USA > Ohio > Allen County > Cairo > On the storied Ohio : an historical pilgrimage of a thousand miles in a skiff, from Redstone to Cairo > Part 3
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East Liverpool (44 miles) and Wellsville (48 miles) are long stretches of pottery and tile-making works, both of them on the Ohio shore. There is nothing there to lure us, how- ever, and we determined to camp on the banks of Yellow Creek (51 miles), a peaceful little Ohio stream some two rods in width, its mouth
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On the Storied Ohio
crossed by two great iron spans, for railway and highway. But although Yellow Creek winds most gracefully and is altogether a charming bit of rustic water, deep-set amid picturesque slopes of field and wood, we fail to find upon its banks an appropriate camping- place. Upon one side a country road closely skirts the shore, and on the other a railway, while for the mile or more we pushed along small farmsteads almost abutted. Hence we retrace our path to the great river, and, drop- ping down-stream for two miles, find what we seek upon the lower end of the chief of Kneist- ly's Cluster-two islands on the West Virginia side of the channel.
It is storied ground, this neighborhood of ours. Over there at the mouth of Yellow Creek was, a hundred and twenty years ago, the camp of Logan, the Mingo chief; opposite, on the West Virginia shore, Baker's Bottom, where occurred the treacherous massacre of Logan's family. The tragedy is interwoven with the history of the trans-Alleghany border; and schoolboys have in many lands and tongues recited the pathetic defense of the poor Mingo, who, more sinned against than sinning, was crushed in the inevitable struggle between
37
A World of Woodland
savagery and civilization. "Who is there to mourn for Logan?"
We are high and dry on our willowed island. Above, just out of sight, are moored a brace of steam pile-drivers engaged in strengthening the dam which unites us with Baker's Bottom. To the left lies a broad stretch of gravel strand, beyond which is the narrow water fed by the overflow of the dam; to the right, the broad steamboat channel rolls between us and the Ohio hills, while the far-reaching vista down- stream is a feast of shade and tint, by land and water, with the lights and smoke of New Cum- berland and Sloan's Station faintly discernible near the horizon. All about us lies a beautiful world of woodland. The whistle of quails in- numerable broke upon us in the twilight, suc- ceeding to the calls of rose-breasted grosbeaks and a goodly company of daylight followers; in this darkening hour, the low, plaintive note of the whip-poor-will is heard on every hand, now and then interrupted by the hoarse bark of owls. There is a gentle tinkling of cow- bells on the Ohio shore, and on both are human voices confused by distance. All pervading is the deep, sullen roar of a great wing-dam, a half mile or so down-stream.
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On the Storied Ohio
The camp is gypsy-like. Our washing lies spread on bushes, where it will catch the first peep of morning sun. Perishable provisions rest in notches of trees, where the cool evening breeze will strike them. Seated upon the " grub" box, I am writing up our log by aid of the lantern hung from a branch overhead, while W-, ever busy, sits by with her mend- ing. Lying in the moonlight, which through the sprawling willows gayly checkers our sand bank, the Doctor and the Boy are discussing the doings of Br'er Rabbit-for we are in the Southland now, and may any day meet good Uncle Remus.
CHAPTER IV.
AN INDUSTRIAL REGION-STEUBENVILLE-MIN- GO 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 en- veloped 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 vit- rified-brick works, and iron and steel plants, abound on the narrow bottoms. The factories and mills themselves generally wear a pros-
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On the Storied Ohio
perous 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 in- dustries are making with the once beautiful banks of the river. Each of them has a large daily output of debris, which is dumped un- mercifully 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,
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Forest-mantled Slopes
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 in- dustrial region, and were again in rustic sur- roundings. 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 pilgrim- age, 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, contin- ually giving us fresh vistas, often of surpassing loveliness. The bottoms are broader now, and frequently semicircular, with fine farms
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On the Storied Ohio
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 per- manency in the status quo; doubtless the gov- ernment map of 1881 will remain an authori- tative chart for a half century or more to come.
W-'s enthusiasm for botany frequently takes us ashore. £ Landing at the foot of some
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Botanizing
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 maiden- hair, 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, sub- stantial town of some sixteen thousand inhab- itants. W- and I had some shopping to do
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On the Storied Ohio
there, while the Doctor and the Boy remained down at the inevitable wharf-boat, and gos- siped with the philosophical agent, who be- moaned 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
45
Fit for the Boneyard
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. Par- ticularly 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 mediæval notions of hell comes this fiery scene than anything imagined by Dante. The work- ing 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
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On the Storied Ohio
upon him it would at once be resolved into scalding steam, deserves our sympathy. It is pleasing to find in our friend, the superinten- dent, 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, ap- parently beyond present control, render nuga- tory 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 bench 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 com- mander. 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
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Red Man and White Man
these red Indians. At first, the white colo- nists from Europe were regarded by them as of supernatural origin, and hospitality, vener- ation, 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 suc- ceeded to the sentiment of awe. Like many savage races, like the earlier Romans, the In- dian 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 un- speakably 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,
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On the Storied Ohio
lawless; and under such conditions, clashing was inevitable. But worse agents of discord than the agricultural colonists were the itiner- ants 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 brow- beat 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 honor- ably; 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 malcon- tents, 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
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Civilization against Savagery
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-civiliza- tion 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.
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CHAPTER V.
HOUSEBOAT LIFE - DECADENCE OF STEAM- BOAT TRAFFIC-WHEELING, AND WHEELING CREEK.
ABOVE MOUNDSVILLE, W. VA., Thursday, May 10th .- Our friends saw us off at the gravelly beach just below the "works." There was a slight breeze ahead, but the atmosphere was agreeable, and Pilgrim bore a happy crew, now as brown as gypsies; the first painful effects of sunburn are over, and we are hardened in skin and muscle to any vicissitudes which are likely to be met upon our voyage. Rough weather, river mud, and all the other exigencies of a moving camp, are beginning to tell upon clothing; we are becoming like gypsies in rai- ment, as well as color. But what a soul- satisfying life is this gypsying! We possess the world, while afloat on the Ohio!
There are, in the course of the summer, so many sorts of people traveling by the river,- steamboat passengers, campers, fishers, house-
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51
Skiff Lore
boat folk, and what not, -that we attract little attention of ourselves, but Pilgrim is indeed a curiosity hereabout. What remarks we over- hear are about her,-"Honey skiff, that!" "Right smart skiff!" "Good skiff for her place, but no good for this yere river!" and so on. She is a lap-streak, square-sterned craft, of white cedar three-eighths of an inch thick; fifteen feet in length and four of beam; weighs just a hundred pounds; comfortably holds us and our luggage, with plenty of spare room to move about in; is easily pro- pelled, and as stanch as can be made. Upon these waters, we meet nothing like her. Not counting the curious floating boxes and punts, which are knocked together out of driftwood, by boys and poor whites, and are numerous all along shore, the regulation Ohio river skiff is built on graceful lines, but of inch boards, heavily ribbed, and is a sorry weight to handle. The contention is, that to withstand the swash of steamboat wakes breaking upon the shore, and the rush of drift in times of flood, a heavy skiff is nec- essary; there is a tendency to decry Pilgrim as a plaything, unadapted to the great river. A reasonable degree of care at all times, how-
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On the Storied Ohio
ever, and keeping the boat drawn high on the beach when not in use,-such care as we are familiar with upon our Wisconsin inland lakes,-would render the employment of such as she quite practicable, and greatly lessen the labor of rowing on this waterway.
The houseboats, dozens of which we see daily, interest us greatly. They are scows, or "flats," greatly differing in size, with low- ceilinged cabins built upon them-sometimes of one room, sometimes of half a dozen, and varying in character from a mere shanty to a well-appointed cottage. Perhaps the greater number of these craft are afloat in the river, and moored to the bank, with a gang-plank running to shore; others are "beached," hav- ing found a comfortable nook in some higher stage of water, and been fastened there, propped level with timbers and driftwood. Among the houseboat folk are young working couples starting out in life, and hoping ulti- mately to gain a foothold on land; unfortunate people, who are making a fresh start; men regularly employed in riverside factories and mills; invalids, who, at small expense, are trying the fresh-air cure; others, who drift up and down the Ohio, seeking casual work; and
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Houseboat Folk
legitimate fishermen, who find it convenient to be near their nets, and to move about accord- ing to the needs of their calling. But a goodly proportion of these boats are inhabited by the lowest class of the population, -poor "crack- ers" who have managed to scrape together enough money to buy, or enough energy and driftwood to build, such a craft; and, near or at the towns, many are occupied by gamblers, illicit liquor dealers, and others who, while plying nefarious trades, make a pretense of following the occupation of the Apostles.
Houseboat people, whether beached or afloat, pay no rent, and heretofore have paid no taxes. Kentucky has recently passed, more as a police regulation than as a means of revenue, an act levying a State tax of twenty-five dollars upon each craft of this character; and the other commonwealths abutting upon the river are considering the policy of doing likewise. The houseboat men have, however, recently formed a protective association, and propose to fight the new laws on constitutional grounds, the contention being that the Ohio is a national highway, and that commerce upon it cannot be hampered by State taxes. This view does not, however, affect the taxability of "beached"
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On the Storied Ohio
boats, which are clearly squatters on State soil.
Both in town and country, the riffraff of the houseboat element are in disfavor. It is not uncommon for them, beached or tied up, to remain unmolested in one spot for years, with their pigs, chickens, and little garden patch about them, mayhap a swarm or two of bees, and a cow enjoying free pasturage along the weedy bank or on neighboring hills. Oc- casionally, however, as the result of spasmodic local agitation, they are by wholesale ordered to betake themselves to some more hospitable shore; and not a few farmers, like our friend at Beaver River, are quick to pattern after the city police, and order their visitors to move on the moment they seek a mooring. For the truth is, the majority of those who "live on the river," as the phrase goes, have the repu- tation of being pilferers; farmers tell sad tales of despoiled chicken-roosts and vegetable gar- dens. From fishing, shooting, collecting chance driftwood, and leading a desultory life along shore, like the wreckers of old they naturally fall into this thieving habit. Having neither rent nor taxes to pay, and for the most part not voting, and having no share in the polit-
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Floating Shops
ical or social life of landsmen, they are in the State, yet not of it,-a class unto themselves, whose condition is well worthy the study of economists.
Interspersed with the houseboat folk, al- though of different character, are those whose business leads them to dwell as nomads upon the river-merchant peddlers, who spend a day or two at some rustic landing, while scour- ing the neighborhood for oil-barrels and junk, which they load in great heaps upon the flat roofs of their cabins, giving therefor, at goodly prices, groceries, crockery, and notions, - often bartering their wares for eggs and dairy products, to be disposed of to passing steam- ers, whose clerks in turn "pack" them for the largest market on their route; blacksmiths, who moor their floating shops to country beach or village levee, wherever business can be had; floating theaters and opera companies, with large barges built as play-houses, towed from town to town by their gaudily-painted tugs, on which may occasionally be perched the vocif- erous "steam piano" of our circus days, "whose soul-stirring music can be heard for four miles;" traveling sawyers, with old steam- boats made over into sawmills, employed by
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On the Storied Ohio
farmers to "work up" into lumber such logs as they can from time to time bring down to the shore-the product being oftenest used in the neighborhood, but occasionally rafted, and floated to the nearest large town; and a mis- cellaneous lot of traveling craftsmen who live and work afloat,-chairmakers, upholsterers, feather and mattress renovators, photogra- phers, -who land at the villages, scatter abroad their advertising cards, and stay so long as the ensuing patronage warrants.
A motley assortment, these neighbors of ours, an uncultivated field for the fiction writers. We have struck up acquaintance with many of them, and they are not bad fellows, as the world goes-philosophers all, and loquacious to a degree. But they cannot, for the life of them, fathom the mystery of our cruise. We are not in trade? we are not fishing? we are not canvassers? we are not show-people? " What 'n 'tarnation air ye, anny way? Oh, come now! No fellers is do'n' th' river fur fun, that's sartin-ye're jist gov'm'nt agints! Thet's my way o' think'n'. Well, 'f ye kin find fun in 't, then done go ahead, I say! But all same, we'll be friends, won't we? Yew bet, strangers! Ye're welcome t' all in this yere
C RAFT of this character are to be met throughout the length of the river. They are respectively adapted to all manner of callings-from horseshoeing to sawmilling, junkshops to country stores, photograph galleries to comic opera companies ..
Photograph by Frank A. Gregory
A FLOATING SAWMILL
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The Fire Canoe
shanty boat-ain't no bakky 'bout yer close, yew fellers?" We meet with abundant cour- tesy of this rude sort, and weaponless sleep well o' nights, fearing naught from our comrades for the nonce.
We again have railways on either bank. The iron horse has almost eclipsed the "fire canoe," as the Indians picturesquely styled the steamboat. We occasionally see boats tied up to the wharves, evidently not in commission; but, in actual operation, we seldom meet or pass over one or two daily. To be sure, the low stage of water,-from six to eight feet thus far, and falling daily, -and the coal strike, militate against navigation interests. But the truth is, there is very little business now left for steamboats, beyond the movement of coal, stone, bricks, and other bulky material, some way freight, and a light passenger traffic. The railroads are quicker and surer, and of course competition lowers the charges.
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