from the glassy stream
came with almost scalding effect upon our faces. We had rigged an
awning over some willow hoops, but it could not protect us from this
reflection. For an hour or two--one may as well be honest--we fairly
sweltered upon our pilgrimage, until at last a light breeze ruffled
the water and brought blessed relief.
The hills are not as high as hitherto, and are more broken. Yet
they have a certain majestic sweep, and for the most part are
forest-mantled from base to summit. Between them the river winds with
noble grace, continually giving us fresh vistas, often of surpassing
loveliness. The bottoms are broader now, and frequently semicircular,
with fine farms upon them, and prosperous villages nestled in generous
groves. Many of the houses betoken age, or what passes for it in this
relatively new country, being of the colonial pattern, with fan-shaped
windows above the doors, Grecian pillars flanking the front porch, and
wearing the air of comfortable respectability.
Beautiful islands lend variety to the scene, some of them mere
willowed "tow-heads" largely submerged in times of flood, while others
are of a permanent character, often occupied by farms. We have with us
a copy of Cuming's _Western Pilot_ (Cincinnati, 1834), which is still
a practicable guide for the Ohio, as the river's shore lines are not
subject to so rapid changes as those of the Mississippi; but many of
the islands in Cuming's are not now to be found, having been swept
away in floods, and we encounter few new ones. It is clear that the
islands are not so numerous as sixty years ago. The present works of
the United States Corps of Engineers tend to permanency in the
_status quo_; doubtless the government map of 1881 will remain an
authoritative chart for a half century or more to come.
W----'s enthusiasm for botany frequently takes us ashore. Landing at
the foot of some eroded steep which, with ragged charm, rises sharply
from the gravelly beach, we fasten Pilgrim's painter to a stone, and
go scrambling over the hillside in search of flowers, bearing in mind
the Boy's constant plea, to "Get only one of a kind," and leave the
rest for seed; for other travelers may come this way, and 'tis a sin
indeed to exterminate a botanical rarity. But we find no rarities
to-day--only solomon's seal, trillium, wild ginger, cranebill,
jack-in-the-pulpit, wild columbine. Poison ivy is on every hand, in
these tangled woods, with ferns of many varieties--chiefly maidenhair,
walking leaf, and bladder. The view from projecting rocks, in these
lofty places, is ever inspiring; the country spread out below us, as
in a relief map; the great glistening river winding through its hilly
trough; a rumpled country for a few miles on either side, gradually
trending into broad plains, checkered with fields on which farmsteads
and rustic villages are the chessmen.
At one o'clock we were at Steubenville, Ohio (67 miles), where
the broad stoned wharf leads sharply up to the smart, well-built,
substantial town of some sixteen thousand inhabitants. W---- and I had
some shopping to do there, while the Doctor and the Boy remained down
at the inevitable wharf-boat, and gossiped with the philosophical
agent, who bemoaned the decadence of steamboat traffic in general, and
the rapidly falling stage of water in particular.
Three miles below Steubenville is Mingo Junction, where we are the
guests of a friend who is superintendent of the iron and steel works
here. The population of Mingo is twenty-five hundred. From seven to
twelve hundred are employed in the works, according to the exigencies
of business. Ten per cent of them are Hungarians and Slavonians--a
larger proportion would be dangerous, our host avers, because of the
tendency of these people to "run the town" when sufficiently numerous
to make it possible. The Slavs in the iron towns come to America for a
few years, intent solely on saving every dollar within reach. They are
willing to work for wages which from the American standard seem low,
but to them almost fabulous; herd together in surprising promiscuity;
maintain a low scale of clothing and diet, often to the ruin of
health; and eventually return to Eastern Europe, where their savings
constitute a little fortune upon which they can end their days in
ease. This sort of competition is fast degrading legitimate American
labor. Its regulation ought not to be thought impossible.
A visit to a great steel-making plant, in full operation, is an
event in a man's life. Particularly remarkable is the weird spectacle
presented at night, with the furnaces fiercely gleaming, the fresh
ingots smoking hot, the Bessemer converter "blowing off," the great
cranes moving about like things of life, bearing giant kettles of
molten steel; and amidst it all, human life held so cheaply. Nearer to
mediaeval notions of hell comes this fiery scene than anything imagined
by Dante. The working life of one of these men is not over ten years,
B---- says. A decade of this intense heat, compared to which a breath
of outdoor air in the close mill-yard, with the midsummer sun in the
nineties, seems chilly, wears a man out--"only fit for the boneyard
then, sir," was the laconic estimate of an intelligent boss whom I
questioned on the subject.
Wages run from ninety cents to five dollars a day, with far more at
the former rate than the latter. A ninety-cent man working in a place
so hot that were water from a hose turned upon him it would at once be
resolved into scalding steam, deserves our sympathy. It is pleasing
to find in our friend, the superintendent, a strong fellow-feeling
for his men, and a desire to do all in his power to alleviate their
condition. He has accomplished much in improving the _morale_ of the
town; but deep-seated, inexorable economic conditions, apparently
beyond present control, render nugatory any attempts to better the
financial condition of the underpaid majority.
Mingo Junction--"Mingo Bottom" of old--was an interesting locality
in frontier days. On this fertile river beach was long one of the
strongest of the Mingo villages. During the last week of May, 1782,
Crawford's little army rendezvoused here, en route to Sandusky, a
hundred and fifty miles distant, and intent on the destruction of the
Wyandot towns. But the Indians had not been surprised, and the army
was driven back with slaughter, reaching Mingo the middle of
June, bereft of its commander. Crawford, who was a warm friend of
Washington, suffered almost unprecedented torture at the stake, his
fate sending a thrill of horror through all the Western settlements.
Let us not be too harsh in our judgment of these red Indians. At
first, the white colonists from Europe were regarded by them as of
supernatural origin, and hospitality, veneration, and confidence were
displayed toward the new-comers. But the mortality of the Europeans
was soon made painfully evident to them. When the early Spaniards, and
afterward the English, kidnaped tribesmen for sale into slavery,
or for use as captive guides, and even murdered them on slight
provocation, distrust and hatred naturally succeeded to the sentiment
of awe. Like many savage races, like the earlier Romans, the Indian
looked upon the member of every tribe with which he had not made a
formal peace as a public enemy; hence he felt justified in wreaking
his vengeance on the race, whenever he failed to find individual
offenders. He was exceptionally cruel, his mode of warfare was
skulking, he could not easily be reached in the forest fastnesses
which he alone knew well, and his strokes fell heaviest on women and
children; so that whites came to fear and unspeakably to loathe the
savage, and often added greatly to the bitterness of the struggle by
retaliation in kind. The white borderers themselves were frequently
brutal, reckless, lawless; and under such conditions, clashing
was inevitable. But worse agents of discord than the agricultural
colonists were the itinerants who traveled through the woods visiting
the tribes, exchanging goods for furs; these often cheated and robbed
the Indian, taught him the use of intoxicants, bullied and browbeat
him, appropriated his women, and in general introduced serious
demoralization into the native camps. The bulk of the whites doubtless
intended to treat the Indian honorably; but the forest traders were
beyond the pale of law, and news of the details of their transactions
seldom reached the coast settlements.
As a neighbor, the Indian was difficult to deal with, whether in the
negotiation of treaties of amity, or in the purchase of lands. Having
but a loose system of government, there was no really responsible
head, and no compact was secure from the interference of malcontents,
who would not be bound by treaties made by the chiefs. The English
felt that the red men were not putting the land to its full use, that
much of the territory was growing up as a waste, that they were best
entitled to it who could make it the most productive. On the
other hand, the earlier cessions of land were made under a total
misconception; the Indians supposed that the new-comers would, after
a few years of occupancy, pass on and leave the tract again to the
natives. There was no compromise possible between races with
precisely opposite views of property in land. The struggle was
inevitable--civilization against savagery. No sentimental notions
could prevent it. It was in the nature of things that the weaker must
give way. The Indian was a formidable antagonist, and there were times
when the result of the struggle seemed uncertain; but in the end he
went to the wall. In judging the vanquished enemy of our civilization,
let us not underestimate his intellect, or the many good qualities
which were mingled with his savage vices, or fail to credit him with
sublime courage, and a tribal patriotism which no disaster could cool.