ADAMS COUNTY--CONTINUED
Page 232
deer and
coons, and, it is
said, occasionally by taking a sheep or a hog, the loss of which may
very reasonably
be charged to the wolves. The poor families of the bark
cutters often
exhibit the very picture of
improvidence. There begins to be a fear among the inhabitants that
speculators
may be tempted to purchase up these waste lands and deprive them of
their present
“range” and lumber. The speculator must still be a non-resident, and
could
hardly protect his purchase. The
inhabitants have a hard, rough region to deal with and need all of the
advantages which their mountain tract can afford.
Mr. CORYELL, from whom we
have
elsewhere quoted, has given us these facts illustrating the changed
condition
of this once wilderness.
“In 1871 Congress gave
all vacant land
in Virginia military district to Ohio, and her legislature at once gave
them to
the Ohio State University. Her trustees had them hunted up, surveyed
and sold
out, and they are all
E. G. Squirer and E. H. Davis, Surveyers.
PLAN
OF THE SERPENT MOUND.
now on the
tax duplicate, and one half our tobacco, for which this county has
become somewhat
noted, is produced east of Brush creek.
Tan bark, hoop poles and boat gunnels are no longer a business. Portable saw mills have peregrinated every
valley and ravine, and very much of the timber (and there was none
finer) has
been converted into lumber for home consumption and shipment to
Cincinnati via
river and railroad. Ten years ago Jefferson township, east of Brush
creek,
polled 500 votes,
to-day 1000, brought about by sale of cheap lands and immigration from
the
tobacco counties of Brown and Clermont and also Kentucky.”
Page 233
THE SERPENT MOUND.
Probably the most
important earthwork
in the West is The Serpent Mound. It is on Brush creek in Franklin
township,
about six miles north of Peebles, Station on the C. & E. Railroad,
twenty-one miles from West Union, the county seat, thirty-one miles
from the
Ohio at Manchester, and five miles south of Sinking Springs, in
Highland
County. The engraving annexed is from
the work of Squier and Davis on the
“Ancient
Monuments of the Mississippi Valley,” who thus made this work known to
the
world by their survey in 1849. Their plan annexed is in general
correct, but
the oval is drawn too large in proportion to the head; and the edge of
the
cliff is some distance from the oval. The appendages on each side of
the head
do not exist. They have been shown by Prof. PUTNAM to be accidentally
connected
with the serpent. The mound was erected
doubtless for worship, and appended to their description of it they
make this
statement:
“The serpent, separate,
or in combination
with the circle, egg, or globe, has been a predominant symbol among
many
primitive nations. It prevailed in Egypt, Greece and Assyria, and
entered
widely into the superstitions of the Celts, the Hindoos
and the Chinese. It even penetrated into
America, and was conspicuous in the mythology of the ancient Mexicans,
among
whom its significance does not seem to have differed materially from
that which
it possessed in the Old World. The fact
that the ancient Celts, and perhaps other nations of the old continent,
erected
sacred structures in the form of the serpent, is
one
of high interest. Of this description
was the great temple of Abury, in
England—in many
respects the most imposing ancient monument of the British islands. It
is
impossible in this connection to trace the analogies which the Ohio
structure
exhibits to the serpent temples of England, or to point out the extent
to which
the symbol was applied in American—an investigation fraught with the
greatest
interest both in respect to the light which it reflects upon the
primitive
superstitions of remotely-separated people, and especially upon the
origin of
the American race”
Public attention has
recently been
attracted to this work through the exertions of Professor F. W. PUTNAM,
of the
Peabody Museum of Cambridge, Mass., who by the aid of some Boston
ladies in the
spring of 1887 secured by subscription about $6,000 for its purchase
and
protection, as it was fast going to destruction. The purchase includes
about
seventy acres of land with the mound, the title vesting in the museum
attached
to Harvard University. This he has laid out
in a
beautiful park to be free to the public, and with the name “The Serpent
Mound
Park.” It is in a wild and picturesque
country and must eventually be a favorite place of public resort. The Professor, who is an accomplished archæologist, regards this as one of the most
remarkable
structures of its kind in the world. His
description of the work is as follows:
“The head of the serpent
rests on a
rocky platform which presents a precipitous face to the west, towards
the
creek, of about 100 feet in height. The
jaws of the serpent’s mouth are widely extended in the act of trying to
swallow
an egg, represented by an oval enclosure about 121 feet long and 6o
feet
wide. This enclosure consists of a ridge
of earth about five feet high, and from eighteen to twenty feet broad. The body of the serpent winds gracefully back
toward higher land, making four large folds before reaching the tail. The tail tapers gracefully and is twisted up
in three complete and close coils. The
height of the body of the serpent is four to five feet, and its
greatest width
is thirty feet across the neck. The
whole length of the mound from the end of the egg on the precipice to
the last
coil of the tail is upwards of 1,300 feet.
The Serpent Mound is not in a conspicuous place, but in a
situation
which seems rather to have been chosen for the privacies of sacred
rites. The rising land
towards the
tail and back for a hundred rods afforded ample space for large
gatherings. The view across the
creek from the preci-
Page 234
pice near the head, and
indeed from the
whole area, is beautiful and impressive, but not very extensive. To
the south,
however, peaks may be seen ten or
fifteen miles away which overlook the Ohio River and Kentucky hills,
while at a
slightly less distance to the north, in Pike and Highland counties, are
visible
several of the highest points in the State. Among these is Fort Hill,
eight
miles north in Brush creek township on the
extreme
eastern edge of Highland County. Fort
Hill is one of the best preserved and most interesting ancient
enclosures in
the State. It is estimated that in the limits of Ohio alone are 10,000 ancient
mounds and
from 1500 to 2000 enclosures. The importance of the study
of the
subject, the present method of procedure and the general progress are
thus
dwelt upon in a lecture delivered by Prof. PUTNAM, Oct. 25, 1887,
before the
Western Reserve Historical Society.
The proper study of
history begins with
the earliest monuments of man’s occupancy of the earth. From study of
ancient
implements, burial-places, village sites, roads, enclosures and
monuments we
are able to get as vivid and correct a conception—all but the names—of
pre-historic times as of what is called the historic period.
The study of archaeology
is now
assuming new importance from the improved methods of procedure.
Formerly it was
considered sufficient to arrange archæological
ornaments and implements according to size and perfection of
workmanship and
call it a collection. But now extended and minute comparison is the
principal
thing. Formerly mounds were said to have
been explore when trenches were dug through them in two directions and
the
contents thus encountered, removed and inspected. Now it is considered
essential to the exploration of a mound that it be sliced off with the
greatest
care and every shovelful of earth examined and every section
photographed. The
skeletons are now also examined with great care, being first gently
uncovered and
then moistened so as to harden them, when usually the bones can be
.moved
without fracture. The record of the excavation of the earthworks where
implements, ornaments and skeletons are found is more important than
the
possession of the objects themselves.
Although an immense field
still remains
to be explored, we have gone far enough to show in a general way, that
southern
Ohio was the meeting-place of two diverse races of people. Colonel
WHITTLESEY’S
sagacious generalizations concerning the advance of a more civilized
race from
the south as far as southern Ohio, and their final expulsion by more
warlike
tribes from the lake region, are full, confirmed by recent
investigations. The Indians of Mexico and South America belong to what
is
called a “short-headed” race, i.e., the width of their skulls being
more than
three-fourths of their length, whereas the northern Indians are all
“long
headed.”
Now out of about 1400
skulls found in
the vicinity of Madisonville near Cincinnati, more than 1200 clearly belonged to a
short-headed race, thus connecting
them with southern tribes. Going further back it seems probable that
the
southern tribes reached America across the Pacific from southern Asia,
while
the northern tribes carne via Alaska from
northern
Asia.
A description of Fort
Hill alluded to
above will be found under the head of Highland County, and that of the
Alligator Mound under that of Licking County.
This last named has been classed with the Serpent Mound, it
having
evidently been erected like that for purposes of worship.
Page 235
TRAVELING NOTES.
As Adam
was the first
to lead in the line of humanity, so it seems proper for Adam to lead,
at feast
alphabetically, in the line o1 Ohio counties; yet it was about the last
visited
by me on this tour.
A
few days before Christmas I was in Kenton. Two or
three points on the Ohio were
to be visited and then my travels would be over. Would I live to finish? Ah! that was a
pressing question. As the end drew near
I confess I was a little anxious Some had
predicted I
would never get through. “Too old.” It is pleasant to be is being petted by the
hotel clerk; it is good to see everywhere young life asserting its
power,
pulling on the heart strings; in its weakness lies
its
strength. Within it is warm, without, intensely cold; the landscape
snow clad.
Day is breaking beautifully and the moon and stars in silence look down
upon
our world in its white shroud. I go out upon the porch and enjoy the
calm
loveliness of the morning coming on in silence and purity.
All of
life does not
consist in the getting of money; with my eyes I possess the stars,
while the
cold, pure air seems as a perfect elixir.
Still there must always be some-
OHIO
RIVER BEACON
encouraged; a
higher pleasure
often comes - from opposition; it enhances victory.
Old age!
that is a folly. Live
young, and you will die young.
Learn to laugh Time out of his arithmetic;
amuse him with some new game of marbles.
Then on some line summer’s day you will be taking a quiet nap,
and when
you awake maybe find yourself clothed in the pure white garments of
eternal
youth.
Tuesday
Morn, Dec.
21.—It is now six o’clock. Am in the office of the St.
Nicholas Hotel at Kenton. A dozen commercial travelers sit
around,
mutually strangers. They sit sleepy in chairs, having just come off a
train:
its locomotive hard by is hissing steam in the cold morning air. A hunting dog lies by the stove and the
landlord’s five-year-old daughter, wearing a checked apron, thing to
mar the
acme of enjoyment and this is mine, the wish that cannot be gratified,
that I
for the time being was transformed into some huge giant, so as to offer
a
greater lung capacity for the penetration of the exhilarating air and a
greater
body surface for it to envelop and hold me in its invigorating embrace;
a
desire also for greater penetration of vision, to take in the stars
beyond the
stars I see. Thus must it ever be-on, on and on, life beyond life,
eternity, God! “Canst thou by searching
find out God?” To find him, to learn him
fully, requires all
knowledge; with all knowledge must come all power.
This can never be, so the mystery of the ages
must continue the mystery of the eternities; still on, on, stars beyond
stars!
It is at
night when in
solitude, far from cold, pure air seems as a perfect elixir. Still
there must
always be some-
Page
236
home and friends, that as one looks up to the
starry dome
the soul responds most fully to the sublimity of creation. Then the
stars seem
as brothers speaking, and say, “We too, O human soul, are filled with
the all
filling sublimity and the eternal vastness. We each see stars beyond
stars;
there is no limit. We know not whence we
came, but we do know that we are created by the Eternal
Incomprehensible Spirit
and cast into illimitable space so that each of us rolls on in an
appointed
orbit. We alike with thee feel HIS presence and worship Him who seems
to say,
Do your work, shine on, shine on, let your
light
illumine the hearts of men that they may be lifted in one eternal song
of
gladness.
It was years ago when, far from home and
friends and
alone with night and solitude I endeavored in verse to describe the
scene
around me, and to express the thoughts that filled me with the all
pervading
sense of the Divine.
ALONE WITH NIGHT AND THE STARS. An Old Man’s Soliloquy. Musing under the leaf-clad porch He sat in
the soft evening air. When zephyrs fragrant fanned his brow, And
tossed the snow locks of his hair. He thus discoursed unto himself within, As though
spirit and soul were two ; Of Nature, the great open book ; Of Mystery, the
old and yet ever new. “Alone with night and the stars
!— Like
specters stand trees on the hill, While insects flash their evening lamps And
piteous cries the whip-poor-will. “Alone with night and the stars
!— The lake
its bosom lays bare And softly it quivers and heaves Little
stars as if cradled there. “Ye stars ! Oh beauteous thine
eyes ! Ye stud
the black dome of night, Thine eloquence greater than words The
silvery speech of the light. “Ye smiled o’er the cot of my youth, My
slumbers watched sweetly above ; And now I am stricken, waxed old, I am
thrilled in the light of they love. “Old I am, and yet I hope young, Light and
love have followed my days ; Eternal youth remains to the soul Responsive
to the good always. “Alone with night and the stars
! It seems
as if every hill, every tree Was thinking, silently thinking,
We are thine, O God, belong
to Thee. “And striking the chords of my soul. From the
farm-house over the lea I hear them singing, sweetly singling ‘Nearer, my
God, nearer to Thee.’ ” When morn broke over the hills Celestial
where no storm ever mars The mortal to youth had arisen, Immortal with
God and the stars. |
It was years ago when, far from home and
friends and
alone with night and solitude I endeavored in verse to describe the
scene around
me, and to express the thoughts that filled me with the all pervading
sense of
the Divine.
Wednesday Morn, Dec. 22.-Am in the Sheridan
Hotel,
Ironton, where that long water ribbon called the Ohio finds for the
people of
the State its southernmost bend, and seems to say “Here shalt
thou come and no farther: beyond thy statutes are of no avail.”
Bellefontaine—Ironton is 220 miles from
Kenton by my
route: I left Kenton after breakfast, stopped two hours at
Bellefontaine and
one at Columbus. I entered Bellefontaine by the train from the north as
I did
forty-years ago; but how different my entrance.
Then it was late in the fall or early winter; I had sketched the
grave
of Simon Kenton a few miles north, when night overtook me it became
intensely
dark, I was on the back of old Pomp, and in some anxiety as I could see
nothing
except a faint glimmer from the road moistened by the rain; a sense of
relief
came when the straggling lights of Bellefontaine burst in view. In the
morning
I awoke to find this place with a beautiful name, little more than a
collection
of log cabins grouped around the Court House square.
I was surprised yesterday to find it such a
handsome little city.
Old Soldiers.—There
in his
office in one of the fine buildings that had supplanted the crude
structures of
the old time, I called upon a young man of whose history I had heard in
my New
Haven home; for he was a youth in Yale when Sumter fell. Then he gave
his books
a toss into a corner and following the flag made a record. He is now
the
Lieut.-Governor of the State, Robert Kennedy.
He is strongly made; a picture of physical health.
He is of medium stature, yet every man who
from love of country has breasted the bullets of her foes will stand in
my eyes
half a foot taller than other men. In this tour I have met many such
and no
matter how humble their position, I feel everywhere like taking them by
the
hand; for they seem as men glorified. My
memory carries me. back to the meeting in
my youth
with soldiers of the American Revolution, venerable men who had come
down from
a former generation, and the people everywhere honored them; they too
were as
men glorified.
Women of the Scioto Valley.—It
was near evening when I arrived at Columbus; where I walked the streets
for an
hour finding them
Page 237
thronged with
people engaged
in their Christmas shopping. On resuming my seat in the cars to
continue south,
I found them filled with women living down the Scioto Valley, some ten,
some
fifty miles away, returning to their homes with packages of happiness.
Two or
three of them were blondes, young ladies of tasteful attire and refined
beauty.
‘This famed valley is of wonderful fertility, equal in places probably
to the
delta of the Ganges where a square mile feeds a thousand.
Almost armies perished here in this valley by
malaria before it was fairly subdued, and could produce such exquisite
fancifully attired creatures as these. Their grandmothers were obliged
to dress
in homespun, dose with quinine, and listen to the nightly howls of
wolves around
their cabins; but these graceful femininities can pore over Harper’s
Bazaar, indulge
in ice-cream
and go entranced over airs from the operas.
By ten
o’clock the
Christmas shoppers had been distributed through the valley and I was
almost
alone when my attention was attracted by a young man near me, of
twenty-two, so
he told me. He said he had been a farm laborer in Michigan, and was
going into
Virginia to begin life among strangers; going forth into the world to
seek his
fortune. He evidently knew nothing of
that country and it seemed to me as though he was under some Utopian
hallucination. His face was of singular beauty. A tall, conical
Canadian black
cap set it off to advantage; his complexion was dark, his teeth like
pearls,
features delicate and eyes radiant. Then
his smile was so sweet and his expression so innocent and guileless
that he
quite won my heart in sympathy for his future. There was some mystery
there. I could
not reconcile his story of being a farm laborer with such refinement.
Wed. Dec.
22. 5 P. M.—As I sat this
morning in a photograph gallery in Ironton, the photographer exclaimed,
“Where
is the Bostonia—that’s her whistle.” “Where is she bound?” “Down the river.” In
a twinkling I decided to go in her and now
just at candle light I’m on the Ohio, sixty miles below Ironton. In this sudden decision to leave I fear I
greatly disappointed Editor E. S. WILSON of the Register, who, having
read my
books in boyhood, had greeted my advent with warmth and expected to
have a day
with me.
The Scotch
Irish.—At
Ironton I had a brief interview with a patriarch now verging on his
80th year. Mr. John CAMPBELL, long identified with the development of
the iron
industry of this locality. In my entire
tour I had scarcely met with another of such grand patriarchal
presence: of
great stature and singular benignancy of expression, he made me think
of George
Washington; this was increased when he told me he was from Virginia. He is from that strong Scotch Irish
Presbyterian
stock that gave to our country such men as Andrew Jackson, John C.
Calhoun, the
Alenxanders of Princeton, Felix Houston of
Texas,
Horace Greeley, the McDowells, etc.
Stonewall Jackson
was one of them, and his famous brigade was largely composed of Scotch
Irish,
whose ancestors drifted down from Pennsylvania about 150 years
ago
and settled in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley about Augusta and
Staunton. They
were never to any extent, more than they could well help,
a slave-holding people; indeed they have been noted for their love of
civil and
religious liberty. While in the American Revolution the Episcopalians
of
eastern Virginia largely deserted their homes, as numerous ruins of
Episcopal
churches there to-day attest, and followed King George, these hard-
headed blue
Presbyterians, “as one of their own writers called them, from the loins
of the
old Scotch Covenanters, were a strong reliance of Washington”
On the Ohio.—How Cheap traveling is by river.
I go, say too miles by water, and pay $2.00 hey
feed me as well as move me; a general custom on the Ohio and
Mississippi river
boats. This is a large comfortable boat, and I’m given ice-cream for
both
dinner and supper, and for drink any amount of Ohio river water, now
filled
with broken ice, a remarkably soft, palatable beverage. Persons
inexperienced
in traveling on the western rivers often see the expression, “wharf
boat” and
it puzzles them. Owing
to the continual changes in the level of western rivers, in seasons.
of extreme flood rising fifty and more feet,
permanent
wharves for the receipt of freight and passengers are impossible. So flat bottomed scows floored and roofed,
called wharf boats are used. The steamboats are moored alongside and
the
passengers go on the wharf boat on a plank, cross it and then on other
planks
reach land. The river passes between the steamboat and wharf-boat with
frightful velocity. The instance is
hardly known of a passenger falling between the two, no matter how good
a
swimmer he was, escaping- death; he is drawn under the
wharf-boat;
many have thus been drowned. “At night light is shed over the scene by 4 huge lump
of
burning coal taken from the furnace and suspended from a wire basket:
if this
does not give sufficient light a handful of powdered resin is thrown on
it.
The
scene at a landing
on a dark night is picturesque. The passengers crowding ashore, the
confusing
yells of the porters on the wharf-boats, the hustling to and. fro of
the deck
hands, while the dancing flames from the burning coal blowing in the
wind
throws a lurid, changing light over the spot, rendering the enveloping
darkness
beyond still more awe inspiring. This with the thought that a fall
overboard is
death makes an unpleasant impression.
Hence as it is excessively dark and I cannot see well after
night I
dread the landing; for a single foot slip may be fatal.
When the
Ohio some
forty years ago was the main artery for traffic and passengers.
Page 238
these river
towns were
greatly prosperous; the river was the continuous subject of
conversation. When neighbor met neighbor
the question would
be “How’s the river?” “Good stage of
water, eh?” Even their very slang came
from it. In expressing contempt for
another they would say, “Oh he’s a nobody-nothing
but
a little stern wheel affair; don’t draw over six inches.”
The Old
Time Traveling upon the
great rivers of the West, the
Ohio and Mississippi, was unlike anything of our day. All classes were
brought
in close social contact often for days and sometimes for weeks
together, and it
was an excellent school in which to observe character. It was as a pilot
on the Mississippi that Mark Twain took some early lessons in the
gospel of
humor which he has since been preaching with such telling effect. And I
think
the people like it for I have ever observed that when a good text is
selected from
that gospel, and a good preacher talks from it, saints and sinners arm
in arm,
alike rush in great waves, till the pews, overflow the aisles, bubble
up and
foam through the galleries, and none drop asleep no matter how lengthy
the
discourse. So Love and Humor with their companions, Good Will and
Cheerfulness,
serene and white robed, take us gently by the hand and lead us over the
rough
places to the ever smiling valleys and to the eternal fountains.
On the
steamboats up
the river, on their way to Washington and Congress, went the great
political
lights of the South and West Henry Clay, Andrew Jackson, Tom Benton,
Gen.
Harrison, Tom Corwin, Yell of Arkansas, Poindexter of Mississippi, and
Col.
Crockett of Tennessee, the hero of the Alamo, whose great legacy was a
single
sentence, “Be sure you are right and then go ahead.” Arrived at
Wheeling the
passengers were packed in stage coaches for a ride of two or three days
more on
the National road over the mountains packed a dozen inside, eight facing-
each other and knees more or less interlocking. At that period the
country east
was cobwebbed with stage roads. The traveling public, men, women and
children,
were crammed into stages and sent tentering
in all
directions up and down the hillsides and through the valleys, the
stages
stopping every ten miles at wayside taverns to change horses, when the
passengers often largely patronized the bar. Now and then an upset from
a
hilarious driver made a sad business of it. The fares in the northern
States
were usually six cents, and in the southern States ten cents a mile.
Steamboat
Racing.--In that -day
on the steamers scenes of dissipation were common. Every boat had its
bar,
liquors were cheap and gambling was largely carried on, knots,
gathering around
little tables and money sometimes openly and unblushingly displayed, as
I saw
when I first knew the river, now nearly half a century ago. Steamboat
racing
was at one time largely indulged in and strange as it may appear, when
a race
was closely contested, the passengers would often become so excited as
to
overcome their beginning timidity and urge the captain to put on more
steam;
then even the women would sometimes scream and clap their hands as they
passed
a rival boat. An explosion was a quick elevating process. The
racing “brag boat,” “Moselle,” which
exploded at
Cincinnati, April 26, 1838, hurled over two hundred passengers into
eternity.
For a few moments the air was filled with human bodies and broken
timber to
fall in a shower into the river and on the shore near by.
The
captain of one of
those large passenger boats was a personage of importance, the lord of
a
traveling domain. His will was law. And
when he carried some notable characters such as Henry Clay or Andrew
Jackson,
his pride in his position one can well imagine. Thorough men of the
world, some
of them were gentlemen in the best sense whose great ambition was to
well serve
the floating populations under their care.
Experience of
an Old Time River Man—A fine
specimen of the old
time ricer men is Capt. John P. Devenny
whom I met at
Steubenville on this tour. He has known the river from early in this
century.
In conversation he gave me some of his experiences.
He was
born in 1810 in
Westmoreland Co., Pa., near the mouth of the Youghiogheny,
pronounced there by the people for short, “Yough.”
In
1815 his father removed with his family to
Steubenville which since has been
the captain’s residence. Steubenville
was the first considerable manufacturing point in south-eastern Ohio,
and his
father put up there the machinery for a large woolen factory, a paper
mill, and
a grist mill. In 1829, at the age of 19,
Mr. Devenny
was an
engineer on a river boat; in 1835, commanded a boat which ran from
Pittsburg to
St. Louis and New Orleans. In the war he
was captain of a transport engaged in the Vicksburg campaign.” In the early days of boating, “said he,
drinking and gambling were almost universal. I found in my first
experiences I
was being drawn into the vortex; the fondness for drink and the passion
for
gaming were getting a hold upon me. I stopped short off and was saved A large part
of
the young men who went on the river died drunkards. Of those who went
with me
on the first boat, the ‘Ruhamah,’ I am the
sole
survivor. On my own boat I never allowed
gambling. I have outlived two generations of river men who have
perished mainly
from intemperance. I ascribe my long life to my refraining from such
habits and
the longevity of my family.” His father
lived to the age of 96, and the captain himself, a large, fine-looking
gentleman,
seems at seventy-six as one in his prime.
An
Amusing Incident occurred
when he
Page 239
was in
command of the
“North Carolina” running from Pittsburg to New Orleans. He started out
from a
port with another boat which had wooden chimneys. She had lost, her
chimneys by
their striking against some trees, and being in haste had constructed
these for
temporary use; boxes of plank they were, fastened together. “I laughed
at the
sight of them,” said Devenny, “when the
captain
replied I would find it no laughing matter: he should beat me into New
Orleans.
We moved along in company when after a few hours we discovered his
chimneys
were on fire. There was great excitement on his boat. He called up his
crew and
we saw them tumble them overboard. We were greatly amused at the sight,
laughing heartily. I thought it was all up with them.
But they had an extra set, had them up in a
twinkling and got into New Orleans first.
Preventing
Explosions.—Captain
Devenny has long held the position of
government inspector
of steamboats. He ascribes explosions as generally if not always
occurring from
the water getting low in a boiler, and then when fresh water is let in
upon the
bare metal thus superheated its sudden conversion into steam rends the
boiler. This is now guarded against by
boring holes in the parts of the boiler that would first become exposed
to the
heat in case of a diminution of water; which holes are plugged with
block tin. At the temperature of 442° the
block tin
melts the holes open, and the steam escaping gives warning, whereupon
the
engineer opens the furnace door and the fire goes down. The plugs are
externally hollow brass screws, the center tin. They are put in from
the inside
of the boiler into which the workman crawls for their insertion.
River
Beacons—In times
there were no
beacons or lights on the western rivers.” There were places then on the
Mississippi,” said Devenny, “where we had
to lie by
all night. Sometimes we had to send a skiff across the river to build a
bonfire
as a guide to the channel. This was constantly changing from year to
year.”
In going
down the Ohio
my attention was arrested by the new feature introduced by the
Government, of
beacons erected on the banks, which greatly lessens the dangers of
navigation.
These are petroleum lamp: commonly set upon posts and shaded b small
roofs as
is shown in the picture. of small steamer, the “Lily,” plies on the
Ohio
between Cairo and Pittsburg supplies oil pays the keepers, puts up new
lights
where wanted and changes the old ones, which often required from the
changes of
the channel.
The
lights are placed
on the channel side of the river, where the water is deep. Sometimes
three or
four beacons are put up on single farm.
The steamers steer from light to light.
The
farmers on the
river largely consign the duty of attending to the lights to their
wives and
daughters who thus earn “pin money,” some few dimes daily for each
lamp. And
the reflection is certainly interesting that along on these rivers,
sweeping
the margins of many states in the aggregate, are hundreds of worthy
thrifty females daily ascending ladders and attending to the lamps; and
among
them all I venture to say no five foolish virgins could be found so
long as
Uncle Sam with smiling visage stands ready with his huge cans to pour
out the
oil.
The
Ascension of Ladders must be
classed as
among the accomplishments of the softer sex. In Vienna and other
continental
cities females carry the hod, and with us that high class, the library women, are
continually going up
ladders while Providence seems to have a watch over the delicate
fragile
creatures in this peril. Alarmed at the sight of an ascension in the
Mercantile
Library of Cincinnati for a book she had wanted, a lady in terror tones
exclaimed, “Don’t go up there for me,
I’m afraid you will fall.” “Humph;” gruffly retorted a voice at her
side, that
of her other half, “that is what she is put here for, to go up ladders!”
In this
connection it
is interesting to mention that the statistics of a public library in
Manchester, England, showed that the average life of a library book was
eighty
readings, when the book would be useless from torn and missing leaves
and
general shackling condition. Where such a book was on a top shelf its
procurement and return would require 160 ladder ascensions ere it could
be
classed as defunct literature.
Thursday
Morn, Dec.
23.-Well, here I am safe in Manchester.
The boat porter took a lantern and holding me by the hand I got ashore
with
perfect ease; a flood of light being thrown on the plank. The porter of
the McDade Hotel, a colored lad, took me
in charge. He also had
a lantern and taking my hand we floundered through the mud up the river
bank,
my rubber sandals getting boot jacked off by the way.
After
leaving my “grip”
at the hotel which faced the river, the boy taking a lantern went with
me to
make a call; but the party was not at home. It is bad to get about in
many of
these places at night. The walks are so
ugly with so many sudden “step up’s” and “go downs,” that it is
dangerous for a
stranger to move about without a lantern or a pilot.
I gave
the boy a good
sized coin for going with me. He could
hardly believe his eyes. “What” said he, “all this?” “Yes.”
I then
sent him out for cigars. When he returned I asked,” How old are you?” “Nineteen.” “Be a good boy,” I rejoined, “and
you will have plenty of friends.” “Yes, I try to be. I don’t drink, nor
use a
tobacco, nor swear.” Thinks I, “that boy .is almost a saint!”
This is
one of the
oldest places in the n State. The tavern is evidently very old;
Page 240
the room I
was in, a
small dingy spot. In ancient days of
free liquor it had been a barroom, doubtless a loitering place for the
scum of
the river and village.
I took
out my
note-book and made some notes while the old clock ticked away
faithfully, not
skipping a single second. My only companion, indeed the only person I
had seen
about the premises, the boy, tipped’ his chair against the wall and
dropping
asleep snored in unison with the clock ticks. Soon my notes were
finished. I
gave him a gentle touch. and then felt as
though I had
a saint in black to light me to bed. All of life does not consist in
keeping
awake. Then how sweet is sleep when without a thought or care of
trouble one
can sink into oblivion while the grand procession of the stars passes
over him.
Blest
sleep which
beguiles with visions of far isles,
So
calm and so peaceful heart can wish for no more.
With
cool, leafy
shades, and green sunny glades,
And
low murmuring waters laving the shore.
Somnus, King of
Sleep, “gentlest
of the gods, tranquillizer of mind
and soother of careworn hearts:” his subjects all welcome him, and nod
at his
coming.
“We are all nodding, nid nod nodding,
We are all nodding at our house
at home.”
Few of
them have their
pride touched as he passes by, and so get mad and grumble, saying, “He
would
not speak to me.”
The Best
Sleep in History.—As long as
the world has stood, Somnus has pursued
his vocation with an industry worthy of all praise. But the greatest of
his feats,
for which we are the most grateful, was in the first exercise of his
power. Way
back in the ages it was, when he put the first man asleep in a garden
and
during that sleep a rib was taken from him, and when he awoke there lay
by his
side amid the fragrance of the flowers a beautiful creature. The doves cooed from among the roses and the
fiat went forth that thereafter man should not live alone.
Thus was marriage instituted with flowers and
love songs, while the bending leaves, its witnesses, whispered of the
great
event, and moved by the unseen spirits, the zephyrs they danced in joy:
it was
the original wedding dance, that in Eden: the dance of the leaves.
But ah! there was a sad omission to that union : no
preliminary
courtship, none of those blissful walks by moonlight in the dreamy
poetic
hours, to throw a halo of romance over love’s young dream, and which
gives to
many a joyous couple in their serene old age their most delicious
sacred
retrospect. Still the moon must later have put in her appearance,
smiling and
happy as she played bo-peep from behind
the soft,
fleecy clouds, and blessed them, as she ever does us all.
The
Blessing of the Moon—We
may all worship and love the moon, so beautiful and so chaste. Silent and solemn are her ministrations. Her soft light drops down from on high
reflects from the bosom of many waters, bathes the mountain sides,
relieves the
gloom of the forest with ribbons of silver, lies over the fields and
habitations of man, touches with the tips of her fingers the clustering
vines
of the trellis, and entering the chamber window spreads her angel light
over
the pure white couch where youth and innocence are sleeping. And the
heart of
man wells up in calm seraphic joy. He
feels it is the power of God and he says: “Great is the gift of human
life that
it is made receptive of such hallowed, chaste beauty.” It is the common
blessing, alike to the lofty and the lowly-the blessing of the beauty
of the
moon.
But I
return from my
allegorical poetical excursion to the McDade,
the
home of my young friend the black boy, Son of Night. At daylight I was
awakened
by music. It was a monotone, especially
grateful as
I was so
nicely nestled. The music was the sound of
a steady pouring down rain on the roof over me; but far above the first
beams
of the rising sun were striking upon the
rolling
mists, lighting them up as an aerial ocean of golden glory: a vast and
awful
solitude of ethereal beauty. Great is
Creation! and the wonder is that it can be,
and our
lives with so little
of real evil.
Winchester is on the line
of the
railroad in the northwest corner of the county, thirteen miles from
West Union.
It has one newspaper, The Signal,
Rufus T. BARID, editor; the Winchester Bank, George BARID, president,
James S.
CRESSMAN, vice-president, L. J. FENTON, cashier; and one Baptist, one
Presbyterian,
and one Methodist Episcopal church; population in 1880, 550; school census, 1886 196; do. at Rome (fifteen miles southeast of West
Union), 160; at Bentonville (five miles southwest of West Union), 142;
Locust
Grove 99, and Sandy Springs 56.
Additional Resources