Great rivers of the world, as seen and described by famous writers

.,■4 ^ ^ '

r**^

aiatneH ainioerattg ICtfatara

Stliata. Jftm f mrk

CHARLES WILLIAM WASON
COLLECTION

CHINA AND THE CHINESE

THE GIFT OF

CHARLES WILLIAM WASON

CLASS OF 1876

1918

Cornell University Library
GB 1203.S61

Great rivers of the world, as seen and d

3 1924 023 482 619

The original of tiiis book is in
tine Cornell University Library.

There are no known copyright restrictions in
the United States on the use of the text.

http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924023482619

Great Rivers of the World

BOOKS BY MISS SINGLETON

Turrets, Towers, and Temples. Great Buildings of the
World Described by Great Writers.

Great Pictures. Described by Great Writers.

Wonders of Nature. Described by Great Writers.

Romantic Castles and Palaces. Described by Great
Writers.

Famous Paintings. Described by Great Writers.

Historic Buildings. Described by Great Writers.

Famous Women. Described by Great Writers.

Great Portraits. Described by Great Writers.

Historic Buildings of America. Described by Great
Writers.

Historic Landmarks of America. Described by Great
Writers.

Holland. Described by Great Writers.

Paris. Described by Great Writers.

London. Described by Great Writers.

Russia. Described by Great Writers.

Japan. Described by Great Writers.

Venice. Described by Great Writers.

Rome. Described by Great Writers.

A Guide to the Opera.

Love in Literature and Art.

The Golden Rod Fairy Book.

The Wild Flower Fairy Book.

Germany. Described by Great Writers.

Switzerland. Described by Great Writers.

Great Rivers of the World. Described by Great
Writers.

Dutch New York. Manners and Customs of New Am-
sterdam in the Seventeenth Century.

I-H

Great Rivers of the World

As Seen and Described
By Famous Writers

COLLECTED AND EDITED BY
ESTHER SINGLETON

With Numerous Illustrations

NEW YORK

DODD, MEAD & COMPANY

1908

(5c

Copyright, 1908, by
DoDD, Mead & Company

Published, November, igo8

\a)

S-^^I

Preface

RIVERS possess so many varied attractions and have
so many claims on the attention of the student of
science and history, the jJleasure-seeker, the traveller, the
poet and the painter, that no apology need be offered for
gathering into one volume selections from the works of
those who have described some of the most famous streams
of the world. Lyell says : " Rivers are the irrigators of
the earth's surface, adding alike to the beauty of the land-
scape and the fertility of the soil : they carry ofF impurities
and every sort of waste debris ; and when of sufficient vol-
ume, they form the most available of all channels of com-
munication with the interior of continents. They have
ever been things of vitality and beauty to the poet, silent
monitors to the moralist, and agents of comfort and civili-
zation to all mankind."

Thoreau says : " The Mississippi, the Ganges and the
Nile, those journeying atoms from the Rocky Mountains,
the Himmaleh and Mountains of the Moon, have a kind of
personal importance in the annals of the world — the
heavens are not yet drained over their sources, but the
Mountains of the Moon still send their annual tribute to
the Pasha without fail, as they did to the Pharaohs, though
he must collect the rest of his revenue at the point of the
sword. Rivers must have been the guides which conducted
the footsteps of the first travellers. They are the constant
lure, when they flow by our doors, to distant enterprise and

VI PREFACE

adventure, and, by a natural impulse, the dwellers on their
banks will at length accompany their currents to the low-
lands of the globe, or explore at their invitation the interior
of continents. They are the natural highways of all
nations, not only levelling the ground and removing ob-
stacles from the path of the traveller, quenching his thirst,
and bearing him on their bosoms, but conducting him
through the most interesting scenery, the most populous
portions of the globe, and where the animal and vegetable
kingdoms attain their greatest perfection."

In the following pages little will be found dealing with
the material blessings bestowed on mankind by the agency
of rivers. The average reader is more interested in the
antiquarian and legendary lore of the sources, rapids, banks
and islands of a famous stream. Length of course and vol-
ume of water are matters of no importance to lovers of the
picturesque, the venerable, or the romantic. Therefore
the literature of the Shannon is more fascinating than that
of the Amazon, and the Jordan attracts more pilgrims than
the Volga. Small streams like the Wye, the Yarrow, and
the Oise consequently find a place among these celebrated
rivers.

E. S.

New York, October, igo8.

Contents

The Rhine

. Fictor Hugo .

I

The Seine .

A. Boztiman Blake .

8

The Ganges

. Sir William Hunter

'9

Morning on the Gange
CThe Colorado

5 . Pierre Loti

24

. Henry Gannett

z8

The Avon .
^OWN THE St. Lawrenc

. John Wilson Croker

34

s . Charles Dickens

46

The Tigris .

George Rawlinson .

Sz

The Oise .

, Robert Louis Stevenson

'i'i

/The Hudson
The Tiber .

. Esther Singleton

6S

. Strother A. Smith .

76

The Shannon

. Arthur Shadwell Martin

87

The Danube

I. Bozaes

94

The Niger .

. J. Hampden Jackson

lOI

The Amazon

Joseph Jones .

107

The Yangtse Chiang

. W. R. Carles

113

The Thames

. Charles Dickens, Jr.

IZZ

The Connecticut

Timothy Dwight

•31

MOSEL

. F. Warre Cornish .

138

The Irrawaddy .

. Emily A. Richings .

144

The Clyde .

. Robert Walker

^SS

The Volga

. EAsee Reclus .

i6z

The Congo

. J. Howard Reed .

169

The Mackenzie River

William Ogilvie

177

The Loire .

I. Victor Hugo
' II. Honore de Balzac

185
189

The Potomac

. Esther Singleton

191

The Euphrates .

. George Rawlinson .

197

Vlll

CONTENTS

The Wye .

. A. R. Quinton

. ZOI

The Indian River

. L. C. Bryan .

. zo8

The Nile .

I. J. Howard Reed
' II. Isaac Taylor

213
Z19

The Don .

. Elis'ee Reclus .

223

The Columbia

. J. Boddam-Whetham

. 228

The Po

George G. Chisholm

23s

The Menam

. Mrs. Unstvorth

. 241

The Merrimack ,

. Henry D. Thoreau .

249

The Yen-e-say .

. Henry Seebohm

254

The Yarrow

. John MacWhirter .

263

The Mississippi .

. Alexander D. Anderson

272

The Zambesi

. Henry Drummond .

280

The Uruguay

. Ernest William White

286

The Tweed
■Niagara

. Sir Thomas Dick Lauder

293

. John Tyndall.

304

The Niagara River

. G. K. Gilbert

312

The Meu4e .

. Esther Singleton

316

The Rhone

. Angus B. Reach

321

The Yukon

. William Ogilvie

328

The Jordan

. Andrew Robert Fausset

338

The Concord

. Henry D. Thoreau .

343

The Tagus .

. Arthur Shadwell Martin

350

The Indus .

. Edward Balfour

3S4

Illustrations

The Rhine Frontispiece

The Seine ......... 8

The Ganges ........ 20

The Colorado ........ z8

The Avon ......... 34

The St. Lawrence ....... 46

The Hudson 66

The Tiber 76

The Shannon ........ 88

The Danube ........ 94

The Thames . . . . . . . .122

The Connecticut 132

The Irrawaddy . . . . . . . .144

The Clyde 156

The Volga . • , . . . . . i6z

The Congo . . . . . . . .170

The Loire 186

The Potomac ........ 192

The Wye ......... 202

The Indian ........ zo8

The Nile 214

The Don ......... 224

The Columbia ........ 228

The Po 236

X ILLUSTRATIONS

The Menam 242

The Merrimack ........ 250

The Yarrow ........ 264

The Mississippi . . . . . , . .272

The Zambesi ........ z8o

The Tweed ........ 294

The Niagara ........ 304

The Meuse . . . . . . . .316

The Rhone ........ 322

The Jordan ........ 358

The Concord ........ 344

The Tagus . , , . . . , . 3 50

THE RHINE
VICTOR HUGO

I LOVE rivers ; they do more than bear merchandise —
ideas float along their surface. Rivers, like clarions,
sing to the ocean of the beauty of the earth, the fertility of
plains, and the splendour of cities.

Of all rivers, I prefer the Rhine. It is now a year,
when passing the bridge of boats at Kehl, since I first saw
it. I remember that I felt a certain respect, a sort of ad-
miration, for this old, this classic stream. I never think of
rivers — those great works of Nature, which are also great
in history, — without emotion.

I remember the Rhone at Valserine; I saw it in 1825,
in a pleasant excursion to Switzerland, which is one of the
sweet, happy recollections of my early life. I remember
with what noise, with what ferocious bellowing, the Rhone
precipitated itself into the gulf whilst the frail bridge upon
which I was standing was shaking beneath my feet. Ah !
well ! since that time, the Rhone brings to my mind the idea
of a tiger, — the Rhine, that of a lion.

The evening on which I saw the Rhine for the first time,
I was impressed with the same idea. For several minutes
I stood contemplating this proud and noble river — violent,
but not furious ; wild, but still majestic. It was swollen,
and was magnificent in appearance, and was washing its
yellow mane, or, as Boileau says, its " slimy beard," the

I

2 K THE RHINE

bridge of boats. Its two banks were lost in the twilight,
and though its roaring was loud, still there was tranquillity.

Yes, the Rhine is a noble river — feudal, republican, im-
perial — worthy, at the same time, of France and Germany.
The whole history of Europe is combined within its two
great aspects — in this flood of the warrior and of the phi-
losopher — in this proud stream, which causes France to
bound with joy, and by whose profound murmurings Ger-
many is bewildered in dreams.

The Rhine is unique ; it combines the qualities of every
river. Like the Rhone, it is rapid ; broad, like the Loire ;
encased, like the Meuse ; serpentine, like the Seine ; limpid
and green, like the Somme ; historical, like the Tiber ;
royal, like the Danube ; mysterious, like the Nile ; spangled
with gold, like an American river ; and, like a river of Asia,
abounding with phantoms and fables.

Before the commencement of History, perhaps before the
existence of man, where the Rhine now is there was a
double chain of volcanos, which on their extinction left
heaps of lava and basalt lying parallel, like two long walls.
At the same epoch the gigantic crystallizations formed the
primitive mountains ; the enormous alluvions of which the
secondary mountains consist were dried up ; the frightful
heap, which is now cold, and snow accumulated on them,
from which two great streams issued, the one — flowing to-
wards the north, crossed the plains, encountered the sides
of the extinguished volcanos, and emptied itself into the
ocean; the other, taking its course westward, fell from
mountain to mountain, flowed along the side of the block
of extinguished volcanos, which is now Ardache, and was
finally lost in the Mediterranean. The first of those inun-
dations is the Rhine, and the second the Rhone.

THE RHINE 3

From historical records we find that the first people who
took possession of the banks of the Rhine were the half-
savage Celts, who were afterwards named Gauls by the
Romans. When Rome was in its glory, Caesar crossed the
Rhine, and shortly afterwards the whole of the river was
under the jurisdiction of his empire. When the Twenty-
second Legion returned from the siege of Jerusalem, Titus
sent it to the banks of the Rhine, where it continued the
work of Martius Agrippa. The conquerors required a town
to join Melibocus to Taunus ; and Moguntiacum, begun
by Martius, was founded by the Legion, built by Trajan,
and embellished by Adrian. Singular coincidence ! and
which we must note in passing. This Twenty-second
Legion brought with it Crescentius, who was first that car-
ried the Word of God into the Rhingau, and founded the
new religion. God ordained that these ignorant men, who
had pulled down the last stone of His temple upon the
Jordan, should lay the first of another upon the banks of
the Rhine. After Trajan and Adrian came Julian, who
erected a fortress upon the confluence of the Rhine and the
Moselle; then Valentinian, who built a number of castles.
Thus in a few centuries, Roman colonies, like an immense
chain, linked the whole of the Rhine.

At length the time arrived when Rome was to assume
another aspect. The incursions of the Northern hordes
were eventually too frequent and too powerful for Rome ; so,
about the Sixth Century, the banks of the Rhine were
strewed with Roman ruins, as at present with feudal ones.

Charlemagne cleared away the rubbish, built fortresses,
and opposed the German hordes; but notwithstanding his
desire to do more, Rome died, and the physiognomy of the
Rhine was changed.

4 THE RHINE

Already, as I before mentioned, an unperceived germ was
sprouting in the Rhingau. Religion, that divine eagle, be-
gan to spread its wings, and deposited among the rocks an
egg that contained the germ of a world. St. Apollinaire,
following the example of Crescentius, who, in the year
70 preached the Word of God at Taunus, visited Rigo-
magum. St. Martin, Bishop of Tours, catechized Con-
fluentia ; St. Materne, before visiting Tongres, resided at
Cologne. At Treves, Christians began to suffer the death
of martyrdom, and their ashes were swept away by the
wind ; but these were not lost, for they became seeds,
which were germinating in the fields during the passage of
the barbarians, although nothing at that time was seen of
them.

After an historical period the Rhine became linked with
the marvellous. Where the noise of man is hushed. Na-
ture lends a tongue to the nest of birds, causes the caves to
whisper, and the thousand voices of solitude to murmur;
where historical facts cease, imagination gives life to shad-
ows and realities to dreams. Fables took root, grew, and
blossomed in the voids of History, like weeds and brambles
in the crevices of a ruined palace.

Civilization, like the sun, has its nights and its days, its
plenitudes and its eclipses ; now it disappears, but soon re-
turns.

As soon as civilization again dawned upon Taunus, there
were upon the borders of the Rhine a whole host of legends
and fabulous stories. Populations of mysterious beings,
who inhabited the now dismantled castles, had held com-
munion with the belles filles and beaux chevaliers of the place.
Spirits of the rocks ; black hunters, crossing the thickets
upon stags with six horns ; the maid of the black fen ; the

THE RHINE 5

six maidens of the red marshes ; Wodan, the god with ten
hands ; the twelve black men ; the raven that croaked its
song ; the devil who placed his stone at Teufelstein and his
ladder Teufelsleiter, and who had the effrontery to preach
publicly at Gernsbach, near the Black Forest, but, happily,
the Word of God was heard at the other side of the stream ;
the demon, Urian, who crossed the Rhine at Dusseidorf,
having upon his back the banks that he had taken from the
sea-shore, with which he intended to destroy Aix-la-
Chapelle, but 'being fatigued with his burden, and deceived
by an old woman, he stupidly dropped his load at the im-
perial city, where that bank is at present pointed out, and
bears the name of Loosberg. At that epoch, which for us
was plunged into a penumbra, when magic lights were
sparkling here and there, when the rocks, the woods, the
valleys, were tenanted by apparitions; mysterious encounters,
infernal castles, melodious songs sung by invisible song-
stresses ; the frightful bursts of laughter emanating from
mysterious beings, — these, with a host of other adventures,
shrouded in impossibility, and holding on by. the heel of
reality, are detailed in the legends.

At last these phantoms disappear as dawn bursts in upon
them. Civilization again resumed its sway, and fiction
gave place to fact. The Rhine assumed another aspect :
abbeys and convents increased ; churches were built along
the banks of the river. The ecclesiastic princes multiplied
the edifices in the Rhingau, as the prefects of Rome had
done before them.

The Sixteenth Century approached : in the Fourteenth the
Rhine witnessed the invention of artillery ; and on its bank,
at Strasbourg, a printing-office was first established. In
1400 the famous cannon, fourteen feet in length, was cast

6 THE RHINE

at Cologne; and in 1472 Vindelin de Spire printed his
Bible. A new world was making its appearance; and,
strange to say, it was upon the banks of the Rhine that
those two mysterious tools with which God unceasingly
works out the civilization of man, — the catapult and the
book — war and thought, — took a new form.

The Rhine, in the destinies of Europe, has a sort of
providential signification. It is the great moat which
divides the north from the south. The Rhine for thirty
ages, has seen the forms and reflected the shadows of almost
all the warriors who tilled the old continent with that' share
which they call sword. Caesar crossed the Rhine in going
to the south; Attila crossed it when descending to the
north. It was here that Clovis gained the battle of
Tolbiac ; and that Charlemagne and Napoleon figured.
Frederick Barbarossa, Rudolph of Hapsbourg, and Fred-
erick the First, were great, victorious, and formidable when
here. For the thinker, who is conversant with History,
two great eagles are perpetually hovering over the Rhine —
that of the Roman legions, and that of the French
regiments. The Rhine — that noble flood, which the Ro-
mans named Rhenus superbus, bore at one time upon its
surface bridges of boats, over which the armies of Italy,
Spain, and France poured into Germany, and which, at a
later date, were made use of by the hordes of barbarians
when rushing into the ancient Roman world : at another,
on its surface it floated peaceably the fir-trees of Murg and
St. Gall, the porphyry and the marble of Bale, the salt of
Karlshall, the leather of Stromberg, the quicksilver of Lans-
berg, the wine of Johannisberg, the slates of Coab, the
cloth and earthenware of Wallendar, the silks and linens of
Cologne. It majestically performs its double function of

THE RHINE 7

flood of war and flood of peace, having, without interrup-
tion, upon the ranges of hills which embank the most
notable portion of its course, oak-trees on the one side and
vine-trees on the other — signifying strength and joy.

For Homer the Rhine existed not ; for Virgil it was only
a frozen stream — Frigiora Rheni ; for Shakespeare it was
the " beautiful Rhine " ; for us it is, and will be to the day
when it shall become the grand question of Europe, a pic-
turesque river, the resort of the unemployed of Ems, of
Baden, and of Spa.

THE SEINE
A. BOWMAN BLAKE

FEW persons outside of France have any acquaintance
with, or knowledge of, the rare beauties of Seine scenery.
The river has thus far escaped the vulgarity of becoming a
common tourist's high-road. The general impression is
current that the Seine, being destitute of the legendary ro-
mance of the vine-clad Rhine, the vivid and somewhat
spectacular scenic effects of the Italian lakes, or even the
lawn-like finish of the Thames, offers no attractions to
either amateur or tourist. This opinion only proves the
falsity of opinion based upon superficial knowledge. From
the artistic point of view, perhaps, no other one river in
Europe possesses a character of scenery so preeminently
beautiful, or so replete with the charm of contrast, or rich
in variety ; for the picturesque portions of the noble river
are by no means confined to the grandeur and wildness of
the Fontainebleau forests, or of the animated quays and
crumbling Mediaeval houses of the ancient city of Rouen.

t4

z.

THE SEINE 9

is, perhaps, that no other European river scenery has had so
overwhelming an influence upon modern Art. During the
past forty years, in which the Seine and its tributaries have
been the principal camping-ground of the best French land-
scape-painters, the peculiarities of its scenery, and the fea-
tures of its rustic life, have formed the taste, and developed a
wholly original mode of treatment oi genre and landscape in
the modern French school. The two principal character-
istics of the scenery of the Seine are its naturalness, and its
possessing in the highest degree that individuality which marks
its landscapes as distinctively French. The Seine could
never be mistaken at any point for other than a French
river. The Parisian masters, in transferring to their can-
vasses the peculiarities of the river and shore aspects, have
produced a school of landscape as essentially national in
character as that which marks the Dutch and Flemish mas-
terpieces of two hundred years ago. The low wide mea-
dows, the stately poplars, the reedy shores, and the delicate
atmosphere which veils the jumble of roofs, and the quaint
towers and turrets that are lanced from the Seine shores,
have already become as familiar features of modern French
landscape, as the cone-shaped hills of Flanders and the flat
windmill-dotted fields of Holland, which makes the char-
acter of the landscape in Dutch and Flemish canvasses.

I have spoken of the naturalness of the Seine landscape.
It is this which makes its lasting charm. Along these
banks Nature neither rises to the sublime nor does she ap-
pear in too wild or dishevelled a state. There is a happy
blending of the cultivated and the uncultivated, of course
tamed and yet enjoying the wilder abandon of freedom.
Nowhere are the scenes too grand or too wide for the pen-
cil ; the hills suggest, but do not attain, the majestic ; the

10 THE SEINE

wide, flat fields and the long stretches of meadows are
broken into possible distances by a gently sloping ground,
or an avenue of tall poplars. The villages and farm-houses
dotted along its banks wear a thoroughly rustic air; the
villas and chateaux crowning its low hills become naturally
a part of the landscape by their happy adaptation, architec-
turally, to the chiaracter of their surroundings ; while the not
infrequent ruins of monastery or ancient castle group charm-
ingly with the fluffy foliage and dense shrubbery.

Perhaps the impressionist's most ideal landscape would be
found among the villages of the upper Seine, that part of
the Seine which flows between Fontainebleau and Rouen,
as beyond Rouen the river takes on a stronger and bolder
character both in its breadth and in the quality of its
scenery.

First in point of beauty among the villages contiguous to
Fontainebleau, is Gretz, a little village not directly upon
the Seine, but upon its tributary, the Loing. Gretz can be
reached in an hour's drive from the town or palace of Fon-
tainebleau. This charming village must have grown here,
close to the low sweet level of the winding river's banks,
with a view to its being sketched. Not a feature necessary
to the making of a picture is wanting. The village street
lies back some distance from the shore, the backs of the
houses fronting on the river, the village and river life made
one by the straggling rose, fruit, and vegetable gardens run-
ning down between their high stone-wall enclosures to the
very edges of the swiftly flowing streams. As one views
the village from the mid-stream, one has the outlined irreg-
ularity of the village houses limned against the sky. To
the right, between the tall grenadier-like poplars, or the
higher branches of the willow, rises a beautiful group of old

THE SEINE II

buildings; the blue spaces of the sky are seen through the
arches and ruins of the old chateau of La Reine Blanche,
that queen having made, centuries ago, Gretz her dwelling
place. The massive, simple lines of the castle's Norman
tower contrast finely with the belfry of the still more ancient
church close beside it, the dark facades of these old build-
ings being relieved by the gay touches of colour upon the
adjacent houses. A queer old bridge appears to leap di-
rectly from the very courtyard of the chateau to the oppo-
site shore, and on the bridge is constantly moving some
picture of rustic life, peasants with loads of grapes or
fagots, a herd of oxen laboriously dragging the teeming hay-
cart, a group of chattering villagers, or the shepherd leading
his flock to richer pastures. The river banks themselves
are not wanting in the beauty of human activity. In the
gardens, as our boat drifted along the banks, were half-a-
dozen bent old women weeding, sowing, and plucking.
Farther down, beyond the bridge, is the washerwomen's
stand, the bare arms, short skirts, and gay kerchiefs of these
sturdy peasant women, with the bits of colour their home-
spun linens yield, making delightful contrasts with the del-
icate arabesques which light foliage made against the sky.

The upper valley of the Seine, that portion of the river
lying between Paris and Rouen, seems at a first glance to be
a country as sterile in artistic resources as it is interesting
to the average tourist. But the French artist, so far from
finding the flat, wride stretches of field and meadow, the
scanty foliage, and the scattered group of farm-houses which
border the river banks, either too prosaic or too trite for his
pencil, has discovered from a close study of this apparently
common-place valley scenery a new feature of landscape
beauty. This feature has been the present original treat-

12 THE SEINE

ment of the flat surfaces of ground and of large sunlit
spaces. The character of all this valley scenery may be
summed up in a few words ; tilled fields running down to
the water's edge; wild uncultivated fields and rank dank
meadows, their flatness broken here and there by a cluster-
ing group of low shrubbery, by rows of the slim, straight
French poplars, or an avenue of stunted, bulbous-trunk
willows, with their straight, reed-like branches. The entire
landscape has but two lines, the horizontality of the
meadows and the perpendicular uprising of the trees, except
that far off in the distance run the waving outlines of the
hills of Normandy. Such is the aspect of the country in
which some of the first among contemporaneous French
artists have found new sources of inspiration. Those wide,
sunlit meadows, breathing the rich luxuriance of nature in
undisturbed serenity ; the golden spaces of the air shimmer-
ing like some netted tissue between tree and tree ; the
shadows cast by a single tree across the length of the field ;
an intimate knowledge and study of this landscape have
taught the French brush the secret of its power in painting
a flat picture, and in wresting from sunlight the glory of its
gold. The peculiar qualities of the atmosphere at certain
seasons of the year make the Seine valley entrancing,
especially to Art Students. In the spring, nothing can ex-
ceed the delicacy, purity and fineness of the colouring of
the foliage, and the tones of light are marvellous in their
dainty refinement and suggestiveness. Nature seems to be
making a sketch in outline of a picture, which summer is
to fill in, so pure are the outlines of foliage and landscape in
that wonderful medium of delicately coloured ether. In
summer, sunlight fairly drenches the fields. Autumn
colours, also, here seem richer, firmer, more glowing than in

THE SEINE 13

other parts of France, and the October twilights in their
brilliance and duration approach an American tint.

The first breaks in the monotony of the valley scenery
are the approaches to, and the immediate suburbs about,
Rouen. The river banks just below are particularly
picturesque. The river between Rouen and La Bouille as-
sumes a character different from that which marks it above
a city. It was my special good fortune to traverse this
portion sometime before sunrise. We left the city behind
us masked in grey mist, only the iron fleche of the cathedral
piercing the cottony wrappings. On the motionless Seine
not a ripple was astir, and the morning fog held leaves and
trees in a close, breathless embrace. But at Croisset, with
the shooting of the sun above the horizon came the melting
hues and freshening breath of morning. As the clouds,
slowly rolled apart, gave us glimpses of the magnificent
panorama of Rouen set in its circlet of hills, the effect was
that of the gradual lifting of a drop-curtain upon some fine
scenic landscape. The river itself was a jewel of colour,
reflecting the faintly tinted shipping along the wharves, the
rich emerald of the trees, and the shadowy grasses along
the shore. The steamer on its way steers in and out among
a hundred little islands which give a magical effect of en-
chantment, so fairy-like and exquisite are their shapes and
forms. With Croisset, Hautot, Loquence, and Sahurs, the
majesty of the Rouen quays, wharves, spires, and cathedral
towers gives place to the richer, softer beauty of rural vil-
lage loveliness. But the most beautiful picture greeted our
eyes as we approached La Bouille, which is picturesquely
set against the greenery of a hilly back-ground, its bright,
light-coloured houses so close to the water's edge that the
river was like a broken rainbow of colour, reflecting their

14 THE SEINE

tints in its ripples. Across the river was a magnificent ex-
panse of meadow and tilled field, with a poplar now and
then to serve as a sentinel guarding the bursting grain.
The banks of the river are delightfully diversified by
clusters of old thatched farm-houses, spreading fishing-nets,
and old boats moored in tiny creeks. As we passed the last
of the village houses, there were some wonderful eiFects of
light and colour ; all the confused indecision of light scurry-
ing clouds piled above the meadows ; the uncertain vague-
ness of a mist rolling still, like the skirts of a fleecy robe,
over the distant river bends ; and immediately above us the
warmth, brilliance, and goldenness of sunrise in its early
splendour. Couched amidst the mysterious shade of some
dense foliage was the bending form of an old woman, fill-
ing her pitcher at the river-side, scarlet kerchiefed and dun
skirted. OfF in the grey distance was the figure of a
peasant woman carrying her child upon her back, her tall,
straight form magnified into strange attitude by the misty
atmosphere. A brush capable of strong handling, and an
eye trained to seize the more fleeting beauties of nature,
would have found in this La Bouille picture a poem of
colour and tenderness.

I have already mentioned the naturalness of the rustic
life of the Seine fields and farm-houses. The sturdy
simplicity of the Normandy peasant is his well-known
characteristic. The farmers at the plough, the fishermen
mending their nets, the shepherd tending his flocks, are not
the least poetic of the elements which make the charm of
this river scenery. There reigns here an Arcadian calm,
a certain patriarchal simplicity. The complicated ingenui-
ties and labour-saving machines of modern invention have
not as yet become the fashion among the Normandy

THE SEINE 15

peasant-farmers, and thus every agricultural implement,
seen out-of-doors, seems available for an artist's purpose.
The ploughs are marvels of ancient construction ; oxen and
horses are harnessed in ways known only to those who
have learned the science as a secret handed down from sire
to son ; and carts, threshing-machines, rakes, and hoes have
an air of venerability that matches well with the old gabled
houses and worn rustic dress of the farmers. It is this
aspect of age which imparts such beautiful low tones of
colour to the pictures of human life along these shores.
There are no flaring, flashing hues, no brilliant dashes of
colour ; instead, the tones of landscape, sky, atmosphere,
and the human life blend in a beautiful harmony of soft
low tints. In matters of toilet, the Normandy peasant's
taste is perfect. The farmers wear blouses of dark, sober
blues ; the women short skirts of dull green, brown or
home-spun grey ; their aprons are snuff-colour or lilac, and
their close-fitting embroidered cap, or the coloured kerchief
tied over their heads, brings into admirable relief their bril-
liant complexions, strong prominent features, and flaxen
tresses.

In that morning's journey from Rouen to Havre we en-
joyed a delightful variety of out-door life. In the early
sunrise hours there were visible the first symptoms of the
farm-house in early rising. The farmer was seen striding
over the dew-wet meadows to open barns or to drive forth
the cattle; women were busy milking, and the children
trudging to the river with pails and pitchers to be filled.
Later, the fields were alive with the ploughmen's cries, and
men and women were starting out, rakes and scythes in
hand, for their day's work ; children stood up to their chins
in the yellow grain, in the midst of the scarlet coquelicots and

1 6 THE SEINE

the star-eyed daisies. Towards noon there was a pretty
picture of a farmer wheeling along the river bank a huge
load of green grass, atop of which were seated two round,
moon-faced children whose laps and hands were full of the
brilliant field-flowers. Behind them walked the mother
with a rake slung over her shoulder, her short skirts and
scant draperies permitting a noble freedom of step and
movement, her head- poised as only the head of a woman
used to the balancing of heavy burdens is ever held. Hers
was altogether a striking figure, and the brush of VoUen or
of Breton would have seized upon her to embody the type
of one of his rustic beauties, whose mingled fierceness and
grace make their peasants the rude goddesses of the plough.

One of the chief charms of the Seine scenery is the
variety and contrast its shores present. One passes directly
from the calm and the rural naturalness of sloping meadows
fringed with osiers, willows, and poplars, to the walled
quays of Caudebec, with its spires, broad avenues, and
garden-enclosed houses. Caudebec is characterized by an
imposing chateau crowning its hillside, by beautiful gardens,
terraces, its long row of " striped " houses stretching along
its quays, and the beauty of its cathedral spire rising above
the tree-trops.

Perhaps Villequier may be said to be the culminating
point of beauty upon the Seine. Here the river seems only
like a large lake, a fact which invests the landscape with its
noble uprising hills and the beautiful, thickly wooded spurs
of the hillocks, with something of the rounded finished as-
pect which belongs to lake scenery. The lovely village of
Villequier itself peeps in and out of its encompassing trees
as if with a conscious air of coquetry. The bright, gaily
coloured houses grouped upon the water's edge give a touch

THE SEINE 17

of Italian brilliancy to the scene, while its fine chateau
of Villequier^and the old Gothic spire of the village church
add the noble lines to the ensemble.

This bay of Villequier is the beginning of the bolder
beauty of the Seine scenery. Its quieter aspects lie above
Villequier. The artist in search of striking scenes and a
rich variety of contrasts will find this part of the river
afford fine material. On the way to Quilleboeuf and Tan-
carville the shores of the river assume a hundred different
aspects. There is the forest of Bretonne, the lovely valley
of the Bolbec, the beautiful chateau of Etalan, and the
ruins of the Twelfth Century church. Quilleboeuf itself
stands boldly out into the river, perched upon a spur of
rising ground, and is, perhaps, the most pretentious town
upon the Seine. After Quilleboeuf and Tancarville the
loftier hills and thickly wooded shores of the river give
place to wide, flat marshes and open valleys. The marshes
just beyond Quilleboeuf are, to our taste, its most distin-
guishing beauty ; they run directly out to the most distant
points of the horizon, and the rich yellow-green grass, with
its brilliant bouquets of wild flowers scattered profusely over
the flat treeless surface, makes a kaleidoscope of colour un-
der the broad unbroken splendour of the noon-day sun.
Cattle in large herds, horses, and sheep, pasture upon the
rich meadows, so that the animal-painter finds here a superb'
landscape for the setting of his ruminating cows, fleecy
sheep, or wild unbridled colts.

Just beyond these meadows the Seine loses all the char-
acter of a river. It has assumed, before its final plunge
into the ocean, the turbulent, tumultuous aspect of a small
sea, and like a lover wearing his lady's colours, the river
turns to the deeper greys and colder blues of the sea's dark

1 8 THE SEINE

tint. The boat stops long enough at the wonderful old
seaport town of Honfleur for one to catch a glimpse of its
quaint turreted houses, its crooked narrow streets, its
wharves with their picturesque assemblage of lateen-shaped
sails. Then Havre is reached, and with those swarming
quays and bright pebbly shores the Seine is lost in the great
Atlantic.

THE GANGES

SIR WILLIAM W. HUNTER

OF all great rivers on the surface of the globe, none
can compare in sanctity with the Ganges, or
Mother Ganga, as she is affectionately called by devout
Hindus. From her source in the Himalayas, to her mouth
in the Bay of Bengal, her banks are holy ground. Each
point of junction of a tributary with the main stream has its
own special claims to sanctity. But the tongue of land at
Allahabad, where the Ganges unites with her great sister
river the Jumna, is the true Prayag., the place of pilgrimage
whither hundreds of thousands of devout Hindus repair to
wash away their sins in her sanctifying waters. Many of
the other holy rivers of India borrow their sanctity from a
supposed underground connection with the Ganges. This
fond fable recalls the primitive time when the Aryan race
was moving southward with fresh and tender recollections
of the Gangetic plains. It is told not only of first-class
rivers of Central and Southern India, like the Narbada, but
also of many minor streams of local sanctity.

An ancient legend relates how Ganga, the fair daughter
of King Himalaya (Himavat) and of his queen, the air-
nymph Menaka, was persuaded, after long supplication, to
shed her purifying influence upon the sinful earth. The
icicle-studded cavern from which she issues is the tangled
hair of the god Siva, Loving legends hallow each part of
her course ; and from the names of her tributaries and of

20 THE GANGES

the towns along her banks, a whole mythology might be
built up. The southern offshoots o£ the Aryan race not only
sanctified their southern rivers by a fabled connection with
the holy stream of the north. They also hoped that in the
distant future, their rivers would attain an equal sanctity
by the diversion of the Ganges waters through underground
channels. Thus, the Brahmans along the Narbada maintain
that in this iron age of the world (indeed, in the year 1894
A. D.) the sacred character of the Ganges will depart from
her now polluted stream, and take refuge by an underground
passage in their own Narbada river.

The estuary of the Ganges is not less sacred than her
source. Sagar Island at her mouth is annually visited by a
vast concourse of pilgrims, in commemoration of her act of
saving grace ; when, in order to cleanse the 60,000 damned
ones of the house of Sagar, she divided herself into a hun-
dred channels, thus making sure of reaching their remains
with her purifying waters, and so forming the delta of
Bengal. The six years' pilgrimage from her source to her
mouth and back again, known as pradak-shina, is still per-
formed by many ; and a few devotees may yet be seen
wearily accomplishing the meritorious penance of " measur-
ing their length " along certain parts of the route. To
bathe in the Ganges at the stated festivals washes away
guilt, and those who have thus purified themselves carry
back bottles of her water to their kindred in far-off prov-
inces. To die and be cremated on the river bank, and to
have their ashes borne seaward by her stream, is the last
wish of millions of Hindus. Even to ejaculate " Ganga,
Ganga, at the distance of one hundred leagues from the
river," said her more enthusiastic devotees, might atone for
the sins^committed during three previous lives.

O

•z,

<
O

W

X
H

THE GANGES 21

The Ganges has earned the reverence of the people by
centuries of unfailing work done for them. She and her
tributaries are the unwearied water-carriers for the densely-
peopled provinces of Northern India, and the peasantry
reverence the bountiful stream which fertilizes their fields
and distributes their produce. None of the other rivers of
India comes near to the Ganges in works of beneficence.
The Brahmaputra and the Indus have longer streams, as
measured by the geographer, but their upper courses lie be-
yond the great mountain wall in the unknown recesses of
the Himalayas.

Not one of the rivers of Southern India is navigable in
the proper sense. But in the north, the Ganges begins to
distribute fertility by irrigation as soon as she reaches the
plains, within 200 miles of her source, and at the same
time her channel becomes in some sort navigable. Thence-
forward she rolls majestically down to the sea in a beautiful
stream, which never becomes a merely destructive torrent
in the rains, and never dwindles away in the hottest sum-
mer. Tapped by canals, she distributes millions of cubic
feet of water every hour in irrigation ; but her diminished
volume is promptly recruited by great tributaries, and the
wide area of her catchment basin renders her stream inex-
haustible in the service of man. Embankments are in but
few places required to restrain her inundations, for the
alluvial silt which she spills over her banks affords in most
parts a top-dressing of inexhaustible fertility. If one
crop be drowned by flood, the peasant comforts himself
with the thought that the next crop from his silt-manured
fields will abundantly requite him.

The Ganges has also played a preeminent part in the
commercial development of Northern India. Until the

22 THE GANGES

opening of the railway system, from 1855 to 1870, her
magnificent stream formed almost the sole channel of traffic
between upper India and the seaboard. The products not
only of the river plains, but even the cotton of the Central
Provinces, were formerly brought by this route to Calcutta.
Notwithstanding the revolution caused by the railways, the
heavier and more bulky staples are still conveyed by the
river, and the Ganges may yet rank as one of the greatest
waterways in the world.

The value of the upward and downward trade of the in-
terior with Calcutta, by the Gangetic channels, may be
taken at about 400,000,000 of rupees per annum, of which
over 153,000,000 go by country-boats, and nearly 240,-
000,000 by steamers (1891). This is exclusive of the sea-
borne commerce. But the adjustments which have to be
made are so numerous that the calculation is an intricate
one. As far back as 1876, the number of cargo boats
registered at Bamanghata, on one of the canals east of Cal-
cutta, was 178,627 ; at Hugli, a river-side station on a sin-
gle one of the many Gangetic mouths, 124,357; and at
Patna, 550 miles from the mouth of the river, the number
of cargo boats entered in the register was 61,571. The
port of Calcutta is itself one of the world's greatest emporia
for sea and river-borne commerce. Its total exports and
imports landward and seaward amounted in 1881 to about
1,400,000,000 of rupees (Rx. 140,000,000) and to 1,523,-
000,000 of rupees (Rx. 152,363,583) in 1891.

Articles of European commerce, such as wheat, indigo,
cotton, opium, and saltpetre, prefer the railway ; so also do
the imports of Manchester piece goods. But if we take
into account the vast development in the export trade of
oil-seeds, rice, etc., still carried by the river, and the grow-

THE GANGES 23

ing interchange of food-grains between interior districts of
the country, it seems probable that the actual amount of
traffic on the Ganges has increased rather than diminished
since the opening of the railways. At well-chosen points
along her course, the iron lines touch the banks, and these
river-side stations form centres for collecting and distribut-
ing the produce of the surrounding country. The Ganges,
therefore, is not merely a rival, but a feeder of the railway.
Her ancient cities, such as Allahabad, Benares, and Patna,
have thus been able to preserve their former importance ;
while fishing villages like Sahibganj and Goalanda have
been raised into thriving river marts.

For, unlike the Indus and the Brahmaputra, the Ganges
is a river of great historic cities. Calcutta, Patna, and
Benares are built on her banks ; Agra and Delhi on those
of her tributary, the Jumna ; and Allahabad on the tongue
of land where the two sister streams unite. Many millions
of human beings live by commerce along her margin.
Calcutta, with its suburbs on both sides of the river, con-
tains a population of nearly a million. It has a municipal
revenue of four and one-fourth millions of rupees j a sea-
borne and coasting commerce in i8gi of 770,000,000 of
rupees, with a landward trade of over 750,000,000. These
figures vary from year to year, but show a steady increase.
Calcutta lies on the Hugli, the most westerly of , the
mouths by which the Ganges enters the sea. To the
eastward stretches the delta, till it is hemmed in on the
other side by the Meghna, the most easterly of the mouths
of the Ganges. More accurately speaking, the Meghna is
the vast estuary by which the combined waters of the Brah-
maputra and Gangetic river-systems find their way into
the Bay of Bengal,

MORNING ON THE GANGES

PIERRE LOTI

NEARLY all the streets lead to the Ganges, where
they grow wider and become less gloomy. Here,
suddenly, the magnificent palaces and all the brightness
of the day dawn upon us.

These massive tiers of steps, which stretch along the
banks and reach to the water's edge even in these times of
drought, where fallen temples emerge from their slimy bed,
were made in honour of the Ganges, and on each landing
there are little granite altars, shaped like niches, in which
diminutive gods are placed. These images are like those
of the temples, but they are of more massive construction,
so as to withstand the swirl of the waters which cover
them during the annual rains.

The sun has just risen from the plain through which
old Ganges wanders, a plain of mud and vegetation still
overshadowed by the mists of night ; and waiting there
for the first red rays of dawn lie the granite temples of
Benares, the rosy pyramids, the golden shafts, and all the
sacred city, extended in terraces, as if to catch the first
light and deck itself in the glory of the morning.

This is the hour which, since the Brahmin faith began,
has been sacred to prayer and to religious ecstasy, and it is
now that Benares pours forth all its people, all its flowers,
all its garlands, all its birds, and all its living things on to the
banks of the Ganges. Awakened by the kiss of the sun,
all that have received souls from Brahma rush joyously

MORNING ON THE GANGES 25

down the granite steps. The men, whose faces beam with
calm serenity, are garbed in Kashmir shawls, some pink,
some yellow, and some in the colours of the dawn. The
women, veiled with muslins in the antique style, form
white groups along the road, and the reflection from their
copper ewers and drinking vessels shimmer amongst the
silvery glints of their many bracelets, necklets, and the
rings which they wear round their ankles. Nobly beauti-
ful both of face and gait, they walk like goddesses, while
the metal rings on their arms and feet murmur musically.

And to the river, already encumbered with garlands,
each one comes to offer a new wreath. Some have twisted
ropes of jasmine flowers which look like white necklets,
others garlands of Indian pinks whose flowers of golden
yellow and pale sulphur gleam in contrast, resembling the
changing colours of an Indian veil.

And the birds that had been sleeping all along friezes
of the houses and the palaces awake too and fill the air
with chirpings and w^ith song in the mad joy of dawn.

In all the temples the gods have their morning serenades,
and the angry roar of the tom-toms, the wail of the bag-
pipes, and the howling of the sacred trumpets, are heard
from every side.

Naked children holding each other by the hand come
in gay throngs ; yoghis and slowly-moving fakirs descend
the steps ; the sacred cattle advance with deliberate steps,
while people stand respectfully aside offering them fresh
wreaths of reeds and flowers. They, too, seem to look
on the splendours of the sun, and in their harmless fashion
appear to understand and pray.

Next come the sheep and goats ; then dogs and monkeys
hurry down the steps.

26 MORNING ON THE GANGES

All the granite temples scattered on the steps that
serve as niches and altars, some for Vishnu, some for the
many-armed Ganesa, protrude into the sunlight their
squat little gods — gods which are grey with mud, for
they have slept many months under the troubled waters
of the river to which the ashes of the dead are consigned.

Now that the rays of the sun are fierce the people
shelter under large umbrellas whose shade awaits them.
For these huge parasols, which resemble gigantic mush-
rooms clustering under the walls of the city, are always
left open.

The many rafts and the lower steps are thronged with
Brahmins, who, after setting down their flowers and
ewers, hasten to disrobe. Pink and white muslins and
cashmeres of all colours lie mingled on the ground, or are
hung over bamboo canes, and now the matchless nude
forms appear, some of pale bronze, others of a deeper
shade.

The men, slim and of athletic build, plunge to their
waists into the sacred waters. The women, still wear-
ing a veil of muslin round their shoulders and waists,
merely plunge their many-ringed arms and ankles into
the Ganges ; then they kneel at the extremest edge and
let fall their long unknotted coils of hair into the water.
Then, raising their heads once more, they allow the
water dripping from their drenched hair to fall upon their
necks and bosoms. And now with their tightly-clinging
draperies they look like some statue of a " winged Victory,"
more beautiful and more voluptuous than if they had been
nude.

From all sides the bowing people shower their garlands
and their flowers into the Ganges ; all fill their ewers and

MORNING ON THE GANGES 27

jars and then, stooping, fill their hollowed hand and drink.
Here religious feeling reigns supreme, and no sensual
thought ever seems to assail these beauteous mingled forms.
They come into unconscious contact with each other, but
only heed the river, the sun, and the splendour of the morn-
ing in a dream of ecstasy. And when the long ritual is
ended, the women retire to their homes, while the men,
seated on the rafts amid their garlands dispose themselves
for prayer.

Oh ! the joyful awakenings of this primeval race, pray-
ing in daily unison to God, where the poorest may find
room amongst the splendours of the sun, the waters, and the
flowers.

All the life of Benares centres round the river. People
come from the palaces and jungles to die on its sacred
banks, and the old and the sick are brought here by their
families to await their end. The relatives never return to
their homes in the country after the death has taken place,
and so Benares, which already contains three hundred
thousand inhabitants, increases rapidly in size. For those
who feel their end approaching this is the spot so eagerly
desired.

Oh ! to die at Benares, To die on the banks of the
Ganges ! To have one's body bathed for the last time, and
then to have one's ashes strewn into the river !

THE COLORADO

HENRY GANNETT

THE country drained by the Colorado River is a
peculiar region. It is a country of plateaus and
canons, the plateaus mainly arid and sterile, where the few
streams flow in deep gorges far below the surface.

The longest and most northern branch of the Colorado
is Green River, which heads in the Wind River Moun-
tains, against the sources of the Bighorn and Snake Rivers.
This stream, in its long course towards the south, receives
the waters of the Uinta from the west, and the Yampa
and White Rivers from the east. Near latitude 38° 15'
and longitude 110° it is joined by Grand River, a stream of
nearly equal size, which heads in Middle Park, Colorado,
drawing its first supplies of water from the snowfields of
Long Peak. The stream below the junction of these two
forks is known as the Colorado.

Below their junction, the principal branches of the
Colorado from the east are the San Juan, the Colorado
Chiquito, Williams Fork, and the Gila ; on the west, the
" Dirty Devil," Paria, and Virgin.

This region is limited on the east, north, and north-west
by high mountain ranges. Its surface is nearly flat, but by
no means unbroken. There is little rolling or undulating
country. Changes of level take place by very gentle,
uniform slopes, or by abrupt, precipitous steps. A large
part of the surface consists of bare rocks, with no soil or
vegetation. A part is covered with a thin sandy soil, which

>aski^ip\ ay i aa V ■7^i£»r' '' ^

Copyright, ,902, by Detroit Photographic Company

THE COLORADO

THE COLORADO 29

supports a growth of sage and cacti, or even a few pinon
pines and cedars. The only vegetation is that character-
istic of an arid country.

This aridity has modified orographic forms to an aston-
ishing degree. Where, under different climatic conditions,
there would be produced a region similar in most respects
to the prairies of the Mississippi valley, we find a country,
flat indeed, or inclined at low angles, but one whose water-
courses are far beneath the general level, deep down in
canons, hundreds, thousands of feet beneath the surface.

Great cliffs, thousands of feet in height, and extending
like huge walls for hundreds of miles, change the level of
the country at a single step.

Isolated buttes and mesas, of great height, are scattered
over the plateaus, indicating the former height of the plain
of which they formed parts.

"The landscape everywhere, away from the river, is of
rock — cliffs of rock, tables of rock, terraces of rock,
crags of rock — ten thousand strangely carved forms.
Rocks everywhere, and no vegetation : no soil, no land.
When speaking of these rocks, we must not conceive of
piles of boulders, or heaps of fragments, but a whole land
of naked rock, with giant forms carved on it ; cathedral-
shaped buttes, towering hundreds or thousands of feet ;
cliffs that cannot be scaled, and caiion walls that shrink the
river into insignificance, with vast hollow domes and tall
pinnacles, and shafts set on verge overhead, and all highly
coloured — buff, grey, red, brown, and chocolate; never
lichened, never moss-covered, but bare and often
polished."

The above description by Major J. W. Powell, who
has explored the cafions of the Colorado, gives a graphic

3© THE COLORADO

pen-picture of the lower and more arid plateaus of this
region.

Nearly every watercourse, whether the stream be perennial
or not, is a canon ; a narrow valley, with precipitous walls.
In many cases, these canons are so numerous that they cut
the plateau into shreds — a mere skeleton of a country. Of
such a section Lieutenant Ives, who explored the course of
lower Colorado, writes : " The extent and magnitude of
the system of canons in that direction is astounding. The
plateau is cut into shreds by these gigantic chasms, and
resembles a vast ruin. Belts of country, miles in width,
have been swept away, leaving only isolated mountains
standing in the gap j fissures so profound that the eye can-
not penetrate their depths are separated by walls whose
thickness one can almost span ; and slender spires, that
seem tottering on their base, shoot up a thousand feet from
vaults below."

But few of these canons contain water throughout the
year. Most of them are dry at all times, excepting for a
few days in the early spring, or for a few minutes or hours
at most after a heavy shower. It is characteristic of
Western North America, as of all arid countries, that the
streams, away from their sources in the mountains, lose
water, rather than gain it, in traversing the lower country.
The dry atmosphere and the thirsty soil absorb it, and, in
many cases, large streams entirely disappear in this way.
This is the case to a great extent in the plateau country,
and still more so in the Great Basin, where these are the
only outlets to the drainage.

Those who have long and carefully studied the Grand
Canon of the Colorado do not hesitate for a moment to pro-
nounce it by far the most sublime of all earthly spectacles.

THE COLORADO 3 1

If its sublimity consisted only in its dimensions, it could be
sufSciently set forth in a single sentence. It is more than
200 miles long, from five to twelve miles wide, and from
5,000 to 6,000 feet deep. There are in the world valleys
which are longer and a few which are deeper. There are
valleys flanked by summits loftier than the palisades of the
Kaibab. Still the Grand Canon is the sublimest thing on
earth. It is not alone by virtue of its magnitudes, but by
virtue of the whole — its ensemble.

The space under immediate view from our stand-point,
fifty miles long and ten to twelve wide, is thronged with a
great multitude of objects so vast in size, so bold yet majes-
tic in form, so infinite in their details, that as the truth
gradually reveals itself to the perceptions it arouses the
strongest emotions. Unquestionably the great, the over-
ruling feature is the wall on the opposite side of the gulf.
Can mortal fancy create a picture of a mural front a mile
in height, seven to ten miles distant, and receding into space
in either direction ? As the mind strives to realize its pro-
portions its spirit is broken and its imagination completely
crushed. If the wall were simple in its character, if it were
only blank and sheer, some rest might be found in contem-
plating it ; but it is full of diversity and eloquent with grand
suggestions. It is deeply recessed by alcoves and amphi-
theatres receding far into the plateau beyond, and usually
disclosing only the portals by which they open into the
main chasm. Between them the promontories jut out end-
ing in magnificent gables with sharp mitred angles. Thus
the wall rambles in and out, turning numberless corners.
Many of the angles are acute, and descend as sharp spurs
like the forward edge of a ploughshare. Only those al-
coves which are directly opposite to us can be seen in their

32 THE COLORADO

full length and depth. Yet so excessive, nay, so prodigious,
is the effect of foreshortening, that it is impossible to realize
their full extensions.

Numerous detached masses are also seen flanking the
ends of the long promontories. These buttes are of gigan-
tic proportions, and yet so overwhelming is the effect of the
wall against which they are projected that they seem insig-
nificant in mass, and the observer is often deluded by them,
failing to perceive that they are really detached from the
wall and perhaps separated from it by an interval of a mile
or two.

At the foot of this palisade is a platform through which
meanders the inner gorge, in whose dark and sombre depths
flows the river. Only in one place can the water surface
be seen. In its winding the abyss which holds it extends
for a short distance towards us and the line of vision enters
the gorge lengthwise. Above and below this short reach
the gorge swings its course in other directions and re-
veals only a dark, narrow opening, while its nearer wall
hides its depth. This inner chasm is i,ooo to 2,000 feet
deep. Its upper 200 feet is a vertical ledge of sandstone
of a dark rich brownish colour. Beneath it lies the granite
of a dark iron-grey shade, verging towards black, and
lending a gloomy aspect to the lowest deeps. Perhaps half
a mile of the river is disclosed. A pale, dirty red, without
glimmer or sheen, a motionless surface, a small featureless
spot enclosed in the dark shade of the granite, is all of it
that is here visible. Yet we know it is a large river, 150
yards wide, with a headlong torrent foaming and plunging
over rocky rapids.

The walls of the Grand Cafion and the level of the
plateau descend by a succession of great steps, produced

THE COLORADO 33

by faults, until the level of the river is reached at the mouth
of the Grand Wash ; and thus ends the Grand Canon.

Below the Grand Wash, a dry stream bed which enters
the Colorado from the north, the river turns south ^ain and
enters the Black Canon of Lieutenant Ives report — a cafion
which would be a remarkable feature were it not brought
into such close juxtaposition with that described above.

Below it the river runs in narrow valleys and low cafions
te its mouth.

THE AVON
JOHN WILSON CROKER

THERE are Avons and Avons. Of course, Shake-
speare's Avon is the famous stream which takes
precedence of all others. It rises at Naseby, in the yard of
a small inn near the church. So for two things is that vil-
lage of Naseby renowned. A good many years ago a hos-
pitable agriculturist, resident near Naseby, asked me to
come over and see the battle-field and source of the Avon.
I came and saw. The battle-field, truth to say, impressed
me in no degree more than the river-head ; I saw a quantity
of ploughed land, undulating in true Northamptonshire
fashion. Doubtless grim old Oliver and hot Prince Rupert
saw a good deal more; and that heavy land is responsible
for many oaths on the part of the prince, and prayers from
the ever-prayerful lips of the Roundhead general. But
Naseby field is very much like all the rest of Northampton-
shire. There is not a hill in the country, or a brook that
a boy cannot leap, or a church spire that a boy cannot
throw a stone over, or enough level ground for a game of
cricket. Yet it is a capital hunting county nevertheless.

Descending the Avon from Naseby, we pass through
much dreary Northamptonshire scenery. At a village
called Catthorpe, we are reminded of a certain poetaster
named Dj'er. Poetry was in a poor state when the author
of Grongar Hill could be considered a poet. He was an
amiable clergyman, who wrote mediocre verse ; but
Horace's opinion of such verse is peculiarly popular in the

2

o
>

THE AVON 35

present day. The first town of any consequence which
the pedestrian reaches is Lutterworth ; and concerning
Lutterworth there is little to be said, except that WiclifFe
was once its^ rector ; and the ashes of the great reformer
were disinterred by certain ecclesiastical vultures, and
thrown into the brook which runs into the Avon at Lutter-
worth. So says Fuller, whom Wordsworth has followed :
" This brook hath conveyed his ashes into Avon, Avon into
Severn, Severn into the narrow seas, they into the main
ocean. And thus the ashes of WiclifFe are the emblem of
his doctrine, which now is dispersed all the world over."

The next town is Rugby; an immortal town, forever
connected with the greatest of school-masters.

The scenery about Avon begins to improve near Newn-
ham Regis ; a small village, remarkable for having nothing
of the church left except the tower. The rector of Church
Lawford is also vicar of King's Newnham ; and as the two
villages cannot count five hundred inhabitants, we perhaps
need not regret the destruction of the ancient church.

The city of Coventry lies not very far from the Avon.
It is, I think, the dirtiest place in England, Bristol and
Birmingham not excepted. In days gone by it had great
fame, this Coventria civitas ; and its earl, Leofric, who used
to stride about his hall among his dogs,

" His beard a foot before him, and his hair
A yard behind,"

was a worthy ancestor of 'Lord Palmerston ; and we all re-
member who wrote,

' I waited for the train at Coventry ;

I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge.

To watch the three tall spires."

36 THE AVON

What strikes me in this city of Coventry — when I look
at those noble spires, which Tennyson has immortalized
(St. Michael's is second to Salisbury only), and at the
splendid city-hall — is the wonderful change between the
past and the present. It is now one of the most sordid
and miserable towns in the empire. What generous and
magnificent inhabitants must it have had when the spires of
St. Michael's and Trinity were raised heavenwards ! I'll
be hanged if Godiva the beautiful would have

" Unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt "

for the present population of Coventry. I fear that among
its makers of watches and ribbons there are goodly number
of " low churls, compact of thankless earth."

The beauty of Avon begins where it enters the park of
Stoneleigh Abbey, seat of Lord Leigh. The first baron,
when Mr, Chandos Leigh, published some elegant poetry.
His title to the estate was at one time questioned ; and an
inventive attorney produced a most marvellous case against
him, accusiijg him and Lady Leigh of pulling down one
side of Stoneleigh Church, to get rid of some genealogical
testimony furnished by the Monuments, and of causing a
huge stone to be dropped on some men who were engaged
in building a bridge across the river Sow, it being important
to suppress their evidence ; I forget how many murders this
lawyer (who very justly suffered imprisonment) charged
against one of the gentlest and most amiable of men. Of
the old abbey nothing is left but a gateway ; and the great
mansion of the Leighs, though doubtless magnificent and
luxurious within, has no external beauty.- But the park is
redolent of As you like it. All this Warwickshire woodland
breathes of Shakespeare. Under these stately oaks, the

THE AVON 37

noblest I have ever seen, beside this sparkling river, how
sweet it were to moralize with melancholy Jaques, to while
away the golden time with joyous Rosalind! As the trav-
eller lies beneath a patrician tree, amid the magical noon-
tide, well might he fancy the mellow voice of Amiens in
the distance, cheering the banished Duke with music. Of
Stoneleigh village I have only to say, that when last there
I found it impossible to obtain a glass of ale ; Lord Leigh
having an objection to that wholesome liquid. An English
village without ale is awful to think of.

Two miles through field and woodland, and we are at
Kenilworth. Wise were the monks when they settled
down in that green valley. Very quaint is the village that
clusters round the old church; traditions of monastic and
baronial times linger there ; the exteriors of several of the
antique houses made me wish to catch a glimpse of the in-
teriors and their inhabitants, which I was not lucky enough
to do. They are just the sort of houses where a good din-
ner and a bottle of rare port is the order of the day. The
end of the village near the church is quite another affair;
instead of seeming coeval with the castle and the priory, it
appears to have sprung up simultaneously with the railway-
station. Extremes meet at Kenilworth : in these modern
villas you would expect to find no inhabitant less active
than a commercial traveller ; in the old houses at the other
end you would hardly be startled by an interview with Sir
Walter Raleigh or rare Ben Jonson.

Of course I ought to describe Kenilworth Castle ; but I
cannot do it, that's a fact ; besides which, the thing has been
done a hundred times. It is a glorious ruin ; and as one
lies on the turf on a summer day in the shadow of its grey
stonework, watching the flying clouds, and the choughs

„g THE AVON

in the ivy, and the little river shimmering through the
meadows, and the immoveable old towers decaying in their
stately strength, there descends upon the spirit a mystic and
unutterable feeling, worth more than all the poetry ever
written, ay, or all the claret ever pressed from Bprdeaux
grapes.

Avon winds back into Stoneleigh Park after leaving
Kenilworth, and passes the little village of Ashow, where
I tasted the juiciest mulberries I ever ate, — blood-ripe as
those wherewith the laughing Naiad JEgle stained the
temples of Silenus. Cool and peaceful is that pleasant vil-
lage, where Avon murmurs softly amid reedy islets. Pass-
ing onward, we see a cross upon a wooded hill : there poor
Piers Gaveston was beheaded, some five centuries and a
half ago. There is a capitally written inscription on the
cross. Somewhat farther is Milverton Church, with a
quaint wooden tower: they say it is not worth while to
build a stone one, as the lightning strikes it so often. But
Guy's Cliff!

Perhaps I had better let those three words stand as sole
suggestion of what that exquisite residence is. The strange
legend of Guy of Warwick, vanquisher of Colbrand the
Dane, and of the Dun Cow, hovers around this delightful
old place. But I don't know whether Mr. Bertie Percy's
poetic dwelling is not surpassed by the mill close thereto.

Few places I have seen dwell in my memory like this
beautiful old mill, surrounded by a wealth of water, a luxury
of leafage. If there be mills in fairy-land, they are built
on this pattern. If the miller's daughter, " so dear, so
dear" to the Laureate that he plagiarized from Anacreon
for her sake, had any actual existence, it must have been at
a mill like this of Guy's Cliff.

THE AVON 39

I scarce dare approach Warwick after Nathaniel Haw-
thorne. The reaction from a fast, loud, vulgar, sordid life,
makes the most refined and poetic natures of America
dreamers of dreams. Such, with especial emphasis, was
Hawthorne. To him the ideal was more real than reality.
What visions he saw in Warwick, where the great castle
" floats double " in the lucid Avon ; where a strange old-
world tranquillity broods over the famous Earl of Leicester's
antique hospital ! After Windsor (and I do not forget
Alnwick), I think Warwick the noblest castellated building
in England. Built into the solid rock, it overhangs Avon
with a wild sublimity. As you look down from the win-
dows of the great hall upon the river far beneath, you
think that thus may Guinevere and Lancelot have looked,
when the angry Queen cast into the water the nine great
diamonds, while the doomed barge bore to her burial the
lily maid of Astolat. Why over that old broken bridge,
green with the ivy of a thousand years, may not the blame-
less King have passed, and Merlin the sage, and Tristram
of Lyonnesse, leading Iseult of Ireland ? Who knows ?
Are these things fables ? Are ye enchanters, Alfred Tenny-
son and Matthew Arnold ?

The Earl of Warwick's courtesy throws the castle open
to the public two or three days a week. Rumour says that
the late Earl's housekeeper, whose monument may be seen
in Warwick Church, left her master sixty thousand pounds,
accumulated by visitors' fees ! At the very gateway you
are met by wonders, — an iron porridge-pot of the great Sir
Guy, holding a hogshead or two, I suppose. The old
knight must have had a rare appetite for breakfast. There
is also his sword, a gigantic weapon, which I defy Jacob
Omnium to wield with both hands. As for the contents

40 THE AVON

of the castle, I will not say a word about them ; though of
historical portraits, Vandykes and Rubenses, there is a fine
collection. I commend the traveller upon looking out
upon Avon from those wondrous rooms, to call back, if he
can, the heroic and poetic times when it was possible to
build such a castle ; when it seemed fit habitation for those
who dwelt in it, — for Neville the Kingmaker, to wit, who
fills a marvellous page, brilliant with gold and stained with
blood, in England's history ; and who well deserved to be
found in Shakespeare's peerless portrait-gallery.

Warwick town is very quaint, and has two old-fashioned
hostelries, the Warwick Arms and the Woolpack, at either
of which a hungry and thirsty traveller will find ample re-
freshment of the right sort. From the top of Warwick
Church tower there is a magnificent view over a rich
country. The church's chief glory is the Beauchamp
Chapel, just 400 years old, a perfect poem in stone, an ab-
solute triumph of the good old artist-workmen, who find
no rivals in the days when artists are never workmen,
and workmen never artists. Its dead inhabitant was last
of the Beauchamp Earls, and that crowned saint,
Henry VI., conferred the earldom upon the Kingmaker ;
thus commencing the third line of its holders, for the first
Earl was a Newburgh, or Neuburg, of the Conqueror's
creation ; then, two centuries later, it passed through a
female to the Beauchamps ; two centuries more, and the last
Beauchamp was succeeded by a Nevil ; on Nevil's death,
" false, fleeting, perjured Clarence " had the earldom, whose
son, last of the Plantagenets, ended the fourth line, when he
and Perkin Warbeck died on Tower Hill ; next .came the
Dudleys, creatures of Henry VIII., the elder of whom.
Lady Jane Grey's father-in-law and worst enemy, is better

THE AVON 41

known as Duke of Northumberland ; then Lord Rich,
whose great grand-son married Cromwell's daughter, was
created Earl of Warwick by James I. ; and finally George
II. conferred the title on Greville, Earl Brooke, ancestor
of the present Earl. Thus six families at least have held
this famous earldom.

The traveller will of course turn aside to Leamington,
town of fashion and frivolity, about a mile and a half from
the poetic stream. Leamington owes its existence, as any-
thing beyond a village, to one Dr. Jephson, who hit on the
brilliant notion that the mineral waters of the place would
cure all possible diseases. A great hotel sprang up, the
Regent, which for years was a kind of hospital for Dr.
Jephson's patients. This medical genius is quite deified in
the town. There are pleasant gardens dedicated to him,
to which none are admitted save subscribers of a guinea, or
something of the sort. It is a downright apotheosis (or
apodiabolosis) of physic. But other causes concurred to
bring Leamington into the first rank of pleasure towns :
there is capital hunting in the neighbourhood, and a first-rate
pack of hounds. It is almost the metropolis of archery, a
pastime which young ladies wisely patronize, since a pretty
girl cannot look prettier than in her toxophilite costume of
Lincoln-green. Nothing can be more beautiful than the
walk by the margin of Avon through Lord Warwick's
park. After passing through several pleasant villages, full of
Warwickshire quaintness, we reach Charlecote House, the
seat of the Lucy family. It has always appeared to me
that Haydon more admirably than any man expressed the
feeling which is produced in poetic minds by the places
sacred to Shakespeare. Painting under the stress of a
noble ambition, with the sad certainty that the age could

42 THE AVON

not perceive his greatness, had injured his health; instead
of joining " the vulgar idlers at a watering-place " he sought
change of scene at Stratford. How the man enjoyed it,
and how vigorously he depicts his enjoyment ! " To
Charlecote," says he, " I walked as fast as my legs could
carry me, and crossing the meadow, entered the im-
mortalized park by a back pathway. Trees, gigantic and
umbrageous, at once announce the growth of centuries :
while I was strolling on, I caught a distant view of the old
red-bricked house, in the same style and condition as when
Shakespeare lived; and on going close to the river-side,
came at once on two enormous old willows, with a large
branch across the stream, such as Ophelia hung to. Every
blade of grass, every daisy and cowslip, every hedge-flower
and tuft of tawny earth, every rustling, ancient and
enormous tree which curtains the sunny park with its cool
shadows, between which the sheep glitter on the emerald
green in long lines of light, every ripple of the river with
its placid tinkle,

" Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
It overtaketh in its pilgrimage,"

announced the place where Shakespeare imbibed his early,
deep, and native taste for forest scenery. Oh, it was de-
lightful, indeed ! Shakespeare seemed to hover and bless all
I saw, thought of, or trod on. Those great roots of the
lime and the oak, bursting, as it were, above the ground,
bent up by the depth they had struck into it, Shakespeare
had seen — Shakespeare had sat on.

In the same spirit of delight, and with the same realizing
power, did the great painter — one of those

" Mighty poets in their misery dead,"

THE AVON 43

" of whom the world was not worthy " — enjoy Stratford it-
self. Thus does he write of what he felt as sunset descended
on the church where lies all that was mortal of God's
greatest human creature. " I stood and drank into enthusi-
asm all a human being could feel ; all that the most ardent
and devoted lover of a great genius could have a sensation
of; all that the most tender scenery of river, trees, and sun-
set sky together could excite. I was lost, quite lost ; and
in such a momenit should wish my soul to take its flight (if
it please God) when my time is finished." God willed
otherwise ; that great soul took flight in a moment, not of
delight, but of agony.

There seem to be always American visitors at Stratford.
The refined and thoughtful Americans, like Washington
Irving and Hawthorne, have by the intensity of their
reverie, thrown a halo of fresh beauty around many places
sacred to genius. But too many of these trans-atlantic
travellers merely visit a place like Stratford just to say they
have been there ; and people of that kind are singularly un-
pleasant to meet. There is a story that one Yankee off^ered
an enormous sum of money for Shakespeare's house, to take
it to the States for exhibition.

I must hurry on. Village after village, quaint and
beautiful, lie along the margin of Avon ; the keen eye will
notice whence Shakespeare drew^his choicest descriptions of
nature ; the longest summer-day will not be too long to
loiter around the vicinity of Stratford. One of the best
proofs that Avon River flows through rich and lovely
country is the multitude of monastic institutions which have
left their names to the villages, with here and there a noble
tower or graceful gateway.

Founders of abbeys loved a pleasant river flowing

44 THE AVON

through fertile meadows ; salmon and trout and eels for fast-
days were as important as beeves and deer for festivals.
So there are more conventual remains between Naseby and
Tewkesbury than in almost any equal distance of which I
have knowledge ; and the glory of those old ecclesiastic
foundations is peculiarly realized as the noble bell-tower of
Evesham Abbey rises above the town. The great monas-
tery had lasted more than a thousand years when the ruth-
less hand of Henry VIII. fell upon it. The bell-tower
and a most delightful old gateway are the only relics of it
left.

The pilgrim through the beautiful Vale of Evesham
comes upon another battle-field, where, 600 years ago, fell
a famous leader of the Commons against the Crown.
Simon de Montfort fought for the right, so far as we can
judge at this remote period ; but his antagonist was the
greatest general of the day, and afterwards became Eng-
land's greatest king. He was but twenty-six when he won
the immortal victory known as the Murder of Evesham.
If Montfort gave England its first parliament, Edward
gave us Wales and Scotland, and made the priests pay taxes
in defiance of the Pope. A poetic prince, as well as a
gallant ; for did he not, when Eleanora the Castilian died in
Lincolnshire, cause Peter I'lmagineur to build a stately
cross wherever her corpse rested on its way to Westmin-
ster ? Thanks to the poetry of a railway company,
London sees the last and stateliest of those crosses rebuilt in
what was once the quiet village of Charing.

There was another abbey at Pershore, which takes its
name from its abundant pear-trees. Bredon Hill, not far
from this town, is worth climbing, for its fine view towards
the Malverns. At the village of Strensham the author of

THE AVON 45

Hudihras was born. I must not be retarded by reminis-
cences of that most humorous writer of wonderful doggerel ;
but pass on to Tewkesbury, last of the towns on the Avon,
which here falls into the wide and shining Severn. Tewkes-
bury had also its abbey and its famous battle ; it has, more-
over, its legend of that unfortunate gentleman, Brictric of
Bristol, who, somewhere about the noon of the Eleventh
Century, made love to Matilda, daughter of Count Baldwin
of Flanders, and then jilted her. 'Twas the unluckiest
action of his life. For Matilda married a certain fierce and
resolute Duke of Normandy, who used to thrash her occa-
sionally ; and this same duke became King of England by
the strong hand ; and then Matilda coaxed him (nothing
loth, I guess) to seize all Brictric's wide demesnes, and
imprison their owner. So the poor fellow died, in Win-
chester Castle ; and his manors in half-a-dozen counties, as
may be seen by Domesday book, passed into the hands of
the queen. So much for the spretae injuria formee.

DOWN THE ST. LAWRENCE

CHARLES DICKENS

QUEENSTON, at which place the steamboats start
from Toronto (or I should rather say at which place
they call, for their wharf is at Lewiston, on the opposite
shore), is situated in a delicious valley, through which the
Niagara River, in colour a very deep green, pursues its
course. It is approached by a road that takes its winding
way among the heights by which the town is sheltered ;
and seen from this point is extremely beautiful and pic-
turesque.

Our steamboat came up directly this had left the wharf,
and soon bore us to the mouth of the Niagara : where the
Stars and Stripes of America flutter on one side, and the
Union Jack of England on the other : and so narrow is the
space between them that the sentinels in either fort can
often hear the watchword of the other country given.
Thence we emerged on Lake Ontario, an inland sea ; and
by half-past six o'clock were at Toronto.

The country round this town being very flat, is bare of
scenic interest ; but the town itself is full of life and mo-
tion, bustle, business, and improvement. The streets are
well paved, and lighted with gas; the houses are large and
good ; the shops excellent. Many of them have a display
of goods in their windows, such as may be seen in thriving
county towns in England ; and there are some which would
do no discredit to the metropolis itself.

The time of leaving Toronto for Kingston is noon. By

-1

DOWN THE ST. LAWRENCE 47

eight o'clock next morning, the traveller is at the end of
his journey, which is performed by steamboat upon Lake
Ontario, calling at Port Hope and Coburg, the latter a
cheerful, thriving little town. Vast quantities of flour form
the chief item in the freight of these vessels. We had no
fewer than one thousand and eighty barrels on board, be-
tween Coburg and Kingston.

We left Kingston for Montreal on the tenth of May, at
half-past nine in the morning, and proceeded in a steam-
boat down the St. Lawrence River. The beauty of this
noble stream at almost any point, but especially in the
commencement of this journey when it winds its way among
the Thousand Islands, can hardly be imagined. The num-
ber and constant successions of these islands, all green and
richly wooded; their fluctuating sizes, some so large that
for half an hour together one among them will appear as
the opposite bank of the river, and some so small that they
are mere dimples on its broad bosom ; their infinite variety
of shapes ; and the numberless combinations of beautiful
forms which the trees growing on them present : all form
a picture fraught with uncommon interest and pleasure.

In the afternoon we shot down some rapids where the
river boiled and bubbled strangely, and where the force
and headlong violence of the current were tremendous. At
seven o'clock we reached Dickenson's Landing, whence
travellers proceed for two or three hours by stage-coach :
the navigation of the river being rendered so dangerous and
difficult in the interval, by rapids, that steamboats do not
make the passage. The number and length of those port-
ages^ over which the roads are bad, and the travelling slow,
render the way between the towns of Montreal and Kings-
ton somewhat tedious:.

48 DOWN THE ST. LAWRENCE

Our course lay over a wide, uninclosed tract of country
at a little distance from the riverside, whence the bright
warning lights on the dangerous parts of the St. Lawrence
shone vividly. The night was darJi and raw, and the way
dreary enough. It was nearly ten o'clock when we reached
the wharf where the next steamboat lay; and went on
board, and to bed.

She lay there all night, and started as soon as it was day.
The morning was ushered in by a violent thunder-storm,
and was very wet, but gradually improved and brightened
up. Going on deck after breakfast, I was amazed to see
floating down with the stream, a most gigantic raft, with some
thirty or forty wooden houses upon it, and at least as many
flag-masts, so that it looked like a nautical street. I saw
many of these rafts afterwards, but never one so large. All
the timber, or " lumber," as it is called in America, which
is brought down the St. Lawrence, is floated down in this
manner. When the raft reaches its place of destination, it
is broken up ; the materials are sold, and the boatmen re-
turn for more.

At eight we landed again, and travelled by a stage-coach
for four hours through a pleasant and well-cultivated coun-
try, perfectly French in every respect : in the appearance
of the cottages; the air, language, and dress of the peas-
antry ; the signboards on the shops and taverns ; and the
Virgin's shrines, and crosses, by the wayside. Nearly every
common labourer and boy, though he had no shoes to his
feet, wore round his waist a sash of some bright colour :
generally red : and the women, who were working in the
fields and gardens, and doing all kinds of husbandry, wore,
one and all, great flat straw hats with most capacious brims.
There were Catholic Priests and Sisters of Charity in the

DOWN THE ST. LAWRENCE 49

village streets ; and images of the Saviour at the corners of
cross-roads, and in other public places.

At noon we went on board another steamboat, and reached
the village of Lachine, nine miles from Montreal, by three
o'clock. There we left the river, and went on by land.

Montreal is pleasantly situated on the margin of the St.
Lawrence, and is backed by some bold heights, about which
there are charming rides and drives. The streets are gen-
erally narrow and irregular, as in most French towns of
any age ; but in the more modern parts of the city, they are
wide and airy. They display a great variety of very good
shops ; and both in the town and suburbs there are many
excellent private dwellings. The granite quays are re-
markable for their beauty, solidity and extent.

There is a very large Catholic cathedral here, recently
erected; with two tall spii'es, of which one is yet unfin-
ished. In the open space in front of this edifice, stands a
solitary, grim-looking, square brick tower, which has a
quaint and remarkable appearance, and which the wiseacres
of the place have consequently determined to pull down
immediately. The Government House is very superior to
that at Kingston, and the town is full of life and bustle.
In one of the suburbs is a plank rodd — not foot-path — five
or six miles long, and a famous road it is, too. All the rides
in the vicinity were made doubly interesting by the burst-
ing out of spring, which is here so rapid, that it is but a
day's leap from barren winter, to the blooming youth of
summer.

The steamboats to Quebec perform the journey in the
night ; that is to say, they leave Montreal at six in the
evening, and arrive in Quebec at six next morning. We
made this excursion during our stay in Montreal (which ex-

50 DOWN THE ST. LAWRENCE

ceeded a fortnight), and were charmed by its interest and
beauty.

The impression made upon the visitor by this Gibraltar
of America : its giddy heights ; its citadel suspended, as it
were, in the air; its picturesque steep streets and frowning
gateways ; and the splendid views which burst upon the
eye at every turn : is at once unique and lasting. It is a
place not to be forgotten or mixed up in the mind with
other places, or altered for a moment in the crowd of scenes
a traveller can recall. Apart from the realities of this most
picturesque city, there are associations clustering about it
which would make a desert rich in interest. The danger-
ous precipice along whose rocky front Wolfe and his brave
companions climbed to glory ; the Plains of Abraham,
where he received his mortal wound ; the fortress, so chiv-
alrously defended by Montcalm; and his soldier's grave,
dug for him while yet alive, by the bursting of a shell ;
are not the least among them, or among the gallant inci-
dents of history. That is a noble Monument, too, and
worthy of two great nations, which perpetuates the memory
of both brave generals, and on which their names are
jointly written.

The city is rich in public institutions and in Catholic
churches and charities, but it is mainly in the prospect
from the site of the Old Government House, and from the
Citadel, that its surpassing beauty lies. The exquisite ex-
panse of country, rich in field and forest, mountain-height
and water, which lies stretched out before the view, with
miles of Canadian villages, glancing in long white streaks,
like veins along the landscape ; the motley crowd of gables,
roofs, and chimney-tops in the old hilly town immediately
at hand; the beautiful St. Lawrence sparkling and flashing

DOWN THE ST. LAWRENCE 5^

in the sunlight ; and the tiny ships below the rock from
which you gaze, whose distant rigging looks like spiders'
webs against the light, while casks and barrels on their
decks dwindle into toys, and busy mariners become so many
puppets : all this, framed by a sunken window in the fortress
and looked at from the shadowed room within, forms one
of the brightest and the most enchanting pictures that the
eye can rest upon.

In the spring of the year, vast numbers of emigrants who
have newly arrived from England or from Ireland, pass be-
tween Quebec and Montreal on their way to the backwoods
and new settlements of Canada. If it be an entertaining
lounge (as I very often found it) to take a morning stroll
upon the quay at Montreal, and see them grouped in hun-
dreds on the public wharfs about their chests and boxes, it
is matter of deep interest to be their fellow-passenger on
one of these steamboats, and, mingling with the concourse,
see and hear them unobserved.

THE TIGRIS

GEORGE RAWLINSON

THE Tigris, like the Euphrates, rises from two prin-
cipal sources. The most distant, and therefore the
true source is the western one, which is in latitude 38° 10'
longitude, 39° 20', nearly, a little to the south of the high
mountain lake called Goljik, in the peninsula formed by
the Euphrates where it sweeps round between Palon and
Telek. The Tigris's source is near the south-western angle
of the lake, and cannot be more than two or three miles
from the channel of the Euphrates. The course of the
Tigris is at first somewhat north of east, but after pursuing
this direction for about twenty-five miles it makes a sweep
round to the south, and descends by Arghani Maden upon
Diarbekr. Here is a river of considerable size, and it is
crossed by a bridge of ten arches a littlp below that city.
It then turns suddenly to the east, and flows in this direc-
tion past Osman Kieui to Til where it once more alters
its course and takes that south-easterly direction, which it
pursues with certain slight variations, to its final junctions
with the Euphrates. At Osman Kieui it receives the sec-
ond or Eastern Tigris, which descends from Niphates, with
a due course south, and, collecting on its way the waters of
a large number of streams, unites with the Tigris half-way
between Diarbekr and Til, in longitude 41° nearly. Near
Til a large stream flows into it from the north-east, bringing
almost as much water as the main channel ordinarily holds.

THE TIGRIS 53

The length of the whole stream, exclusive of meanders, is
reckoned at 1,146 miles. From Diarbekr to Samara the
navigation is much impeded by rapids, rocks and shallows,
as well as by artificial bunds or dams, which in ancient
times were thrown across the stream, probably for purposes
of irrigation. The average width of the Tigris in this
part of its course is 200 yards, while its depth is very con-
siderable. From the west the Tigris obtains no tributary
of the slightest importance, for the Tharthar, which is said
to have once Reached it, now ends in a salt lake, a little be-
low Tekrit. Its volume, however, is continually increasing
as it descends, in consequence of the great bulk of water
brought in from the east, particularly by the Great Zab and
the Diyaleh.

The Tigris, like the Euphrates, has a flood season. Early
in the month of March, in consequence of the melting of
the snow on the southern flank of Niphates, the river rises
rapidly. Its breadth gradually increases at Diarbekr from
100 or 120 to 250 yards. The stream is swift and turbid.
The rise continues through March and April, reaching its
full height generally in the first or second week of May.
At this time the country about Baghdad is often extensively
flooded, not, however, so much from the Tigris as from the
overflow of the Euphrates, which is here poured into the
eastern stream through a canal. About the middle of May
the Tigris begins to fall, and by midsummer it has reached
its normal level.

We find but little mention of the Tigris in Scripture. It
appears indeed under the name of Hiddekel, among the
rivers of Eden, and is there correctly described as " run-
ning eastward to Assyria." But after this we hear no more
of it, if we except one doubtful allusion in Nahum, until

54 THE TIGRIS

the Captivity, when it becomes well known to the prophet
Daniel, who had to cross it in his journeys to and from
Susa. With Daniel it is " the Great River " — an expres-
sion commonly applied to the Euphrates ; and by its side he
sees some of his most important visions. No other men-
tion seems to occur except in the apocryphal books; and
there it is unconnected with any real history. The Tigris,
in its upper course, anciently ran through Armenia and
Assyria. Lower down, from above the point where it
enters on the alluvial plain, it separated Babylonia from Su-
siana. In the wars between the Romans and the Parthians
we find it constituting, for a short time (from a. d. i 14 to
A. D. 117), the boundary line between these two em-
pires. Otherwise it has scarcely been of any political im-
portance. The great chain of Zagros is the main natural
boundary between Western and Central Asia ; and beyond
this, the next defensible line is the Euphrates. Historically
it is found that either the central power pushes itself west-
ward to that river ; or the power ruling the west advances
eastward to the mountain barrier.

The water of the Tigris, in its lower course, is yellowish,
and is regarded as unwholesome. The stream abounds
with fish of many kinds, which are often of a large size.
Abundant water-fowl float on the waters. The banks are
fringed with palm trees and pomegranates, or clothed with
jungle and reeds, the haunt of the wild-boar and the lion.

THE OISE
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

THE river was swollen with the long rains. From
Vadencourt all the way to Origny, it ran with ever
quickening speed, taking fresh heart at each mile, and rac-
ing as though it already smelt the sea. The water was yel-
low and turbulent, swung with an angry eddy among half-
submerged willows, and made an angry clatter along stony
shores. The course kept turning and turning in a narrow
and well-timbered valley. Now, the river would approach
the side, and run grinding along the chalky base of the hill,
and show us a few open colza fields among the trees.
Now, it would skirt the garden-walls of houses, where we
might catch a glimpse through a doorway and see a priest
pacing in the chequered sunlight. Again the foliage closed
so thickly in front, that there seemed to be no issue ; only
a thicket of willows, overtopped by elms and poplars, under
which the river ran flush and fleet, and where a kingfisher
flew past like a piece of the blue sky. On these different
manifestations, the sun poured its clear and catholic looks.
The shadows lay as solid on the swift surface of the stream
as on the stable meadows. The light sparkled golden in
the dancing poplar leaves, and brought the hills into com-
munion with our eyes. And all the while the river never
stopped running or took breath; and the reeds along the
whole valley stood shivering from top to toe.

There should be some myth (but if there is, I know it

56 THE OISE

not) founded on the shivering of the reeds. There are
not many things in nature more striking to man's eye. It
is such an eloquent pantomime of terror ; and to see such
a number of terrified creatures taking, sanctuary in every
nook along the shore, is enough to infect a silly human
with alarm. Perhaps they are only a-cold, and no
wonder, standing waist deep in the stream. Or perhaps
they have never got accustomed to the speed and fury of
the river's flux, or the miracle of its continuous body.
Pan once played upon their forefathers ; and so, by the
hands of the river, he still plays upon these later genera-
tions down all the valley of the Oise ; and plays the same
air, both sweet and shrill, to tell us of the beauty and the
terror of the world.

The canoe was like a leaf in the current. It took it up
and shook it and carried it masterfully away, like a Centaur
carrying off a nymph. To keep some command on our
direction, required hard and diligent plying of the paddle.
The river was in such a hurry for the sea ! Every drop
of water ran in a panic, like as many people in a fright-
ened crowd.

There was never any mistake about the Oise, as a
matter of fact. In these upper reaches, it was still in a
prodigious hurry for the sea. It ran so fast and merrily,
through all the windings of its channel that I strained my
thumb, fighting with the rapids, and had to paddle all the
rest of the way with one hand turned up. Sometimes it
had to serve mills ; and being still a little river, ran very
dry and shallow in the meanwhile. We had to put our
legs out of the boat, and shove ourselves off the sand of
the bottom with our feet. And still it went on its way
singing among the poplars and making a green valley in

THE OISE 57

the world. After a good woman and a good book, and
tobacco, there is nothing so agreeable on earth as a river.
I forgave it its attempt on my life ; which was after all
one part owing to the unruly winds of heaven that had
blown down the tree, one part to my own mismanage-
ment, and only a third part to the river itself, and that
not out of malice, but from its great preoccupation over
its business of getting to the sea. A difficult business,
too ; for the ■ detours it had to make are not to be counted.
The geographers seem to have given up the attempt ; for
I found no map representing the infinite contortion of its
course. A fact will say more than any of them. After
we had been some hours, three if I mistake not, flitting by
the trees at this smooth, breakneck gallop, when we came
upon a hamlet and asked where we were, we had got no
farther than four kilometres (say two miles and a half)
from Origny. If it were not for the honour of the thing
(in the Scotch saying), we might almost as well have been
standing still.

Moy (pronounce Moy) was a pleasant little village
gathered round a chateau with a moat. The air was
perfumed with hemp from neighbouring fields. At the
Golden Sheep we found excellent entertainment. German
shells from the siege of La Fere, Niirnberg figures, gold
fish in a bowl, and all manner of knick-knacks embellished
the public room. The landlady was a^stout, plain, short-
sighted, motherly body, with something not far short of
a genius for cookery. . . . We made a very short
day of it to La Fere ; but the dusk was falling and a small
rain had begun before we stowed the boats. . . .

Below La Fere the river runs through a piece of open
pastoral country ; green, opulent, loved by breeders ; called

58 THE OISE

the Golden Valley. In wide sweeps, and with a swift
and equable gallop, the ceaseless stream of water visits
and makes green the fields. Kine and horses, and little
humorous donkeys browse together in the meadows, and
come down in troops to the riverside to drink. They
make a strange feature in the landscape; above all when
startled, and you can see them galloping to and fro, with
their incongruous forms and faces. It gives a feeling as
of great unfenced pampas and the herds of wandering
nations. There were hills in the distance upon either
hand ; and on one side the river sometimes bordered on
the wooded spurs of Coucy and St. Gobain. . . .

All the time, the river stole away like a thief in straight
places, or swung round corners with an eddy, the willows
nodded and were undermined all day long ; the clay banks
tumbled in ; the Oise, which had been so many centuries
making the Golden Valley, seemed to have changed its
fancy, and be bent upon undoing its performance. What a
number of things a river does, by simply following Gravity
in the innocence of its heart !

Noyon stands about a mile from the river, in a little
plain surrounded by wooded hills, and entirely covers an
eminence with its tile roofs surmounted by a long, straight-
backed cathedral with two stiff towers. As we got into
the town, the tile roofs seemed to tumble up hill one upon
another, in the oddest disorder ; hut for all their scramb-
ling, they did not attain above the knees of the cathedral,
which stood upright and solemn, over all. As the streets
drew near to this presiding genius, through the market-
place under the Hotel de Ville, they grew emptier and
more composed. Blank walls and shuttered windows were
turned to the great edifice and grass grew on the white

THE OISE 59

causeway. " Put ofF thy shoes from off thy feet for the
place whereon thou standest is holy ground." The Hotel
du Nord, nevertheless, lights its secular tapers within a
stone cast of the church, and we had the superb east end
before our eyes all morning from the window of our bed-
room. . . .

The most patient people grow weary at last with being
continually wetted with rain ; except of course in the
Scotch Highlands, where there are not enough fine inter-
vals to point the difference. That was like to be our
case the day we left Noyon. I remember nothing of the
voyage; it was nothing but clay banks and willows and
rain ; incessant, pitiless, beating rain ; until we stopped to
lunch at a little inn in Pimprez, where the canal ran very
near the river. . . . That was our last wetting. The
afternoon faired up : grand clouds still voyaged in the sky,
but now singly and with a depth of blue around their path ;
and a sunset, in the daintiest rose and gold, inaugurated a
thick night of stars and a month of unbroken weather. At
the same time, the river began to give us a better outlook
into the country. The banks were not so high, the
willows disappeared from along the margin, and pleasant
hills stood all along its course and marked their profile on
the sky.

In a little while, the canal, coming to its last lock, began
to discharge its water-houses on the Oise ; so that we had
no lack of company to fear. Here were all our old friends ;
the Deo Gratias of Conde and the Four Sons of Aymon
journeyed cheerily down stream along with us ; we ex-
changed waterside pleasantries with the steersman perched
among the lumber, or the driver hoarse with bawling to his
horses ; and the children came and looked over the side as

60 THE OISE

we paddled by. We had never known all this while how
much we missed them ; but it gave us a fillip to see the
smoke from their chimneys.

A little below this junction we made another meeting of
yet more account. For there we were joined by the Aisne,
already a far travelled river and fresh out of Campagne.
Here ended the adolescence of the Oise ; this was his mar-
riage day ; thenceforward he had a stately, brimming march,
conscious of his own dignity and sundry dams. He be-
came a tranquil feature in the scene. The trees and towns
saw themselves in him, as in a mirror. He carried the
canoes lightly on his broad breast ; there was no need to
work hard against an eddy : but idleness became the order
of the day, and mere straightforward dipping of the paddle,
now on this side, now on that, without intelligence or effort.
Truly we were coming into halcyon weather upon all ac-
counts, and were floated towards the sea like gentlemen.

We made Compiegne as the sun was going down : a fine
profile of a town above the river. Over the bridge, a regi-
ment was parading to the drum. People loitered on the
quay, some fishing, some looking idly at the stream. And
as the two boats shot in along the water, we could see them
pointing them out and speaking one to another. We
landed at a floating lavatory, where the washerwomen were
still beating the clothes.

We put up at a big, bustling hotel in Compiegne, where
nobody observed our presence. . . . It is not possible
to rise before a village ; but Compiegne was so grown a town
that it took its ease in the morning ; and we were up and
away while it was still in dressing-gown and slippers. The
streets were left to people washing door-steps ; nobody was
in full dress but the cavaliers upon the town-hall ; they were

THE OISE 6 1

all washed with dew, spruce in their gilding and full of in-
telligence and a sense of professional responsibility. Kling,
went they on the bells for the half-past six, as we went by.
I took it kind of them to make me this parting compliment;
they never were in better form, not even at noon upon a
Sunday.

There was no one to see us ofF but the early washer-
women — early and late — who were already beating the linen
in their floating lavatory on the river. They were very
v^merry and matutinal in their ways ; plunged their arms
boldly in and seemed not to feel the shock. It would be
dispiriting to me, this early beginning and first cold dabble,
of a most dispiriting day's work. But I believe they would
have been as unwilling to change days with us, as we could
be to change with them. They crowded to the door to
watch us paddle away into the thin sunny mists upon the
river ; and shouted heartily after us till we were through the
' bridge.

There is a sense in which those mists never rose from off
our journey ; and from that time forth they lie very densely
in my note-book. As long as the Oise was a small rural
river, it took us near by people's doors and we could hold
a conversation with natives in the riparian fields. But now
that it had gone so wide, the life along shore passed us by
at a distance. It was the same difference as between a
great public highway and a country by-path that wanders in
and out of cottage gardens. We now lay in towns, where
nobody troubled us with questions ; we had floated into
civilized life, where people pass without salutation. In
sparsely inhabited places, we make -all we can of each en-
counter ; but when it comes to a city, we keep to ourselves,
and never speak unless we have trodden on a man's toes.

62 THE OISE

In these waters, we were no longer strange birds, and no-
body supposed we had travelled further than from the last
town. I remember when we came into L' Isle Adam, for
instance, how we met dozens of pleasure-boats, outing it for
the afternoon, and there was nothing to distinguish the true
voyager from the amateur, except, perhaps, the filthy con-
dition of my sail. The company in one boat actually
thought they recognized me for a neighbour. Was there
ever anything more wounding ? All the romance had come
down to that. Now, on the upper Oise, where nothing
sailed as a general thing but fish, a pair of canoeists could
not be thus vulgarly explained away ; we were strange and
picturesque intruders ; and out of people's wonder sprang
a sort of light and passing intimacy all along our
route. . . .

In our earlier adventures there was generally something
to do, and that quickened us. Even the showers of rain
had a revivifying effect, and shook up the brain from torpor.
But now, when the river no longer ran in a proper sense,
only glided seaward with an even, outright, but impercep-
tible speed, and when the sky smiled upon us day after day
without variety, we began to slip into that golden doze of
the wind which follows upon much exercise in the open
air. I have stupefied myself in this way more than once ;
indeed, I dearly love the feeling ; but I never had it to the
same degree as when paddling down the Oise. It was the
apotheosis of stupidity. . .

We made our first stage below Compiegne to Pont
Sainte Maxence. I was abroad a little after six the next
morning. The air w^s biting and smelt of frost. In an
open place a score of women wrangled together over the
day's market; and the noise of their negotiation sounded

THE OISE 63

thin and querulous like that of sparrows on a winter's morn-
ing. The rare passengers blew into their hands and
shuffled in their wooden shoes to set the blood agog. The
streets were full of icy shadow, although the chimneys were
smoking overhead in golden sunshine. If you wake early
enough at this season of the year, you may get up in
December to break your fast in June.

At Creil, where we stopped to lunch, we left the canoes
in another floating lavatory, which, as it was high noon,
was packed with washerwomen, red-handed and loud-voiced ;
and they and their broad jokes are about all I remember of
the place. . . . The church at Creil was a nondescript
place in the inside, splashed with gaudy lights from the
windows and picked out with medallions of the Dolorous
Way. But there was one oddity, in the way of an ex voto,
which pleased me hugely : a faithful model of a canal boat,
swung from the vault, with a written aspiration that God
should conduct the Saint Nicholas of Creil to a good haven.

We made Precy about sundown. The plain is rich with
tufts of poplar. In a wide, luminous curve, the Oise lay
under the hillside. A faint mist began to rise and con-
found the different distances together. There was not a
sound audible but that of the sheep-bells in some meadows
by the river and the creaking of a cart down the long road
that descends the hill. The villas in their gardens, the
shops along the street, all seemed to have been deserted the
day before ; and I felt inclined to walk discreetly as one
feels in a silent forest.

Of the next two days' sail little remains in my mind, and
nothing whatever in my note-book. The river streamed
on steadily through pleasant riverside landscapes. Washer-
women in blue dresses, fishers in blue blouses, diversified

64 THE OISE

the green banks ; and the relation of the two colours was
like that of the, flower and leaf in the forget-me-not. A
symphony in forget-me-not; I think Theophile Gautier
might thus have characterized that two days' panorama.
The sky was blue and cloudless ; and the sliding surface of
the river held up, in smooth places, a mirror to the heaven
and the shores. The washerwomen hailed us laughingly
and the noise of trees and water made an accompaniment to
our dozing thoughts, as we fleeted down the stream.

The great volume, the indefatigable purpose of the river
held the mind in chain. It seemed now so sure of its end,
so strong and easy in its gait, like a grown man full of
determination. The surf was roaring for it on the sands of
Havre.

THE HUDSON

ESTHER SINGLETON

THE Hudson is considered the most beautiful river of
the United States. Its scenery is so enchanting
that it has been called the " Rhine of America." Its hills
and banks are dotted with palatial residences. To the his-
torian they are eloquent of the brave generals and their
armies who fought for Liberty and they charm the dreamer
by the legends that cluster around them. It is no trouble
for him to see the Phantom Ship scudding across the Tap-
pan Zee, or to people Sleepy Hollow with vanished forms.

George William Curtis pronounced the Rhine of
America even grander than the Rhine. He says : " The
Danube has in part glimpses of such grandeur. The Elbe
has sometimes such delicately pencilled effects. But no
European river is so lordly in its bearing, none flows in
such state to the sea."

The Hudson's course of three hundred miles told briefly
is as follows :

It rises in the Adirondacks about 4,000 feet above the
sea, where innumerable little streams fed by mountain
lakes unite to form the headwaters of the noble river
that begins a tortuous course and receives the outlet of
Schroon Lake and the Sacondaga River. Turning to the
east, it finally reaches Glen's Falls, where it drops fifty
feet. From thence to Troy, it is much broken by rapids,
and it is not until it reaches Albany, six miles below Troy,

66 THE HUDSON

that the Hudson becomes wide and flows through elevated
and picturesque banks. Then, in its journey, it passes by
the Catskills, or as the Indians called them — the Ontioras
(Mountains of the Sky) which are but seven miles from its
banks. A short distance below Newburg, sixty-one miles
from New York, it begins its passage through the noble
hills called The Highlands, an area of about sixteen by
twenty-five miles. In the midst of this beautiful scenery
on a bold promontory stands the United States Military
Academy at West Point. The river then widens into
Haverstraw Bay, immediately below which is Tappan Zee,
extending from Teller's Point to Piermont, twelve miles
long and from three to four miles wide. Just below Pier-
mont, a range of trap rock — the Palisades — extends to Fort
Lee, a distance of about fifteen miles. From Fort Lee to
its mouth the Hudson is from one mile to two miles long.
The Hudson has been called Shatemuck, the Mohegan, the
Manhattan, the Mauritius (in honour of Prince Maurice of
Nassau) the Noordt Montaigne, the North River (to dis-
tinguish it from the Delaware or South River) the River of
the Mountains, and, finally, the Hudson in honour of its
discoverer.

Although Verrazano practically discovered this river in
1524, its first navigator was Henry Hudson who in the
service of the Dutch West India Company on his voyage
in the Half Moon passed through the Narrows in 1609,
entered New York Bay and sailed up the Mohegan River
as far as Albany.

The Hudson was divided by the old navigators into four-
teen reaches, one of which, Claverack (Clover Reach), has
survived. First came the Great Chip-Rock Reach (the
Palisades) ; then the Tappan Reach where dwelt the Man-

iz;

o

Q

K
ta

THE HUDSON 67

hattans, the Saulrickans and the Tappans ; the next reach
ended at Haverstroo ; following came Seylmaker's Reach,
Crescent Reach, Hoges Reach and Vorsen Reach which
extended to Klinkersberg (Storm King). Fisher's Reach,
Claverack, Backerack, Playsier and Vaste Reach as far as
Hinnenhock; then Hunter's Reach to Kinderhook ; and
Fisher's Hook near Shad Island, where dwelt the Mohe-
gans.

No river in America presents so animated a scene as the
Hudson from the Battery to the beginning of the Palisades.
Ocean steamers, ferry-boats, excursion boats, private yachts,
and craft of all sizes and kinds sail or steam down the nar-
row channel or cross between the shores of Manhattan and
New Jersey. The river is always gay and beautiful in
sunshine and fog, winter and summer.

On ascending the river, the first point of interest is
Weehawken, on the west, where, on a narrow ledge of
rock, Aaron Burr killed Alexander Hamilton in a duel,
July II, 1804. Next, and on the eastern shore, is Spuyten
Duyvel Creek, associated with the earliest history of the
river. This is a narrow stream formed by the in-flowing tide-
water of the Hudson and joining at Kingsbridge with the
so-called Harlem River, which is a similar in-flowing of the
tide-water of Long Island Sound. Here a bridge was built
in 1693 ; and here, on the 2d of October, Henry Hudson
had a severe fight with the Indians who attacked the Half
Moon. The origin of the name is unknown; but Irving's
legend clings to the spot as a limpet to a rock. He tells
the story that the trumpeter, Antony van Corlear, was dis-
patched one evening on a message up the Hudson. When
he arrived at this creek, the wind was high, the elements
were in an uproar, and no boatman was at hand. He de-

68 THE HUDSON

clared he would swim across en spijt en Duyvel (in spite of
the Devil), but was drowned on the way.

Yonkers is the next point of interest on this side of the
river, supposed to have derived its name from yoni-herr,
the young heir. After passing Hastings and Dobbs Ferry
(named after an old ferryman), the river widens into a
beautiful bay. Across the river, opposite Spuyten Duyvel,
is Fort Lee, from which Washington watched the battle
that resulted in the loss of Fort Washington. From this
point the Palisades begin. This range of rocks is from two
hundred and fifty to six hundred feet high and extends
about fifteen miles from Fort Lee to the hills of Rockland
County.

Opposite Dobbs Ferry, the northern boundary line of
New Jersey strikes the Hudson ; and from this point north
the river runs solely through the state of New York. At
this point is Piermont; and near it Tappan, where Andre
was hanged. Directly opposite Piermont is Irvington,
twenty-four miles from New York, where close to the
water's edge stands Sunnyside^ the charming home of Wash-
ington Irving, " made up of gable-ends and full of angles
and corners as an old cocked hat," to quote the description
of the author, who bought and beautified an old Dutch
dwelling called Wolfert's Roost.

Three miles north is Tarrytown, a name derived from
the Dutch Tarwen-Dorp, or wheat town, and not, as
Diedrich Knickerbocker said, because husbands would
tarry at the village tavern. A mile north of Tarrytown is
the romantic Sleepy Hollow, where still stands the old
Dutch Church. Six miles above Tarrytown and Sing Sing,
now called by its original name, Osstn (a stone) and ing (a
place) is reached. The name is derived from the rocky

THE HUDSON 69

and stony character of the bank. Here the State Prison is
situated.

Rockland and the old " tedious spot " — Verdietege Hook
— of the old Dutch sailors are opposite, and a little above
the latter, Diedrich Hook, or Point No Point. Croton
River meets the Hudson about a mile above Sing Sing and
forms Croton Bay. Croton Point, on which the Van Cort-
landt Manor House stands, juts out here and separates
Tappan Zee from Haverstraw Bay, and at the end of
which, once called Teller's Point, a great Indian battle is
said to have taken place. The spot is haunted by the
ghosts of warriors and sachems. Three miles more, and
we reach Stony Point on the west ; and, passing Verplanck's
Point on the east, come to Peekskill, where Nathan Palmer,
the spy, was hanged. This was also the headquarters of
General Israel Putnam.

Turning Kidd's Point, or Caldwell's landing, with Peek-
skill opposite, we pass through the " Southern Gate of the
Highlands." It is at this spot that Captain Kidd's ship is
supposed to have been scuttled. Here the Dunderberg, or
Thunder Mountain rises abruptly from the river; and,
as the latter turns to the west (now called for a brief time
The Horse Race), another bold mass of rock, Anthony's
Nose (1,228 feet), looms into view.

On the other side of the river is Fort Montgomery
Creek, once called Poplopen's Kill, and here stood Fort
Montgomery and Fort Clinton on either side of the mouth.
From Fort Montgomery to Anthony's Nose a chain of
iron and wood was stretched across the river during the
Revolutionary War to prevent the passage of British boats.

Opposite Anthony's Nose is the Island of lona ; and now
we see the Sugar Loaf, not one hill, as first appears,, but a

^0 THE HUDSON

series of hills. At the foot of Sugar Loaf stood Beverly
House, where Arnold lived at the time of his treason.

Half a mile helovf West Point, on the w^est side of the
river, a small stream, rushing down the rocky precipice,
forms a snowy cascade, known as Buttermilk Falls.

West Point, with its acadepiy buildings and parade
ground on a plateau two hundred feet above the river — the
" Gibraltar of the Hudson" — near which may be seen the
ruins of old Fort Putnam on Mount Independence, five
hundred feet above the river, takes us into historic ground
and beautiful scenery. We pass a succession of lofty hills
on the same side of the river, the chief of which is Old
Cro' Nest (1,418 feet). Its name was given to it from a
circular lake on the summit suggesting a nest in the moun-
tains ; and it is thus described by Rodman Drake, in the
Culprit Fay :

" 'Tis the middle watch of a summer night.
The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright.
The moon looks down on Old Cro' Nest —
She mellows the shade on his shaggy breast.
And seems his huge grey form to throw
In a silver cone on the wave below."

To the north of Cro' Nest comes Storm King, the highest
peak of the Highlands (1,800 feet). First it was called
Klinkersberg and then Boterberg (Butter Hill) and renamed
Storm King by N. P. Willis. Storm King with Breakneck
(1,187 feet), on the opposite side form the "Northern
Gate of the Highlands." The river here is deep and
narrow as it cuts its way through what is practically a
gorge in the Alleghany Mountains.

The Highlands now trend off to the north-east and the

THE HUDSON 71

New Beacon or Grand Sachem Mountain (1,685 f^et) and
the Old Beacon (1,471 feet). The names are explained by
the fact that signal fires were kindled on their summits
during the Revolution. The Indians called them Mat-
teawan and sometimes referred to the whole range of High-
lands as Wequehachke (Hill Country). They also believed
that the great Manito confined here rebellious spirits whose
groans could often be heard.

On the west shore are situated the towns of Cornwall and
Newburg, where Washington had his headquarters in the
old Hasbrouck House.

Opposite Newburg is Fishkill Landing and above New-
burg on the west side is the Devil's Danskammer, or
Devil's Dancing Chamber, where the Indians celebrated
their religious rites. Several villages and towns are passed
on both sides of the river.

One spot of romantic interest on the west shore is Blue
Point, where on moonlight nights a phantom ship is often
seen at anchor beneath the blufF. It is supposed to be the
Half Moon, which one day passed the Battery and sailed
up the river without paying the slightest heed to signals.
The " Storm Ship," as she is called, is often seen in bad
weather in the Tappan Zee and in Haverstraw Bay ; but
more frequently she appears at rest beneath the shadow of
Blue Point.

Across the river is Poughkeepsie, so called from the
Indian word Apokeepsing, meaning safe harbour. At this
point is the only bridge that crosses the river between New
York and Albany.

Six miles above Poughkeepsie, the river makes a sudden
turn. The Dutch called this point Krom Elleboge
(Crooked Elbow), now Crum Elbow. Ten miles further

72 THE HUDSON

is Rhinebeck Landing, the approach to the old Dutch
village of Rhinebeck, founded by William Beckman in
1647. On the opposite side of the river are Rondout and
Kingston on Esopus Creek, which flows north and joins
the Hudson at Saugerties.

North of Rhinebeck comes Lower Red Hook Landing
or Barrytown, North Bay where the Clermont was built by
Robert Fulton, and then Tivoli.

The next point of interest on the west side is Catskill
Landing, just above the mouth of the Kaaterskill Creek.
On the east bank is the city of Hudson ; on the west bank
Athens. Nearly opposite Four Mile Point Lighthouse is
Kinderhook River or Creek on whose banks Martin Van
Buren lived. Opposite Kinderhook is Coxsackie and
above this New Baltimore and Coeymans. On the eastern
bank are Schodack Landing, Castleton and Greenbush or
East Albany. A bridge leads across to Albany on the west
bank of the river. Six miles above Albany is the city of
Troy, on the east bank. Above Cohoes on the west bank
the Hudson receives the Mohawk, its largest tributary (150
miles long). Above Troy navigation is interrupted by
many rapids and falls.

During the winter the river constantly freezes and it is
not uncommon in the upper reaches to see skaters and
sleighs crossing the ice. The breaking up of the ice is a
marvellous spectacle.

In her Memoirs of an American Lady^ Mrs. Grant of
Laggan has vividly described this " sublime spectacle."
She notes that the whole population of Albany was down
at the riverside in a moment when the first sound was heard
like a " loud and long peal of thunder." She writes :

" The ice, which had been all winter very thick, instead

THE HUDSON 73

of diminishing, as might be expected in spring, still in-
creased, as the sunshine came, and the days lengthened.
Much snow fell in February, which, melted by the heat of
the sun, was stagnant for a day on the surface of the ice,
and then by the night frosts, which were still severe, was
added, as a new accession to the thickness of it, above the
former surface. This was so often repeated, that, in some
years, the ice gained two feet in thickness, after the heat of
the sun became such as one would have expected should
have entirely dissolved it. So conscious were the natives of
the safety this accumulation of ice afforded, that the sledges
continued to drive on the ice when the trees were budding,
and everything looked like spring ; nay, when there was so
much melted on the surface that the horses were knee-deep
in water while travelling on it, and portentous cracks on
every side announced the approaching rupture. This could
scarce have been produced by the mere influence of the sun
till midsummer. It was the swelling of the waters under
the ice, increased by rivulets, enlarged by melted snows,
that produced this catastrophe ; for such the awful concus-
sion made it appear. The prelude to the general bursting
of this mighty mass, was a fracture, lengthways, in the
middle of the stream, produced by the effort of the impris-
oned waters, now increased too much to be contained
within their wonted bounds. Conceive a solid mass, from
six to eight feet thick, bursting for many miles in one con-
tinued rupture, produced by a force inconceivably great,
and, in a manner, inexpressibly sudden. Thunder is no
adequate image of this awful explosion, which roused all the
sleepers, within reach of the sound, as completely as the
final convulsion of nature, and the solemn peal of the awak-
ening trumpet might be supposed to do. The stream in

74 THE HUDSON

summer was confined by a pebbly strand, overhung with
high and steep banks, crowned with lofty trees, which were
considered as a sacred barrier against encroachments of this
annual visitation. Never dryads dwelt in more security
than those of the vine-clad elms, that extended their ample
branches over this mighty stream. Their tangled roots,
laid bare by the impetuous torrents, formed caverns ever
fresh and fragrant; where the most delicate plants flour-
ished, unvisited by scorching suns, or snipping blasts ; and
nothing could be more singular than the variety of plants
and birds that were sheltered in these intricate and safe re-
cesses. But when the bursting of the crystal surface set
loose the many waters that had rushed down, swollen with
the annual tribute of dissolving snow, the islands and low-
lands were all flooded in an instant ; and the lofty banks,
from which you were wont to overlook the stream, were
now entirely filled by an impetuous torrent, bearing down,
with incredible and tumultuous rage, immense shoals of ice ;
which, breaking every instant by the concussion of others,
jammed together in some places, in others erecting them-
selves in gigantic heights for an instant in the air, and seem-
ing to combat with their fellow-giants crowding on in all
directions, and falling together with an inconceivable crash,
formed a terrible moving-picture, animated and various be-
yond conception ; for it was not only the cerulean ice,
whose broken edges, combating with the stream, refracted
light into a thousand rainbows, that charmed your attention ;
lofty pines, large pieces of the bank torn off by the ice with
all their early green and tender foliage, were driven on like
travelling islands, amid this battle of breakers, for such it
seemed. I am absurdly attempting to paint a scene, under
which the powers of language sink."

THE HUDSON 75

Since the days of the old Dutch settlers the Hudson has
witnessed all the triumphs of modern ship-building and
navigation. It was on the Hudson that Robert Fulton
made his first experiments in steam navigation and into the
Hudson have come the new turbine steamships that have
crossed the Atlantic in five days ; and beneath its waters
tunnels have lately been opened.

Many changes have taken place on its banks since
Washington Irving wrote : " I thank God that I was
born on the banks of the Hudson. I fancy I can trace
much of what is good and pleasant in my own heterogeneous
compound to my early companionship with this glorious
river. In the warmth of youthful enthusiasm, I used to
clothe it with moral attributes, and, as it were, give it a
soul. I delighted in its frank, bold, honest character ; its
noble sincerity and perfect truth. Here was no specious,
smiling surface, covering the shifting sand-bar and per-
fidious rock, but a stream deep as it was broad and bearing
with honourable faith the bark that trusted to its waves. I
gloried in its simple, quiet, majestic, epic flow, ever straight
forward, or, if forced aside for once by opposing mountains,
struggling bravely through them, and resuming its onward
march. Behold, thought I, an emblem of a good man's
course through life, ever simple, open and direct, or if,
overpowered by adverse circumstances, he deviate into
error, it is but momentary ; he soon resumes his onward and
honourable career, and continues it to the end of his pil-
grimage."

THE TIBER

STROTHER A. SMITH

THOUGH the Tiber is insignificant in size, compared
with the great rivers of the world, it is one of the
most famous, and even its tributaries, down to the smallest
brook, have some historical or poetic association connected
witTi them, or exhibit some singular natural peculiarity.
Its stream is swelled by the superfluous waters of the
historic Thrasymene ; its affluents, the Velino and the
Anio, form the celebrated Cascades of Terni and Tivoli ;
the Clitumnus and the Nar are invested with poetic interest
by the verses of Virgil, Ovid, and Silius Italicus ; while
the Chiana presents the singular phenomenon of a river
which, within the historic period, has divided itself into
two, and now forms a connecting link between the Arno
and the Tiber, discharging a portion of its waters into
each. The smaller streams, also, the Cremera, the AUia,
and the Almo, have each their legend, historical, or
mythological ; while the rivulet of the Aqua Crabra, or
Marrana, recalls the memory of Cicero and his litigation
with the company which supplied his establishment at
Tusculum with water from the brook.

The Tiber rises nearly due east of Florence, and on
the opposite side of the ridge which gives birth to the
Arno. It issues in a copious spring of limpid water,
which at the distance of a mile has force enough to turn

THE TIBER 77

a mill. If we are to believe Bacci, it exhales so warm a
vapour that snow, notwithstanding the elevation of the
region, will not lie along its course within half a mile.
For a distance of fifty-six miles it flows in a south-easterly
direction through an elevated valley, in the upper part of
which the cold, according to Pliny the younger, who had
a villa there, was too great for the olive, and where the
snow often accumulates to a considerable depth. Not far
from Perugia it turns to the south, and about fourteen
miles lower down by the windings of the stream, receives
its first affluent, the Chiascia, which brings with it the
Topino (anciently Tineas), and the waters of the classic
Clitumnus, known to the readers of Virgil, Propertius,
and Silius Italicus as the river on whose banks were bred,
and in whose stream were washed, " the milk-white oxen
which drew the Roman triumphs to the temples of the
gods," and the same which is so picturesquely described by
the younger Pliny. At a place called La Vene, one of the
sources of the Clitumnus rises at the foot of a hill. Like
the fountain of Vaucluse, it issues a small river from the
earth, and according to Pliny, had sufficient depth of water
to float a boat. It is clear as crystal, delightfully cool in
summer, and of an agreeable warmth in winter. Near it
stands a temple once sacred to the river god, but now
surmounted by the triumphant cross. It seems to have
been a favourite place of resort for the Romans, as far as
their limited means of locomotion would permit; since
even the ferocious Caligula, as Suetonius tells us, attended
by his body-guard of Batavians, was among the visitors
to these celebrated springs. The beauty of the scenery
appears to have been the attraction ; for there were no
mineral sources, and a refined superstition would have

yS THE TIBER

prevented the Romans from availing themselves of the
agreeable temperature of the water to indulge in the luxury
of bathing, rivers near their sources being accounted
sacred, and polluted by the contact of a naked body. Of
all the misdeeds of Nero none, perhaps, contributed more
to his unpopularity than his swimming, during one of his
drunken frolics, in the source of the Aqua Marcia, the
same which is brought by the aqueduct to Rome, and
which rises in the mountains of the Abruzzi, where Nero
was staying at the time.

When the news of this act of profanation arrived in the
city it created a great sensation ; and an illness with which
he was shortly afterwards seized was attributed to the
anger of the god.

Seven miles lower down on the right, the Tiber receives
the Nestore, a large and impetuous torrent, or torrentaccio,
as it is called by the Italians. The Nestore, where it
enters the Tiber flows in a bed of sand and shingle no less
than a third of a Roman mile in width, and after heavy
rains must bring down an enormous body of water. Into
the Cina, one of its tributaries, by means of a tunnel, the
overflow of the lake of Thrasymene is discharged. The
emissary originates in the south-eastern bay of the lake,
but when, or by whom, the work was executed is a matter
of dispute. Thirty and a half miles further on, the Tiber
is joined by the Chiana (anciently Clanis), which, after
uniting with the Paglia, flows into it on the same side as
the Nestore and in the neighbourhood of Orvieto.

The Paglia rises in the high volcanic mountain of
Monte Amiata, and in summer is nearly dry ; but its
broad stony channel at Acquapendente shows what a con-
tribution it must bring to the main stream in time of floods.

THE TIBER 79

The Chiana, which from the black and muddy colour of its
waters has received the name of the Lethe of Tuscany,
but which might with more propriety be called the Tuscan
Cocytus, was once a single stream originating in the
neighbourhood of Arezzo, and flowing southward into the
Tiber. But in the Middle Ages a large portion of the
valley in which it flowed was filled up by the debris which
in time of floods was brought down by the lateral torrents.
A sort of plateau was thus formed, sloping at its edges
towards the valleys of the Tiber and the Arno. The
streams which entered this plateau stagnated in the level
which it formed, converting it into an unproductive and
unhealthy marsh, the abode of malaria and the pest-house
of Dante's Purgatorio. They then flowed over the north-
ern and southern edges of the plateau, and, uniting with
others, formed two distinct rivers called the Tuscan and
Roman Chianas.

The torrent of the Tresa, rising not far from the lake
of Thrasymene, and now diverted into the lake of Chiusi,
may be considered as the head waters of the Tuscan Chiana,
the torrent of the Astrone, rising in the direction of Monte-
pulciano, as the main branch of the Roman Chiana. The
two are connected by canals and wet ditches, so that it is
conceivable that a small piece of wood thrown into one of
these might, according to circumstances and the direction
of the wind, find its way to Florence or to Rome.

The district which I have described, the celebrated
Val di Chiana, is now one of the most productive regions
of Italy, green with vineyards and pastures, and golden
with waving crops. Nor is it unhealthy, except in the
immediate vicinity of the lakes. The change was effected
by canalizing the streams, and by the process called warp-

8o THE TIBER

ing, which is the method adopted in Lincolnshire for re-
claiming land from the sea. A certain space was enclosed
with banks, into which the streams were diverted when
they were swollen and charged with mud. The opening
was then closed with a floodgate, and the water left to de-
posit the matter which it held in suspension. In this way
an inch or two of soil was gained every year, until the
land became sufficiently dry and firm. It was then sown
with crops, and planted with trees, which served still
further to purify the air by decomposing with their leaves
and fixing in their tissues the vapours which had given the
Val di Chiana so deadly a name.

Turning again to the south-east and at a distance of
136^ miles from its source, the Tiber is swelled by the
united streams of the Neva, the Velino, and the Salto. The
Neva, the " sulphurea Nar albus aqua " of Virgil, and
" Narque albescentibus undis " of Silius Italicus, rises at the
foot of the lofty peak of Monte Vettore, part of the Sibyl-
line range, and is the tributary which is most affected by
the melting of the snows.

The Velino also has its source in the great central chain
of the Apennines, and after being joined by the Salto and
Turano, forms the cascade of Terni by dashing over the
precipice which terminates the valley, and hastens to meet
the Neva. The Salto, rising in the kingdom of Naples,
flows northward for fifty miles, and after passing beneath
the lofty range of Monte Velino, and receiving a contribu-
tion from its snows, mingles its waters with the Velino.
Swelled by these tributaries the Neva rolls along a full and
rapid stream, and sweeping past Terni and Narni, loses
itself in the Tiber.

About sixty-four miles lower down, and four and a half

THE TIBER 8 1

above Rome by the river, the Tiber is joined by the Anio,
, or Teverone, the most important, with the exception of the
Neva, of all its tributaries. No river is better known than
the Anio. The scenery of its valley, the classical associa-
tions of its neighbourhood, and the celebrated cascades of
Tivoli, have made it the favourite resort of tourists. The
Anio rises in the mountains of the Hernici, part of the
modern Abruzzi, and after flowing for about thirty-six
miles through a narrow valley whose general course is to the
west, precipitates itself into the gorge which is overlooked
by the town of Tivoli ; emerging from which it turns west-
south-west and joins the Tiber, after a further course of
twenty miles. Midway between its source and Tivoli, it
passes the town of Subiaco, anciently Sublaqueum, which
derives its name from three picturesque lakes, " tres lacus
amoenitaU nobilis." Tivoli is well known to have been the
favourite retreat of the wealthy Romans from the turmoil,
and what Horace calls the " fumus," of Rome. The names
and ruins of these villas yet remain, but no trace is left of
those which once adorned the banks of the Tiber, and per-
haps of the Anio in the lower part of its course.

Pliny the younger calls the Anio " delicatissimus amnium"
" softest and gentlest of rivers " ; and adds " that it was
for this reason invited, as it were, and retained by the
neighbouring villas " for their own exclusive use. Yet,
this "delicate river" indulged occasionally in the wildest
escapades, and Pliny himself, in this very letter, describes
an inundation in which it swept away woods, undermined
hills, and committed extraordinary havoc among the neigh-
bouring farms. From this time to the year 1826 it was a
source of apprehension to the people of Tivoli, and an
anxiety to the government at Rome, which expended con-

82 THE TIBER

siderable sums in trying to prevent some great calamity, or
in repairing the damage which had been done. Once since
the time of Strabo the river is thought to have changed its
course, discharging itself at a lower level into the Grotto of
Neptune, but still forming a lofty and picturesque cascade.

At diiFerent periods it had destroyed buildings, under-
mined the foundation of others, and defied every eiFort to
control its violence. At length these floods culminated in
the great inundation of 1826, which entirely altered the
character of the cascade, and necessitated the formation of
the tunnel through Monte Catillo.

The work was let on contract to two rival firms, and
pushed forward with such vigour that, though it was con-
sidered a most arduous undertaking in those times, it was
completed in 1836, during the Pontificate of Gregory XVI.

From the Anio, or its tributaries, was drawn the water
which supplied the principal aqueducts of Rome, the Anio
Vetus, the Marcia, the Anio Novus, and the Claudia.
When the original Aqua Appia and Anio Vetus were
found insufficient for the increasing wants of Rome, it
was resolved to seek for a fresh supply. This was found
in a stream of limpid water rising about thirty-six miles
from Rome in the Marsian Mountains, and flowing into
the Anio. As, the water of the Vetus was often turbid
after rain, and even the Piscina, or reservoir, through which
it was made to pass, often failed to purify it, Quintus
Marcius Rex, who was appointed to superintend the work,
was desirous that the water of the new aqueduct should be
taken from one of the tributaries of the river, and as near
as possible to its source.

As the source was in the country beyond the Anio, the
aqueduct was of course more expensive than any of the

THE TIBER 83

preceding ones, and the entire length of it was no less than
sixty-one miles, of which several were on arches, the rest
being subterranean. But, if the expense was greater, the
quality of the water was superior to that of any other
with which Rome was acquainted.

The aqueducts of the Anio Novus, and the Aqua
Claudia, of which I have spoken, were completed in the
reign of Claudius. The Aqua Claudia, which came from
springs, was nearly equal in quality to the Marcia, while
the two Anios were often turbid, even in fine weather,
from the falling in of their banks. But Claudius improved
the quality of the Anio Novus, by abandoning the river at
the point from which the water had been drawn, and taking
it from a lake, out of which the stream issues limpid, after
having deposited the greater part of its impurities.

Altogether, according to the calculation of Fea, half the
volume of Anio was abstracted by the four aqueducts
which have been mentioned.

Four tributaries remain to be described — the Cremera,
the Allia, the Aqua Crabra, and the Almo — streams insig-
nificant in size, but famous in the annals of Rome, or pos-
sessing an interest for the classical scholar and the archae-
ologist. The Cremera, a mere brook, over which an
active person might leap, rises in the little lake Baccano,
and flowing past the site of Veii, crosses the Flaminian way
about six miles from Rome.

This brook must not be confounded with another a little
higher up, and which is a rivulet unknown to fame. The
Cremera is associated, as every student of Roman history is
aware, with the patriotic devotion of the Fabii.

On the banks of the Allia, the '■'■flehilts Allia " of Ovid,
a still stnaller stream, though dignified by the historians

84 THE TIBER

with the name of river, was fought a battle with the Gauls,
in which the Romans sustained a signal defeat.

The Allia cannot be identified with certainty, but it is
supposed to be a small stream flowing in a deep ravine,
which joins the Tiber on the side opposite to Veii, and
about three miles above Castel Guibileo, the site of the
ancient Fidenae. This stream agrees with the description
of Livy.

The Aqua Crabra is generally known by the name of
the Marrana, but is also called Aqua Mariana, and Mar-
rana del Maria ; Marrana being a name frequently given to
brooks by the modern Romans. Thus we have Marrana
della CafFarella, another name for the Almone, and Marrana
di Grotta perfetta. The rivulet anciently known by the
name of the Aqua Crabra rises in the heart of the Alban
hills, and after passing beneath the heights on which Tus-
culum and Frascati are situated, turned northwards in obe-
dience to the configuration of the ground and flowed into
the Anio. But, at some unknown period after the fall of
the Roman Empire, it was diverted by means of a tunnel
into the channel in which it at present runs, for the purpose
of turning mills and irrigating the land. The little stream,
also, which flows in the valley between Marino and the
ridge encircling the Alban lake, whose source is considered
by some to be the Aqua Ferentina of Livy, is conveyed
through a similar tunnel to swell the scanty waters of the
Aqua Crabra. In ancient times this rivulet was considered
of such importance to the people of Tusculum, who lived
out of the way of the great aqueducts, that Agrippa, as
Frontinus tells us, consented not to turn it into the " caput,"
or well head, of the Aqua Julia, as he had originally pro-
posed. It was looked upon as a treasure to be doled out in

THE TIBER 85

measures to the thirsty people of Tusculum, and was often
contended for by legal proceedings. Cicero, in his Oration
de lege Agraria^ III^ 2, informs us that he paid rates to the
authorities of Tusculum for his share of the precious fluid.
And in his Oration pro Balbo, ch. 22^ he refers to a litigation
with the municipality which furnished the water, probably
on account of the deficient supply. In this action " he was
in the habit," he tells us, " of consulting the lawyer, Tugio,
on account of his long experience in similar cases." Tugio
seems to have justified his choice, and to have frightened
the municipality into granting a more abundant supply, for
we find Cicero in his letter to Tiro, observing, " that now
there was more water than enough." " I should like to
know," he says, " how the business of the Aqua Crabra is
going on, though now indeed there is more water than
enough."

The Almo is the stream which flows in the valley of
CafFarella, close to the Nymphaeum, which does duty for
the grotto of Egeria. Its most remote source is about six
miles from Rome, in the direction of Albano, and this is
usually dry ; so that the Almo is with great propriety called
" brevissimus" in comparison with the other rivers which
Ovid is enumerating. The perennial source is at Aqua
Santa, not more than three miles from the city. The
stream that rises in the valley between Marino and the Al-
ban lake is represented in most maps as flowing into the
Almo. It is really diverted by a tunnel into the Aqua
Crabra. At the junction of the Almo with the Tiber were
washed every year, the statue of the Goddess Cybele, her
chariot and the sacred instruments of her worship.

Among the remaining tributaries -of the Tiber may be
enumerated the Farfarus, which is a torrent joining the

86 THE TIBER

Tiber a little above Correse. Also the little stream, the
Aqua Albana, which is discharged by the emissary of
the Albaii Lake, a work executed 393 years before
Christ,

THE SHANNON
ARTHUR SHADWELL MARTIN

THE greatest body of running water in the British Isles
has long claimed and received the love, admiration
and praise of natives and foreigners. Its banks are fringed
with ruins of castles, round towers, abbeys and churches, and
its islands and hills reek with historical associations, pagan
folklore and mediaeval tradition. Steamers now run prac-
tically from its mouth to its source, and to the tourist all its
beauties are now displayed. The enthusiasm of foreigners
over the beautiful stream equals that of Erin's own sons.
Writing in 1844, Johann Georg Kohl said :

" Well may the Irish speak of the ' Royal Shannon,' for
he is the king of all their rivers. A foreigner, when he
thinks of some of our large continental streams, may at first
consider the epithet somewhat of an exaggeration, but let
him go down this glorious river and its lakes, and he will
be at no loss to understand that royal majesty, in the matter
of rivers, may be quite independent of length or extent.

" The British Islands certainly can boast of no second
stream, the beauties of whose banks could for a moment be
compared to those of the Shannon.

" At his very birth he is broad and mighty, for he starts on
his course strong with the tribute of a lake (Lough Allen),
and traverses the middle of Ireland, in a direction from
north-east to south-west. Thrice again he widens out into
a lake; first into the little Lough Boffin, then into the

88 THE SHANNON

larger Lough Ree, and lastly, when he has got more than
half way to the ocean, into the yet longer Lough Derg.
Below Limerick he opens into a noble- estuary, and when
at length he falls into the sea between Loop Head and
Kerry Head, the glorious river has completed a course of
two hundred and fourteen English miles. The greater part
of the Shannon runs through the central plain which
separates the mountainous north from the mountainous
south.

" It was on a beautiful day that I embarked to descend
the Shannon. Flowing out of a lake, and forming several
other lakes in its progress, the water is extremely clear and
beautiful. The movement is in general equable, excepting
a few rapids which are avoided by means of canals. The
banks, too, are pleasing to the eye. Large green meadows
stretch along the sides of the river, and villages alternate
with handsome country seats, surrounded by their parks.
Herons abound along the margin, and many of these beau-
tiful birds were continually wheeling over us in the air,
their plumage glittering again in the rays of the sun.

" We arrived at Banagher. Then gliding along by Red-
wood Castle and the beautiful meadows of Portumna, we
left the town of Portumna to our right, and entered the
waters of Lough Derg. The steamer in which we had
hitherto travelled was of small dimensions, with a wheel
under the stern, to allow of its passing through some canals
of no great breadth ; but on the broad lake a new and larger
vessel prepared to receive us. The two steamers came
close to one another, to exchange their respective passen-
gers, and their manoeuvre, as they swept round on the wide
water, pleased me much.

"Of the lakes that like so many rich pearls are strung

o
Z

z.
<

THE SHANNON 89

upon the silver thread of the Shannon, Lough Ree and
Lough Bodarrig, lying in a level country, and in a great
measure surrounded by bogs, present little that is pleasing
to the eye. Lough Allen is situated almost wholly within
the mountainous districts of the north, and a large portion
of Lough Derg is made picturesque by the mountains of the
south. Like all Irish lakes. Lough Derg contains a num-
ber of small green islands, of which the most renowned is
Inniscaltra, an ancient holy place, containing the ruins of
seven venerable churches of great antiquity, and the re-
mains of one of those remarkable columnal erections known
in Ireland under the name of " round towers." We passed
the sacred isle at the distance of a mile and a half, but we
could very distinctly make out all its monuments by the aid
of a telescope."

It is not every visitor to Shannon's shores that has un-
qualified praise for the scenery. Thus speaking of the
sites selected by the saints of old for their retreats, Caesar
Otway exclaims : " What a dreary place is Glendalough !
what a lonely isle is Inniscaltra ! what a hideous place
is Patrick's Purgatory ! what a desolate spot is Clon-
macnoise ! From the hill of Bentuliagh on which we
now stood, the numerous churches, the two round towers,
the curiously overhanging bastion of O'Melaghlin's
Castle, all before us to the south, and rising in relief from
the dreary sameness of the surrounding red bogs, pre-
sented such a picture of tottering ruins and encompassing
desolation as I am sure few places in Europe could paral-
lel."

The traveller who wants to see the most accessible
beauties of the Shannon usually starts at Limerick and
leaves the river at Athlone, though some go as far as Car-

THE SHANNON 9 1

to Banagher in the summer of 1897, ^"^ '^^ route is now
known as the " Duke of York " route.

As every one knows, the Shannon is much the largest
river in the United Kingdom. Its breadth, where it ex-
pands into the long narrow lakes that mark so much of its
course, stretches to as much as thirteen miles. Lough
Derg, the first of these expanded stretches, is twenty-three
miles long, and exceedingly picturesque. Its shining sur-
face, overshadowed by blue hills, is broken here and
there by woody islands famous in history and song. Killa-
loe itself takes its name from the ruined church on the
island below the twelve-arched bridge (" the church on the
water"). The salmon fisheries here are very important
and profitable, and — which is probably more interesting to
the traveller — the river is free to every one who possesses
a rod and line.

It was here, at the lower end of Lough Derg, that Brian
Boru's palace of Kincora once stood, in the Ninth Century.
The mound on which it was built is all that remains of a
place that displayed, 1,200 years ago, the utmost glory of
the fierce, proud Irish kings. The ruined castle of Derry
crowns another small islet ; and Holy Island, thirty acres in
extent, is a spot full of interest. Like Glendalough, it was
chosen out, early in the Christian era, for a retreat of piety
and learning. One cannpt but observe the excellent taste
in scenery displayed by the monks of ancient days, in se-
lecting these peaceful refuges from a stormy world. What
can be more lovely than the vale of the seven churches, or
than Innisfallen Island ? and Holy Island compares not at
all ill with these still more famous places. St. Caimin, in
the early part of the Seventh Century, settled here, and
built a monastery, which soon became famous for its learn-

92 THE SHANNON

ing. Seven different churches afterwards grew up on the
island, and one of the most beautiful round towers in Ireland
still raises its head seventy feet above the waters of the
lake, among the ruins of these sacred places. This part of
the lake is crowded with islands, and the ruined castles and
monasteries are very numerous. At the town of Portumna,
some miles further on, another stop is made, as the castle
and abbey are particularly well worth seeing. This was
another spot celebrated for its learning. The monastery
of Tirdaglass, whence many manuscripts issued, was founded
by St. Columba in the Sixth Century. At Clonmacnoise,
further on, the traveller may see the cradle of the ancient
art and learning of Ireland, and the most important seat of
religion in early days. St. Cearan (early Sixth Century) is
especially associated with the spot; the great cathedral was
built in his honour, and the holy well, dedicated to the
Saint, is still the object of constant pilgrimage. Round
towers, ancient Irish crosses, ruined churches and monas-
teries, are here in abundance. The ancient city of Clon-
macnoise has disappeared altogether. This is a place of
the greatest possible interest to antiquarians, and even ordi-
nary travellers will find much pleasure in the beauty of the
picturesque ruins.

At Banagher is the fortified bridge of seven arches, pro-
tected by two towers and a battery. This is all the more
interesting, for, not being an antiquity in any sense, it was
finished in 1843, ^® ^ matter of fact.

Above Lough Derg, the country is fertile, but not es-
pecially striking until Lough Ree is reached. This second
great expansion of the river fairly rivals the first in beauty.
Of its twenty-seven islands, the most attractive is Inis
Clothran, on which the famous Queen Maev of Connaught

THE SHANNON 93

spent her declining years. She is said to have built a
splendid stone house for herself here, and lived on the
island until she died, at the age of a hundred and two.
Some ruins still remain to mark the spot, although the date
of Queen Maev goes back nearly two thousand years.
Antiquarians consider that Shakespeare's fairy Queen Mab
was a development of the many legends told about this
powerful, wicked, and fascinating Queen of far-ofF days.

Portumna, at the head of the lake, commands fine views
of Lough Derg, and the hilly land to the west. After
leaving this town the scenery becomes dull and monotonous
till we reach Meelick, where the river is so devious that a
canal rejoins the Shannon at the mouth of the Little Brosna.
Immediately above, the stream begins to divide and becomes
very tortuous till Banagher is reached.

At the upper end of Lough Ree is Lanesborough, a small
town with a fine bridge of six arches and a swivel arch.
From this point the sail to Tarmonbarry presents little
beauty or interest. The country is generally a wide extent
of bog, abounding in remains of trees and the extinct Irish
elk. Opposite Tarmonbarry, the Royal Canal, communi-
cating with Dublin, joins the Shannon. When the river
again widens into Lough Forbes, the Seven Churches of
Kilbarry come into view : only three and part of a round
tower are now standing. Lough Forbes is triangular in
shape, and the shores are low boggy land not destitute of
a certain quiet beauty. Lough Boderg shaped like a T is
the only remaining sheet of water before reaching Carrick
on Shannon where the tourist's voyage generally ends.

THE DANUBE
I. BOWES

NEXT to the Volga, the Danube is the largest river in
Europe, and for volume of water and commercial
importance it far exceeds that river. It is estimated that
the Danube carries more water to the sea than all the rivers
of France.

The river rises at the head of a pleasant little valley high
up in the mountains of the Black Forest ; coming tumbling
down the rocks a tiny stream of clear water, and, gathering
strength and volume from numerous springs and rivulets, it
cuts a deep channel into the rich soil and dances gaily
along, presently to be joined by the Brigach and its twin-
sister, the Brege, which rise about ten miles further to the
south. These are the highest sources of the mighty River
Danube, the great water highway of Europe, celebrated for
ages in legend and song and in ancient and modern history
for important military events, and, in its flow of nearly
2,000 miles to the Black Sea, unfolding the most remarkable
panoramas of natural beauty known to the geographer;
whilst on its banks may be found groups of the most inter-
esting nationalities of the world.

Donaueschingen, a tidy little town in the Grand Duchy
of Baden, is sometimes called the source of the Danube.
It is situated about a mile and a half below the point where
the Brigach and the Brege join the river, which from this
point is called the Donau or Danube, and it is the head of

THE DANUBE 95

the navigation for small boats on the upper river. Between
here and Ulm there are twenty-one weirs and dams, and
many pleasant villages, pretty little towns, ruined castles, and
princely residences ; amongst the latter may be named
Hohenzollern, near Sigmaringen, the seat of the Imperial
family of Prussia. The scenery in the locality of the castle
is of great beauty, and the town, pleasantly situated on the
banks of the river, has a charming appearance.

The river below Sigmaringen flows through a broad,
fertile valley, and with a quicker current, as the banks have
been partially canalized ; and small towns, with names
of wondrous length and ponderous sound, such as Munder-
kingen, Kiedlingen, Reichenstein, etc., suggest places that
are or have been of great importance. In the distance the
great tower of the Cathedral of Ulm is seen rising up out
of the low horizon, Ulm is a great military stronghold,
and the old town a maze of narrow, crooked streets. The
Cathedral is said to be next in size to that at Cologne, and
is a fine specimen of Gothic architecture, with the highest
stone tower in the world.

Below Ulm several smaller towns are passed before
reaching Ratisbon, a city of 40,000 inhabitants, famous for
many historical events. The Cathedral of Saint Peter is
one of the architectural glories of Germany. Freight
steamers, barges, tugboats, and passenger steamers abound
on this part of the river. Long flat boats sixty feet long,
such as we see on the Rhine, pass down to the Lower
Danube, laden with grain, timber, etc.

Linz, with its 500,000 inhabitants, is an interesting
town ; and the river scenery, between here and Vienna, is
said to rival the Rhine scenery, the hills being more varied
in outline and the slopes richer in verdure.

THE DANUBE 97

it, and causing sudden alterations in the currents and
dangerous whirlpools and eddies.

At Greben, four miles lower down, there were formi-
dable obstacles to be overcome, and some of the heaviest
work in the undertaking had to be faced ; for at this point
a spur of the Greben Mountain juts out into the river, and
suddenly reduces its width at low water. When the snow
and ice in the upper reaches of the river melt, or in heavy
rain, the river rapidly rises, and, being blocked by these ob-
stacles, causes damaging floods in the fertile valleys of
Hungary.

Below the Greben rapids the river widens out to about
one and a half miles, and passing the cutting and training
walls at the rapids of Jucz enters the Kazan defile, which
is said to be the most picturesque part of the Lower Danube.
The clifFs, of great height, approach nearer and nearer to
each other, until the river is contracted to 120 yards wide.

Passing through this dark and sombre defile into the
valley of Dubova, it widens to 500 metres ; the mountains
again approach and reduce the width to about 200 yards.
The depth at these straits varies from ten metres to fifty
metres. It was through this defile that Trajan, nearly
2,000 years ago, made riverside roads and towing paths in
continuation of the small canals and waterways to evade the
rocks and currents and to facilitate the transport of his
armies and military trains for the Roman campaigns in
Central Europe. The ruins of these works are a proof
of the great labour expended upon them, and also of the
skill in engineering possessed by the Romans in those days.
The tablets engraved on the rocks, still in part visible, com-
memorate their heroic deeds.

Following our course down the river, at ten kilometres

98 THE DANUBE

from the Kazan, we come to Orsova, a rather important
place of call for steamers and trading-vessels; and, now
that the river is navigable for larger vessels, this place is
destined, from its railway communications, etc., to become
a great trading centre.

At a distance of eight kilometres from Orsova, the Iron
Gate, situated between Roumania and Servia begins, and is .
for a length of about three kilometres the largest and most
dangerous obstacle on the Lower Danube. The rocks in
the channel impede the current, forming dangerous eddies
and cataracts.

The Prigrada Rock rises above low water with a width
of 250 metres and a length of about two kilometres,
stretches in a crooked line across the river to the Rou-
manian shore, with a narrow channel, through which ves-
sels of light draught only can be navigated with difficulty.
The river, pouring over this rock, forms dangerous whirl-
pools and cataracts, requiring the greatest watchfulness,
care, and experience on the part of the navigator to over-
come the dangers of what has well been called " The Iron
Gates." Hundreds of steamers and vessels have been
wrecked in attempting this dangerous passage.

Like many other great projects many schemes had been
proposed and plans for carrying them out by different
authorities had been considered, but nothing definite was
done until in 1888, the Hungarian Government, under
rights conferred upon it by the Berlin Treaty of 1878, and
the London Treaty of 1871, undertook the work of con-
struction and administration under the conditions of the
treaties which gave them the power to levy tolls on trade
ships for covering the expenses of the works.

The ceremony of the inauguration took place on the

THE DANUBE 99

27th of September, 1896, when the Emperor of Austria,
King Charles of Roumania, and King Alexander of Servia,
with an immense gathering of bishops, generals and diplo-
matic representatives, etc., met at Orsova, and proceeded
through the Iron Gates and the beautiful and romantic
Kazan Pass with a procession of six vessels, which included
a monitor and torpedo boat, and accompanied by a con-
tinuous discharge of artillery and the loud huzzas of the
immense gathering of soldiers, visitors and inhabitants.

Below the Iron Gates the river broadens out and the
scenery is tame and uninteresting, for the vast plains of
Roumania extend from the foot of the hills here to the
shores of the Black Sea, and the maritime and commercial
aspects of the surroundings begin to manifest themselves —
the river becomes more crowded with craft of all kinds as
we approach the towns on the Lower Danube.

We pass Widin, and, lower down, Sistova where, in the
Russo-Turkish war, the Russians crossed the river to
Plevna and the Balkan passes. Thirty-five miles lower
down we reach Rustchuk, the most important Bulgarian
town on the river, and fast becoming a great emporium of
trade, being on the main line of railway to Constantinople,
via Varna.

We then pass Silistria and approach the longest railroad
bridge in the world. This bridge crosses the Danube be-
low Silistria, and carries the railway from Kustendji on the
Black Sea into Roumania.

Braila, 125 miles from the mouth of the river, is the
chief port for the shipment of produce, etc., from the grain-
growing regions of Roumania and Northern Bulgaria.
Here are extensive docks, grain elevators, and thousands of
men of all nationalities engaged in loading steamers and

lOO THE DANUBE

sailing vessels from all countries. The British flag is
everywhere present. As a commercial port the place is
fast outstripping its neighbour, Galatz, fifteen miles lower
down.

From Galatz to the sea, the navigation of the river, the
dredging, removing of obstacles, levying of tolls, etc., is
controlled by an International Commission established by
treaty in 1878, since which date great improvements have
been made, chiefly in the lower reaches and the Sulina
mouth of the river, by the construction of groynes, revet-
ments and cuttings to avoid the bends, and constant dredg-
ings by powerful dredgers are carried on.

THE NIGER

J. HAMPDEN JACKSON

IT will probably be a century hence before men fully
realize the extent of the world's debt to those English
noblemen and gentlemen who in the last decade of the last
century, sent forth Mungo Park as their emissary to find
and trace specifically upon the map all he might discover as
to this mysterious river. Their choice of the man was ex-
ceptionally fortunate.

I pass over all their disappointments, and the persistent
courage with which they bore them, and need only remind
you that these Englishmen of the African Association —
soon afterwards to become the Royal Geographical Society
— not only found and equipped Park and Clapperton and
Lander, but it was at their cost, on their business and for
their entertainment alone, that Barth, the German explorer
(whose brilliant and most accurate explorations are in our
day constantly credited to his own nation instead of ours),
undertook and finished his great journeys into Hausaland
from North Africa.

We follow Park from his first discovery of the Niger at
Sego, look with him on the breadth at that spot of its
stream, realize his disappointment at having to return to
England ; his joy at coming for the second time to Bam-
barra, and then his voyage in the little craft bearing his
country's flag down to the devious waters of the unexplored
river; past Kabara, from whose hill-top he might have

I02 THE NIGER

seen Timbuktu had he but known and had he not been at-
tacked there by the people on trying to land. Next we
sail with Park past Birni, close to the capital of the former
Songhay Empire, past Say, up the stream to Boussa, the
capital of Borgu, 650 miles from the sea ; and here on that
memorable day of 1806 we see poor Park meet his death,
and I hope it may not be long ere some worthy obelisk at
the spot shall set forth indelibly the great record of his mis-
sion.

We come now to Richard Lander, and in like manner I
take you over the route of this famous voyager, from
Badagry (whence he struck inland) to Boussa, where he
found the relics of Park, and then in his boats down
stream past Mount Jebba — standing midway in the river,
with an elevation above sea level of some 300 feet — past
Rabbah — then the largest city on the Niger — to Egga,
where the great ferry of the Kano-Ilorin traffic makes pros-
perous the chief port of Nupe, and now — in the distance —
appears the table-topped Mount Patteh, rising 1,300 feet
from the right bank, and as we sail with Lander under its
shadow there opens out before us the noble confluence at
Lokoja, where the Benue, the Niger's mighty tributary,
pours its mile-broad current into this great West African
river. Next Lander passes between the j^ged and stunted
peaks of the Nigretian Alps, and nearing Idda, sees its bold
precipices of red sandstone rear themselves on the left bank,
and admires the giant baobab trees, the clustered round-
roofed huts, and the busy throngs of Igara people passing
to and fro from the riverside. But our explorer has vowed
to follow the great Niger to its outflow, and we are still
some 280 miles from the sea.

So Lander passes on in his boats, and nearing Asaba —

THE NIGER 103

now the seat of English government on the river — he notes
that the native houses are now all of rectangular shape, and
the people of Eboe .type, and soon he is at Abo, and the
tidal waters are recognized just as the ruffians of the Brass
slaving fleet rush upon him and — capsizing his craft —
Lander barely escapes with his life to find his brother
drowning also. Rescued at last, John Lander is brought
prisoner, together with Richard to the Brass mouth of the
Niger, and their sufferings whilst waiting release and sub-
sequently until landed at Fernando Po may well have made
them dread the name of Brassmen. It may be that some
day at Brass, or Akassa, English hands will raise a fitting
and permanent memorial to this modest, uncultured and
sterling character, who solved for all mankind the greatest
geographical problem of his time, and opened the door for
European commerce and civilization into West Central
Africa. It must not be forgotten that MacQueen had all
along contended that the Niger would be found to issue
into the Atlantic through the swamps of the Bights of Benin
and Biafra, nor are the reasons now obscure that account
for that long hiding of geographical truth in the Gulf of
Guinea. The Niger Delta is one covering 14,000 square
miles; the Delta rivers creep into the sea almost unper-
ceived through the low-level mangrove swamp ; the whole
region reeks with fevers and dysentery, and at the time of
Lander's discovery the only trade to be done in that " God-
forgotten Guinea" was the slave-trade. Such white men
as ventured to the Delta, therefore, were bent on secrecy
rather than on discovery ; and this had been the state of
things for centuries. No wonder that the Niger had been a
mystery, but it was a mystery no more.

The next step for its exploration was taken by Liverpool.

104 THE NIGER

Macgregor Laird raised a large fund among his merchant
friends on the exchange, and added thereto a large part of
his own fortune, built and equipped two steamships — the
^uorra and Alhurka — and (with but little aid from the
Government) took charge personally of this bold expedition,
and in 1832 sailed for the Niger. Now, look at these
banks forty feet at least above the river level, and remem-
ber that for three to four months of the year the villages
lining them are simply floating in the vast waste of the
Niger inundations. Mr. Laird found by a bitter experience
that it was all very well to steam up the Niger when the
stream was at flood, but when your crew were all down with
fever and the river began to fall at the rate of a foot per
day, the least accident — such as the stranding of the little
^uorra — locked you up bag and baggage for a whole
twelve months, and brought you face to face with terrible
dangers. The mortality on board the steamers was awful,
but Laird kept the expedition well in hand ; he explored a
great part of the upper middle Niger, a considerable dis-
tance up the Benue, and established the first English trad-
ing factories, 350 miles from the mouth of the Niger, ere
his return to Liverpool. Like all other travellers who have
seen the Benue, Laird was greatly impressed with the vol-
ume and purity of its waters, the beauty of its landscape on
either bank, and the rich promise of development in its al-
ready quickened commerce. Look at the woodland beauty
at Ribago, for instance ; or the fine cultivated plain at Yola;
and the impressive rock-fortress at Imaha. And see these
fine Hausa peoples who inhabit the Sokoto and Bornu coun-
tries of the inter-riverine plateau. They are an ancient
race, grave and industrious, of fine physique and highly in-
tellectual phrenological type.

THE NIGER I05

Centuries ago Macrisi — the Egyptian historian — ^^told of
their gourd-ferries, and the world laughed at such a " trav-
eller's tale " ; but here you see them for yourselves. Cen-
turies ago men w^rote of the vast city of Timbuktu, but
what is Timbuktu to Kano, the Hausa capital ? Look at
this wall surrounding Sokoto City, and think of the wall of
Kano being as high as that and fifteen miles round ! The
Fulah aristocracy live at Sokoto, and their Sultan bears
spiritual rule over the greater part of Hausaland ; his
temporal power is no myth, either, for in 189 1 he raised
an army of 40,000 men — half of whom were cavalry — un-
der the eyes of Monteil. But the crumbling houses of
Sokoto tell their own tale of a city that has long passed its
zenith, and like Timbuktu, whose population has fallen from
200,000 to 7,000, like Katsena, whose population has fallen
from 100,000 to 6,000, so Sokoto is daily yielding its
temporal sceptre to Kano, the city of markets and manu-
factures, the centre of literature as well as of prosperous
agriculture, the starting-point of the Soudan caravans, the
central slave market, cloth market, metal market and the
busy focus of all industries. See the great market square
in which 30,000 people assemble for commercial exchange
every week; these fourteen gates, through which the hosts
of organized caravans are ever issuing, most of them 600
or 800 strong at the very least, and twenty of which go
every year to Salaga for Kola-nut alone ! Think of the
Mecca pilgrims who all assembled here to form their great
cavalcades yearly ; of the 60,000 artificers and cultivators
living in this Kano, with its enclosed fields of rich crops,
its leather factories, shoe and sandal factories, dyeing
works, cotton spinning and weaving, basket making, brass
manufacture and ornamentation, etc. And remember that,

I06 THE NIGER

thanks to our English chartered companies, this Kano, and
these fine Hausa people — whose language has long been
the key-tongue of all trade in Central Africa-^are brought
securely under the flag and influence of Great Britain. It
is, from our point of view, a drawback that Kano lies at an
unhealthy level, and its people defy every sanitary decency
in their abbatoir and cemetery arrangements, but that is
their way of being happy. Katsena is much more salubri-
ous, having 1,500 feet of elevation.

Ere long, under British tutelage, and freed from dread of
the Fulah slave-raider, the rascal who raids his own people
for the mere joy of it, freed from this curse, the Hausa
States will rise to preeminence through the aptitude and ca-
pacity for discipline inherent in that virile people.

I must pass over Bornu and its great chief city of Kuka,
but would like to dwell for a moment on the deeply inter-
esting fact that here — in the Chartered State of British
Nigretia — we tread upon the dust of empires. At the time
of our Heptarchy this very Bornu was the seat of a Negro
empire covering a million and a half square miles, and ex-
tending from the Niger to the Nile. And Sokoto and
Gandu — our Treaty states — formed but part of the Negro
empire of Songhay, having its capital at Gogo on the
Niger, and extending westward and northward as far as the
Atlantic and Morocco.

THE AMAZON

JOSEPH JONES

THE main stream of the Amazon is about 4,000 miles
long — ^long enough that is to go in a circle twice
round the British Isles, or 600 miles longer than the voyage
from Liverpool to New York. For the lowest 250 miles
of its course it is fifty miles wide, or if the Island of Marajo
in its mouth be regarded as a huge sand bank, which is
what it really is, then it is 200 miles wide at its mouth. In
other words, one might take the whole of Scotland, push it
into the mouth of this river and leave only a small piece
projecting. The Amazon has nineteen very large tribu-
taries, each of which is really a gigantic river in itself, and
through these tributaries it is connected with the Orinoco
and the River Plata. The Amazon rises near the west
coast of South America, about sixty miles from Lima in
Peru, and runs into the Atlantic, traversing nearly the whole
width of the widest part of South America in its course.
Its depth in places is twenty fathoms or 120 feet. It drains
an area nearly the size of all Europe, and is the largest body
of fresh water in the world. Its average speed of flow is
two and a half miles per hour. Hence in going up-stream
a boat hugs the bank to avoid the current, whilst in descend-
ing it sails in mid-stream in order to obtain full advantage
of the same. As may be guessed, progress is quicker down-
stream than up. The influence of its flow can be felt 150
miles from the shore. On one occasion the mess-room

Io8 THE AMAZON

Steward filled the filter direct from the sea when the ship
was long out of sight of land, yet the water was only very
slightly brackish. The inland navigation of the Amazon
and its branches extends over 20,000 miles. The name is
supposed to be derived from " Amassona," the Indian word
for " boat-destroyer," on account of the tidal wave which
rages in the channel to the north of the Island of Marajo,
and on account of which boats enter by the south channel.

The river is high at the end of the rainy season and low
after the dry season, but even at low river the ship in which
I sailed, an ocean-going steamer, experienced no difficulty
in sailing as far as Manaos. The difference in level is a
matter of thirty feet, so that whereas in August you step
out of a small boat on to the landing-stage, in October, when
the river is about at its lowest, you have to walk on planks,
from the boat to the foot of the landing-stage, mount this
by a ladder and go ashore.

Being so near the equator, the Amazon is in a warm
district. In the coolest part of the ship the temperature
used to rise to 84° Fahrenheit in the afternoon, whilst in
the sun 120° Fahrenheit was registered, and some of the
pitch in the seams of the deck was melted. This was when
ascending the river. There is a ten knot breeze from the
sea which makes it cooler on returning, but on the inward
journey when travelling with the wind and at practically
the same speed, one is of course in a dead calm and uncom-
fortably hot. The river water itself at 6 a. m., was always
between 88° Fahrenheit and 89" Fahrenheit.

Besides steamers the Amazon is navigated by battalongs,
wooden craft, about twelve yards in length, covered with
an awning of palm branches, which come from Peru and
elsewhere with native produce, are manned by Indians who

THE AMAZON I09

live aboard, and which take two months to get back home
from Manaos against the stream. Smaller boats are driven
by square sails of blue and white cotton, which bear traces
of Manchester origin, and there are also native canoes pro-
pelled by paddles.

The Indians fish in an interesting manner by means of
bow and arrow, with a line attached to the arrow. If they
can get a couple of arrows firmly shot in they can usually
haul in a river turtle or other large fish. There is a large
fish with red flesh which serves the people in some parts
instead of beef (cattle being dear). Thus they don't fulfil
the old definition of an angler as " a worm at one end and
a fool at the other." River turtle when caught are laid on
their backs, in which position they are helpless, and one on
board the ship laid eighty-six eggs at one break whilst in
this position. The eggs are spherical, covered with a flexi-
ble limy shell, and resemble in appearance a small tennis-
ball. They are a treat out there, where eggs are very
scarce. The flesh of this kind of turtle is rather tough and
not unlike pork.

A great variety of animal life is to be found, including
mosquitoes, cockroaches, moths, butterflies, alligators,
snakes, tarantulas, centipedes, and grasshoppers.

The savage people, who live some little distance from
the river, are of about our average height and build,
walnut-coloured, with long straight jet-black hair. In
war they fight with bamboo-headed spears and poisoned
arrows, the latter propelled by a powerful bow seven feet
long. The arrow-heads, of bone, are dipped in snake
venom and inflict a mortal wound. The venom is said to
be procured by boiling snakes' heads to extract it from the
glands and evaporating the solution to almost dryness.

no THE AMAZON

Right inland the tribes often have battles, and the victors
kill the women and children of the vanquished. They
have a horrible habit of cutting ofF the heads of girls,
skinning them, and curing the skin in such a way that it
shrinks, but retains its colour and texture, when they stuff
it, producing a head the size of one's fist, but perfect in
shape. They sell them at from ;^I2 to £^o to Europeans,
who ought to know better than to buy them.

The civilized people speak the Portuguese language
and are of European habits. They are more polite than
the British, though this is noticeable by their habits being
different from ours rather than by being better. For in-
stance, I have seen a first-class passenger expectorate on
the saloon floor when at dinner and never blush, but he
would think himself dreadfully impolite if he wore his hat
in a restaurant. One is impelled to Max O'Rell's con-
clusion that " one nation is not better or worse than
another. One nation is different from another, that is all."

The money is mostly paper, and there is no paper legal
tender less than the milreis (2s. 3d. nominally, actually
about yd.). In Para small change is given in tram tickets.

The vegetable kingdom numbers 17,000 species and is
a veritable fairy-land. Orchids, which with us are so
highly prized, are much cheaper there. Very many
varieties grow quite wild and are little esteemed. I know
one man who had an orange tree in his garden and con-
sidered it a nuisance. It crowded out some valuable exotic
orchids. He would willingly have let any one take it away
but no one would have it. The whole country resembles a
gigantic greenhouse, and it is not without a touch of annoy-
ance that a Briton sees beautiful palms and other trees
wasted on people who do not appreciate them when they

THE AMAZON til

would be welcome at home. The hanging roots or tendrils,
which grow downwards from the branches until they take
root in the ground, are quite strange to us, and they ofFer
great resistance to path-making. The most important tree
is the india rubber, Herveia Brasilensis, which is a large
tree, and entirely different from the Ficus elasticus, which
is commonly called " india rubber " here and grown in
rooms. The raw rubber is obtained by incising the bark
and collecting the "milk" in a can. A paddle is dipped
into this and the milk adhering to it smoked over some
burning nuts. This is done with successive dippings until
a piece the size of a ham is on the paddle, when a slit is
made in the side and the paddle withdrawn. It is quite
possible that the wily native may insert a pebble, when he
has withdrawn the paddle, since rubber is sold by weight.
The best quality is that obtained from the Island of Marajo
and known as Island Rubber. This is said to be because
a species of nut grows there the smoke of which cures the
rubber better than any other kind of smoke. It is said
that every kind of rubber requires some admixture of the
Para variety to make'it useful in commerce. Many of the
rubber cutters live in shanties on the river's edge and keep
a canoe moored at the door. More inland the poorer
classes live in mud huts built on a framework of light wood.
Some of these when whitewashed make very presentable
houses, as seen in the view of the main street of Parentins,
where the post-office and neighbouring buildings are all of
this sort. The cathedrals are generally handsome build-
ings, and the post-office at Para is a pretty structure.

The shops are open fronted and usually have no
windows, so that at a short distance one cannot tell of
what kind they are unless the goods are displayed outside.

112 THE AMAZON

The streets are peculiarly named, for instance " Fifteenth
of November Square " (date of foundation of the Republic),
" Dr. Guimarez Lane," and so on.

The cities bear very evident traces of newness. You
may see a public square enclosing a tract of virgin soil and
except that the palms are planted in straight rows all the
vegetation is natural. There are handsome walnut counters
in whitewashed stores and burglar-proof safes inside offices
which you could demolish with your foot.

Outside the cities the general appearance of the country
gives one an idea of what Britain must have been like at
the time of the Roman invasion, and shows how civiliza-
tion spread along the course of the rivers.

THE YANGTSE CHIANG

W, R. CARLES

THE great river of China which foreigners call the
Yangtse Chiang, has its sources on the south-east
edge of the great steppes which form Central Asia. Rising
almost due north of Calcutta, it flows eastwards for some
500 miles, draining a very considerable area on its way,
and then turns southwards until it is penned in by the
great parallel ranges which until recent years have hidden
it and its great neighbours from European eyes. Even after
entering China its course has remained obscure, and the
deep rift through which it makes its way to the navigable
portion of its waters in Sze Chuen is, save here and there,
still unexplored. In the eastern half of Sze Chuen it re-
ceives the drainage of another large area, before entering
the country commonly known as the Ichang Gorges, and
on leaving the Gorges its arms spread north and south
from the Yellow River to the Canton province, affording
easily navigable routes through the heart of China, and by
the Grand Canal to Tientsin.

One of the largest rivers in the world, its importance
to China as a waterway in some of the wealthiest and most
thickly populated provinces of the empire completely over-
shadows all the other river-systems of the country.

The actual length of the Yangtse Chiang is at present
unknown. The navigable portion, i. e.., to Ping-shan
Hsien, is 1,550 miles. West of Ping-shan Hsien the river

114 THE YANGTSE CHIANG

attains its extreme southern and northern limits ; but from
a careful measurement made for me of the best maps owned
by the Royal Geographical Society, its entire length is not
much more than 3,000 miles. The area of drainage is
probably between 650,000 and 700,000 square miles.

Between the Tangla Mountains, whose south slopes
drain into the Tsang-po and the Salwin Rivers, and the
Kuenlun Mountains, which form the south buttress of the
Tsaidam steppes, the Yangtse Chiang, even at its source
near the 90th meridian, draws on a basin nearly 240
miles in depth from north to south. Below the con-
fluence of the three main streams this basin is somewhat
contracted by the north-west south-east trend of the Baian
Kara range, and the river is gradually deflected southwards.
From the 99th meridian its course is almost due south,
passing through the country of the Tanguts, or St. Fans,
until at last it enters China.

This part of its course is, roughly speaking, parallel with
the Mekong and Salwin Rivers. Penned in by high moun-
tains, which form an extension of the great plateau of
Central Asia, these rivers continue in close proximity to
each other for nearly two hundred miles.

The immense depth of the gorges through which the
Yangtse Chiang has cut its way in Yun Nan and west Sze
Chuen, and the extraordinary freaks played by its tributaries
on the right bank, have prevented the course of the Yangtse
Chiang below the Ya-lung from being thoroughly ascer-
tained. Its course, as laid down by the Jesuits, appears to
have been mainly mere guesswork, and some corrections have
recently been made. Apparently it here attains its lowest
latitude — 26° north. The strength of the stream and the
height of the banks above the river prevent much use being

THE YANGTSE CHIANG I If

made of it for boat traffic, even in the few portions where no
dangers exist. The grandness of these gorges culminates
in the " Sunbridge," Tai-yang-chiao, a mountain at least
20,000 feet high, " which falls to the Yangtse Chiang in
a series of terraces, which from below appear like parallel
ridges, and abuts on the river into a precipice or precipices,
which must be 8,000 feet above its waters. The main
affluent on the right bank received in this part of its course
is the Niu-lan River, the gorges of which are also very
grand.

Ping-shan is generally regarded as the head of continu-
ous navigation, but Mr. Hosie descended the river by
boat from Man-i-sau, forty It higher up.

The Fu-Iing, Chien Chiang, Kung-t'an or Wu-chiang,
which joins the Yangtse Chiang at Fu-Chau on the right
bank, is the last considerable tributary received before reach-
ing the gorges leading to Ichang. This river is important
as the first of the streams which form the great network of
water-communication which binds Peking and Canton with
Central China. By the Fu-ling Canton can be reached
with only two short portages, and a certain amount of trade
with Hankau is carried on by this and the Yuan River in
preference to taking goods up the Yangtse Chiang.

The gorges which have shut in the Yangtse Chiang almost
from its source close in upon it again below Fu-Chau, and
continue to within a few miles of Ichang, contracting the
river at one or two points to a width of 150 yards.

In the autumn of 1896, some forty miles below Wan
Hsien, a landslip occurred, which carried down into
the river a portion of the mountainside, estimated by
Mr. Bourne at 700 yards by 400 yards. This at present
forms a complete obstacle to any hope of steam navigation

Il6 THE YANGTSE CHIANG

between Ichang and Chung-King, and is much more formi-
dable than the Yeh-tan, Hsin-tan, or any of the other rapids
which had hitherto been in question. The Ching-tan, or
Hsin-tan, was similarly formed some two hundred and fifty
years ago, and it is probable, therefore, that other rapids
originated in the same way.

Many rivers are received on either bank before Ichang is
reached, of which the most important is the Ching-Chiang,
which enters the Yangtse Chiang on the right bank below
Ichang.

1 At Sha-shih, the port of Chong-Chau Fu, the character of
the country changes, and an extensive embankment thirty
feet high, and from seventy feet to three hundred feet wide at
the base, is necessary to protect the country from inundation.
The inland water communication extending from Ching-
chau to Hankau, on the east, and connecting with the
higher parts of the Han River, exposes an immense area to
suffering from floods, and the city itself was almost destroyed
on one occasion by freshets in the inland waters. The
facilities of communication afforded by these routes make
Sha-shih a centre of great commercial value, for, independent
of the great highway of the Yangtse Chiang and of the
canals already mentioned, there are also two large canals on
the right bank of the river connecting with the Tung-ting
Lake.

Driven onwards by the immense pressure from behind, the
waters of the Yangtse Chiang, though moving in an almost
perfect plane, have an average surface current throughout
the year of two knots at Hankau, where the river is 1,450
yards broad, and has an averse depth of forty-two feet. In
their course to the sea, the entrance to the Poyang Lake is
almost the only place below Wuhsueh at which a passenger

THE YANGTSE CHIANG II7

on a steamer can detect the influx of any other river. The
main river, its tributaries, and the inland canals all form a
part of one great network, which proclaims the delta of
the river. The rivers of East Hu Peh, North Kiang Si,
An Hui, and Kiang Su, which enter the Yangtse Chiang,
are very scarcely recognizable as fresh contributions. Even
the waters of the Yellow River drained into the Yangtse
Chiang in 1889 without for some time exciting any com-
ment on the addition to its volume.

The coal fields of Hu Nan have of late concentrated at-
tention on the Tung-ting Lake and the valley of the Hsaing
as the future trade route between South and Central China ;
but until recently the valley of the Kan, which is navigable
by boat from near the Mei-ling Pass on the frontier of
Kwang-Tung to the Foyang Lake, was the great official
waterway from Canton to Peking.

The Shu or Chin Chiang, which passes Nan-Chang-Fu
to the north-west of the lake, and the Chin or Chin-Chia
Chiang, which descends from Kwang-Hsin-Fu on the
north-east, are the largest of the other rivers which drain
into the Poyang Lake, but part of the waters of Hui-
chu-Fu in An Hui are also received by it, and it is note-
worthy how many routes exist through the mountains on the
east to the Che Kiang and Fu Kein.

The lake, which is reported to be 1,800 square miles in
extent, acts, like the Tung-ting Lake, as a great reservoir
to check inundations.

On leaving Kiang Si and entering An Hui, the river at
Wuhu reaches the point where a branch in olden days
made its way southwards to the Chien-tang Gulf, near
Hang-Chau Fu. Its course is conjectured to have been
through a series of lagoons, known in ancient times as the

Il8 THE YANGTSE CHIANG

five lakes (the Chen-tse) and its delta is presumed not to
have extended further east than the Lang-shan Hills, but
the whole subject has been a fertile source of controversy.
Another branch must have passed by Sung-kiang Fu, and
thence near to Shanghai. The south bank of the present
course of the river seems to give indications that its bed
was in former days on a higher level than now, but at the
present day it is only by embankments that the Yangtse
Chiang is prevented from finding a way for some of its
surplus waters by the Tai Hu and Su-chau to the sea.

The area of the Tai-Hu and the other lakes in the
southern delta of the Yangtse Chiang has been estimated at
1, 200 square miles (out of a total area of 5,400 square
miles), and the total length of the small channels used for
irrigation and navigation at 36,000 miles. But these figures
are based upon imperfect maps of the country, and there-
fore not thoroughly trustworthy.

On the north bank of the river an even more marvel-
lous system of artificial waterworks exists. The Huai
River, which, with its seventy-two tributaries, is a most im-
portant commercial route to north An Hui and Ho Nan,
used to find a natural course to the sea to the south of Shan
Tung, but has been diverted by a double series of lakes and
innumerable canals, and has now no existence as a river
east of the Grand Canal. The enlargement of some lakes
and the excavations of others were carried out with a view
to preventing too great a pressure on any one point of the
Grand Canal south of the old course of the Yellow River.
The greater part of the Huai now finds its way to the
Yangtse Chiang through different openings in a large canal,
which runs almost parallel with the river for a distance of
140 miles. North of this canal lies an immense parallel-

THE YANGTSE CHIANG II9

ogratn, estimated by Pere Gandar at 2,300,000 hectares
8,876 square miles) in extent, which is below the water-
level. This is intersected by a series of waterways kept
under the most careful control, and constitutes one of the
most valuable rice fields in the country. To protect it
from inundations by the sea, immense dykes and a large
canal stretch north and south between the Yangtse Chiang
and the old course of the Yellow River. Through these
dykes are eighteen openings for canals to the sea, but the
main drainage is southwards to the Yangtse Chiang. Be-
tween the dykes and the sea lie the flats which form the
great salt-fields of Central China.

The Yangtse Chiang in its lower reaches is subject to
great and rapid changes, of which little trace is evident to
the eye after the lapse of a few years, though the depth of
the river in many parts is 140 feet and more. One of the
most notable instances is at Chin-Kiang. The earliest
European travellers to Peking by the Grand Canal speak
invariably of the city of Kua Chau, and only incidentally
refer to the passage of the Yangtse Chiang. At present
the nearest entrances to the northern and southern portions
of the Grand Canal are miles apart; the passage between
them, along the waters of the Yangtse Chiang, is often
tedious and sometimes impracticable. But at the time the
southern entrance to the canal was by a canal which ran
between Chin-Kiang and the river, and debouched opposite
Golden Island, which was within hailing distance of Kua
Chau.

When our fleet ascended the Yangtse Chiang in 1842,
it was to the south of this island that it passed. Now to
the south of " the island " is cultivated land, studded with
trees and villages, and the only existing canal south of

I20 THE YANGTSE CHIANG

Golden Island is so shallow as to be in winter not navi-
gable even to boats. On the north of the so-called island
(Golden Island) the city of Kua Chau has been completely
engulfed, and even its north wall has long since been lost
to sight.

The changes which are taking place in the lower reaches
of the river, in the formation of islands and the alteration
of channels, are on an even larger scale. One of the best-
known instances is the island of Tsungming, near Shanghai,
the population which rose from 12,700 families at the end
of the Thirteenth Century to 89,000 at the beginning of the
Eighteenth, and is now estimated at 1,150,000 souls.

The great river known to Europeans throughout its
whole length as the Yangtse, or Yangtse Chiang, from the
name which it bears on Chinese maps in its tidal portion
only, undergoes many a change of name. In its higher
waters in Tibet, the Murus, or Mur-usu, or Murui-osu
("Tortuous River") joins the Napchitai-ulan-muren and
Tokton-ai-ulan-muren, and below their confluence the
river is known as the Dre-chu, or Di-chu, variations of
which have reached us through different travellers in Bichu,
Bicui, Brichu, and the Brius of Marco Polo. Its Tibetan
name is Link-arab, and the Chinese name Tung-tien-ho.
Where the river forms the boundary between Tibet and
China, it is called by Chinese the Chin (or Kin) Sha
Chiang, and by the Tibetans the N'geh-chu ; near the con-
fluence of the Yalung it is called the Pai-Shui-Chiang, or
White Water River; and as far as Sui Fu (or Sii-chu Fu)
the Chin Ho. In the gorges of Ichang it is the Ta-ch'a
Ho (river of great debris). At Sha-shih it has the name of
Ching Chiang, from Ching, an ancient Division of China,
through which it passes. Below Hankau it is called the

THE YANGTSE CHIANG 121

Chiang, Ch'ang Chiang (Long River) Ta Chiang, or Ta-
Kuan-Chiang (Great Official River), and for the last two
hundred miles of its course it appears as the Yangtse
Chiang, a name wrhich it gains from Yang, another of the
ancient divisions of the empire, and which is still retained
by Yang-chau-Fu.

The fall of the river is very rapid. Mr. Rockhill assigns
an altitude of 13,000 feet to the place where he first crossed
it, some distance below the junction of the Mur-usu with
the Napchitai and Toktonai Rivers, and of 12,000 feet to
the ferry where he recrossed it eighty-four miles lower
down. From Batang (8,540 feet) to Wa-Wu, in Sze
Chuen (1,900 feet), the fall was estimated by Mr. Baber at
not less than eight feet per mile ; thence to Huang-kuo-shu
(1,200 feet) at six feet per mile ; below this to Ping-shan
(1,025 f"^^0 about three feet; and from Ping-shan to
Chung-Ching (630 feet) approximately nineteen inches,
and in its lower course less than six inches. The fall be-
tween Chung-Ching and Ichang (129 feet) is about thirteen
and a half inches ; thence to Hankau (fifty-three feet) only
two and a half inches, and from Hankau to the sea little
more than one inch per mile.

THE THAMES

CHARLES DICKENS, JR.

ALTHOUGH scarcely any of the scenery of the
Thames above Oxford is to be mentioned in the
same breath with the beauties of Nuneham, of Henley, of
Marlow, or of Cliveden, there is still much to attract the
lover of nature who is content with quiet and pastoral land-
scapes and to whom the peaceful solitude through which the
greater part of the journey lies, will have a peculiar charm.
It is not advisable to take boat at Cricklade. For some
distance below this little Wiltshire town the stream is nar-
row, and in dry seasons uncomfortably shallow. Travel-
lers, therefore, who come to Cricklade, with the intention
of seeing as much of the river as possible, may be recom-
mended to take the very pretty walk of about ten miles
along the towing-path of the Thames and Severn Canal to
Lechlade. Here the river proper may be said to begin.
Half a mile after leaving Lechlade on the right is St. John's
Lock with an average fall of three feet ; and just below it
is the St. John's Bridge, with the Trout Inn on the left
■ bank. For some distance below this stream is very nar-
row, and generally weedy ; and, after passing Buscot
Church, a couple of sharp turns brings us on the left to
Buscot Lock. A couple of miles lower down is the little
village of Eaton Hastings ; Faringdon Hill, with its large
clump of Scotch firs being a conspicuous object on the

THE THAMES 1 23

right bank aAd two miles further ^ain is Radcot Bridge,
distant from Oxford twenty-six miles. The next point is
Old Man's Bridge, twenty-five miles from Oxford, and af-
ter about two miles of rather monotonous travelling, we
come sharp on the left to Rushy Lock and a mile further
to Tadpole Bridge, twenty-two miles from Oxford, with
the Trout Inn, a convenient place for luncheon. About a
couple of miles from Tadpole is Ten Foot Bridge and a
mile or so lower down are the village and ferry of Duxford.
A mile or so below this there is considerable shoaling and
half a mile further an island with Poplars, where the Berks
bank should be followed. After making two or three bends,
beyond this point, there is a prettily wooded bank on the
right, and a short mile of capital water for rowing brings us
to New Bridge from Oxford fifteen miles, which, notwith-
standing its name, is of great antiquity. Another mile
brings us to the bridge where was formerly Langley's or
Ridge's Weir. About four and a half miles from New
Bridge is Bablock Hithe Ferry, ten and a half miles from
Oxford, below which there is a fine stream, the scenery be-
coming very good, with fine bold hills and the Earl of
Abingdon's woods at Wytham. After passing Skinner's
Weir, the river twists and turns about a good deal until we
reach Pinkhill Lock, eight and a half miles from Oxford,
with a fall of about three feet. Round a good many
corners and rather more than a mile off is Eynsham Bridge.
Good reaches for about three miles bring us to King's
Weir, sharp on the right, the stream to the left going to
the Duke's Lock, the junction with the Oxford Canal.
Passing presently under Godstow Bridge, are seen the
ruins of Godstow Nunnery and Godstow Lock, three
and a half miles from Oxford, on leaving which a pretty

124 THE THAMES

view of the city is obtained. Three hundred yards further
is Osney Lock. A little further is Folly Bridge, Oxford.

The towing-path after leaving Folly Bridge, Oxford,
follows the right bank. On the left are the boat-rafts and
the barges of the various colleges moored ofF Christ Church
Meadows, where in the winter, after a flood, there is some-
times capital skating. About three-quarters of a mile from
Folly Bridge are the long bridges across a backwater, which
reenters the Thames — in this part of its course son:etimes
called the Isis — half a mile below IfRey. Half a mile be-
low Iffley is the iron bridge of the Great Western Railway,
from beneath which is a very pretty view of the spires of
Oxford, particularly of the tower of Magdalen College.
Along the left bank for some distance is one of those grand
pieces of woodland scenery for which the Thames is so re-
nowned. The woods extend as far as the iron railway
bridge, after passing which the spire of Abingdon church
appears above the trees to the right. Rather more than a
mile below the cottages at Nuneham is the fall on the left
where the old and present channels divide. Half a mile
further and sharp to the left is Abingdon Lock, average fall
six feet, from London 104^ miles, from Oxford seven and
one-quarter miles. The river here runs through flat mead-
ows. The view of Abingdon, with the spire of St. Helen's,
is very pretty. Culham Lock, a good stone lock with an
average fall of seven feet ; Clifton Lock with an average
fall of three feet ; and Days Lock with an average fall of
four feet six inches, are passed. A little over a mile on the
left bank is Dorchester with its famous abbey church.
The footpath crosses the Roman remains known as The
Dyke Hills. On Sinodun Hill on the right is a fine Ro-
man camp. Below the ferry on the right is Bensington

THE THAMES 1 25

Lock, with an average fall of six feet six inches. The
country from here to Wallingford is charmingly wooded.

Wallingford, from London ninety and three-quarter miles,
from Oxford twenty and three-quarter miles is a very con-
venient place to break the journey, and the breakfasts and
ale at the "Lamb " deserve particular attention. From
Cleeve Lock there is a lovely view of the hills and woods
above Streatley. Goring Lock is a favourite place for
campers. Further on to the right are Basildon church and
village and further still, opposite the beech woods and on
the brow of the hill to the right is Basildon Park. At this
point a fine stretch of water runs almost in a straight line
for a considerable distance ; the banks on either side are
well wooded, and the view up or down is one of the most
sylvan on the river. Just before making the bend before
Pangbourne Reach is Coombe Lodge with its beautiful
park, and at the end of the chalk ridge on the right is Pang-
bourne, from London eighty and three-quarter miles, from
Oxford thirty and three-quarter miles.

Below Whitchurch Lock a wooden bridge connects
Whitchurch and Pangbourne, and at its foot is the pretty
house known as Thames Bank. After leaving Maple-
durham Lock on the right, there is a charming view.
Caversham Bridge, the nearest point for Reading, and
Caversham Lock, Sonning Lock and Sonning Shiplake
Lock and Wargrave and Marsh Lock bring us distant from
London sixty-six miles.

A mile from Marsh Lock we come to Henley. A hand-
some bridge spans the river here ; the tow-path crosses to
the right bank. A short half mile below greenlands on
the right is Hambleden Lock. At the next bend in the
river the red brick house on the right is Culham Court,

126 THE THAMES

and here the view up the river to the poplars and wooded
hills above Hambleden is very charming. Passing Culham
keep to the left bank, leaving the island known as Magpie
Island on the right. Half a mile farther, on the top of the
high wooded hill on the left, is a farmhouse on a site where
has been a farm since Domesday Book was compiled.
Two miles from the lock is Medmenham Abbey, with the
Abbey Hotel, a well-known and convenient place for water-
parties.

On the right bank at Hurley Lock is the village of
Hurley with Lady Place, so well known in connection
with Lord Lovelace in the revolution of 1688. About
half a mile further is Marlow, with its graceful suspension
bridge and ugly church. Three hundred yards below the
bridge is Marlow Lock. Another three-quarters of a mile
brings us to Cookham. Cookham Lock is the most beauti-
fully situated on the river, just under the woods of Hedsor
and Cliveden. The scenery down the next reach and past
the islands is exceedingly beautiful and is generally con-
sidered the finest on the river. Not quite two and a half
miles from Cookham Lock is Boulter's Lock, from London
fifty miles.

Below Maidenhead Bridge is the Great Western Rail-
way bridge, supposed to be the largest brick bridge in the
world. A mile from Maidenhead is the pleasant village of
Bray. Rather more than a quarter of a mile on the left
is Bray Lock. Half a mile further is Monkey Island, and
here for a little distance there is a good stream. Two
miles and a half from Bray Lock, on the right bank, is
Surly Hall, an inn well known to Etonians. About
another half mile brings us to Boveney Lock on the left.
On the right is Windsor racecourse, and three-quarters

THE THAMES 1 27

of a mile down is Athens, the bathing-place of the senior
Eton boys. The Great Western Railway bridge and the
Brocas clump on the left are next passed, and we arrive
at Windsor on the right bank and Eton on the left. The
river is here crossed by an iron and stone bridge of three
arches. After passing through Windsor bridge, the right
bank on which is the tow-path should be kept. The rapid
and dangerous stream to the left runs to the weir and the
neighbourhood of the Cobbler, as the long projection from
the island is called, is undesirable when there is much
water in the river. Not half a mile below Windsor bridge
is Romney Lock. After passing through Romney Lock,
beautiful views of Eton College, the playing-fields and
Poet's walk are obtained on the left, and on the right are
Windsor Castle and the Home Park. Farther down is
the Victoria Bridge, one of two which cross the river at
each extremity of the park, and about a mile and a half
from Romney Lock is Datchet on the left bank. After
the second of the royal bridges, the Albert,, is passed, the
right bank must be kept, and a long narrow cut crossed
half way by a wooden bridge leads to Old Windsor Lock.
Three-quarters of a mile from the lock, in pretty scenery,
is the well-known " Bells of Ousely " tavern. Half a mile
farther down Magna Charta Island, with its cottage is on
the left. Runny mead is on the right bank, which should
be followed to Bell Weir Lock.

The Colne enters the Thames on the left between Bell
Weir Lock and Staines. Two or three hundred yards farther
are Staines Bridge and the town of Staines. After Penton
Hook Lock about one and three-quarter miles from Staines
is Laleham and the ferry. Still keeping to the left bank,
we next come to Chertsey Lock. Hence the river winds

128 THE THAMES

very much between flat banks to Shepperton Lock on the
left. Here the Wey enters the Thames. Three-quarters
of a mile below Halliford are Coway or Causeway Stakes,
and immediately afterwards comes Walton Bridge which
consists of four arches. On the right below is Mount
Felix and the village of Walton. Half a mile on the left
is a tumbling bay, whose neighbourhood will best be
avoided, and half a mile below this on the right, is the
cut leading to Sunbury Lock. About one and a half
miles below the lock is an island, either side of which may
be taken. On the right are Molesey Hurst and race-
course and on the left, Hampton. Here is a ferry, and
on the left bank below the church Garrick's Villa. Below
Molesey Lock is Hampton Court Bridge, an ugly iron
erection, Hampton Court being on the left and East
Molesey, with the railway station, on the right. Nearly
a mile below the bridge, on the right, is Thames Ditton.
Passing Messenger's Island we come to Surbiton, and
nearly a mile lower down to Kingston Bridge. The next
point is Teddington Lock. On the left Teddington and
an almost uninterrupted line of villas extends along the
bank as far as Twickenham. There is an iron foot bridge
from Teddington to the lock. About a mile from the
lock is Eel Pie Island, opposite which are Petersham, and
Ham House, the seat of the Earl of Dysart, almost hidden
among the trees. On the left is Orleans House, and down
the river rises Richmond Hill, crowned with the famous
" Star and Garter." Making the bend just below the next
island is, on the right bank, the ivy-clad residence of the
Duke of Buccleuch. Not quite three miles from Tedding-
ton Lock is Richmond Bridge. A short distance below
the Bridge is Richmond Lock, ninety-six and a half miles

THE THAMES 1 29

from Oxford and fifteen and a half miles from London.
The trip is generally concluded here, the banks of the
river below this point presenting little or nothing to attract
the visitor.

Passing Islewrorth, Sion House, the seat of the Duke of
Northumberland, Brentford, Kew with its Palace, Church
and Observatory, the famous Kew Gardens, Chiswick and
Chiswick Eyot (famous for its swans), we arrive at Ham-
mersmith with its long bridge, opened in June, 1887, and
are practically in London. From here we note Fulham
Episcopal Palace, the summer home of the Bishops of Lon-
don who have been lords of the manor from an early date.
Putney, Hurlingham House, Wandesworth, Battersea Park,
Chelsea and its iron bridge, Vauxhall, Lambeth Palace, the
London residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury, West-
minster Bridge, the Houses of Parliament and Westminster
Abbey, Charing Cross Railway Bridge, the Victoria Em-
bankment with Cleopatra's Needle, Waterloo Bridge,
Somerset House, The Temple Gardens, Blackfriar's Bridge,
St. Paul's Cathedral, Southwark Bridge, St. Saviour's and
come to London Bridge, opened by King William IV. and
Queen Adelaide in 1831. Here old London Bridge stood
for more than six hundred years, a quaint structure adorned
" with sumptuous buildings and statelie and beautiful houses
on either syde " ; and at the gatehouse of the bridge the
heads of traitors were exposed. On leaving London Bridge
we enter the Pool, which extends to Limehouse and is di-
vided into the Upper and Lower Pool by an imaginary
line drawn across the Thames at Wapping. The Pool is
always crowded with steamers, sailing-vessels and barges.
On the left bank stands The Monument, commemorating
the Great Fire of 1666, which began in the house of the

130 THE THAMES

King's baker in Pudding Lane. Not far from it is Bil-
lingsgate Fish Market, then follows .the Custom House and
the massive, solemn and impressive Tower. Tower
Bridge, the foundation stone for which was laid in 1886, is
passed, below which begin the great docks. Wapping Old
Stairs, made classic by Dibdin's song, and Shad well are
passed before we- leave the Pool and enter Limehouse
Reach.

The Thames now bends to the south and we pass the
great West India docks, the wall of which includes an area
of nearly three hundred acres. We pass Greenwich, fam-
ous for its Hospital (the old Palace), Observatory and Park,
after which the river takes a northerly course. Woolwich
with its Arsenal and Barracks, Shooter's Hill, from which
a fine view of London is obtained and now the river turns
south, for the Thames is a river of many windings. At
length we reach Tilbury and its Docks and Gravesend, and
here we are at the mouth of the river. The Midway enters
the Thames between the Isle of Grain and the Isle of
Sheppey and is now a muddy river with nothing beautiful
on either bank. Half way across the estuary, and fifty
miles from London Bridge, is the Nore Lightship, established
in 1730.

THE CONNECTICUT

TIMOTHY DWIGHT

CONNECTICUT RIVER rises in New Hampshire.
Its fountains are between 44°, 50' and 45° north
latitude, and nearly in 7 1 ° west longitude from London ;
about twenty-five miles eastward from its channel, where
in the same latitude it divides Stuart^ and Colebrook from
Canaan in Vermont. These fountains, which are at the
distance of two or three miles from each other, flow in two
small converging rivulets ; one of which empties its waters
into a pond, covering about six acres, whence it proceeds
to a lake, which from its resemblance to the numerical figure
8, I shall name Double Lake. The other rivulet, also,
unites with the same lake ; which is two miles long and
half a mile wide ; and covers between five and six hundred
acres. Hence the waters flow in a single channel, about
seven miles, into another lake, which from its figure I shall
call Heart Lake ; ^ about six miles long and three broad, and
covering between nine and ten thousand acres. From
Heart Lake with a material addition to its current, the river
runs north-westward for four miles and a half; and is a
continual rapid through the whole distance. In one part
of this reach it descends fifty feet in a course of three hun-
dred. Below the rapid, it receives from the northward a
stream called Perry's Brook; and a little further down,

• Now Stewartstown. ' Now Connecticut Lake.

132 THE CONNECTICUT

another, called Cedar Brook. About two miles further on
it receives another from the south, called Dear Water
Brook; and, about a mile further, a fourth from the north
called Back Brook, conveying into it the waters of a small
lake, called Back Lake. That portion of the Connecticut,
which is between Perry's Brook and Back Brook, four
miles in length, is named the Dead Water : the ground on
either side being low and level ; and the stream winding,
sluggish and deep. After receiving the waters of Back
Brook, it runs for one mile over a succession of rocks,
termed the Great Falls ; in one part of which it descends,
perpendicularly, over a ledge twelve feet.

Before its junction with Indian River, the Connecticut
runs about the same distance with that stream, and dis-
charges more than twice its quantity of water into the com-
mon channel. Hall's River is sensibly less than Indian
River.

The course of the Connecticut to Perry's brook, between
twenty-five and thirty miles is north-westward ; thence to
the forty-fifth degree of north latitude west-south-west;
thence to the city of Hartford south-south-west, and thence
to the Sound about south-east.

The length of this river is about four hundred and ten
miles. From Griswold's point, in Lyme, to the forty-fifth
degree of north latitude, the distance measured by its waters,
is about three hundred and seventy-four ; and thence to the
head-waters from thirty-five to forty. Its meanders
throughout a great part of its course are almost perpetual.

The number of- its tributary streams is very great. The
waters which form the Connecticut are remarkably pure
and light, such as we commonly term the best water for
washing. The tributary streams, almost without an excep-

hi

W

z
z

<

THE CONNECTICUT 133

tion, issue from hills formed of stone, covered with a
gravelly soil; and roll over a gravelly and stony bed
through their whole progress. The waters of the parent
stream are, therefore, everywhere pure, potable, perfectly
salubrious, and inferior to none in the world for the use of
seamen in long voyages.

As a navigable water, this river is inferior to many others
of a smaller size. This is owing to two causes ; fails and
shallows. The falls are the following : Little Falls, Great,
Indian, Judd's, Fifteen-mile, Lebanon, Waterqueechy, Bel-
low's, Miller's, South Hadley, Enfield.

The Fifteen-mile falls, Waterqueechy, and Enfield, and
the greatest part of the distance attributed to the others, are
mere rapids ; and there are also other small rapids, which are
of no consequence.

The Valley of the Connecticut is a tract of land, ex-
tending from the Sound to Hereford Mountain 5 five miles
beyond the forty-fifth degree of latitude. In the largest
sense it includes the tract which is bounded by the Lyme
range on the east, and by a confused cluster of hills, com-
mencing at the Sound, and terminating below Middletown,
then by the Middletown range, then by that of Mount
Tom, and then by that of the Green Mountains, on the
west. In this sense it is of very diiFerent breadths, from
five miles perhaps to forty-five; and its surface is com-
posed of an indefinite succession of hills, valleys and plains.
But there is another sense in which the phrase is used with
more obvious propriety and in which it denotes that portion
of this vast extent, which appears as a valley to the eye,
moving in the road along its course from its mouth to the
great bend in the northern part of the township of Stuart.

The Valley of the Connecticut extends through almost

134 THE CONNECTICUT

four degrees of latitude, and is bounded on the north by
Hereford Mountain; a magnificent eminence, ascending
five miles beyond the line. The superior limit of this
mountain is an arch more gracefully formed than that of
any other within my remembrance. Its elevation is about
2,000 feet above the neighbouring country.

The Intervals on this Valley begin at Hall's River, about
twelve or fourteen miles from its mouth. The word. In-
terval is used by me in a sense altogether different from
that which it has in an English Dictionary. Doctor Bel-
knap spells it Intervale, and confesses his want of authority
for the use of the word. There is in truth no such word ;
unless we are to look for its existence in vulgar and mis-
taken pronunciation. Originally, when applied to this very
subject, it seems to have meant nothing more than that ex-
tent of ground which lay between the original bank of the
river and the river itself.

This extent was composed of land, peculiar in its form
and qualities. The English, so far as I know, have no ap-
propriate name for grounds of this class. Whether such
lands exist on the rivers of Great Britain, I am ignorant,
having never seen any definite account of them, or allusion
to them in any book descriptive of the surface of that
country. From the accounts of Sir John Sinclair's Statis-
tical History of Scotland of the lands on some rivers in that
country, I should suppose that a part of them might be
Intervals, yet they are distinguished by no appropriate
name. On some rivers in this country there are none;
and on others very few. Wherever they exist, they are
objects of peculiar attention to farmers and subjects of
much customary conversation. That a name should be given
to them, therefore, is a thing of course. Interval is the name

THE CONNECTICUT 1 35

which they have accidentally obtained in this country ; and
a New Englander relishes it more than ^ats or bottoms.

This word, in its appropriate meaning denotes lands
formed by a long continued and gradual alluvion of a river.

Beauty of landscape is an eminent characteristic of this
Valley. From Hereford Mountain to Saybrook, it is
almost a continued succession of delightful scenery. No
other tract within my knowledge, and from the extensive in-
formation which I have received, I am persuaded that no
other tract within the United States of the same extent can
be compared to it, with respect to those objects which
arrest the eye of the painter and the poet. There are
indeed dull, uninteresting spots in considerable numbers.
These, however, are little more than the discords which
are generally regarded as necessary to perfect the harmony.
The beauty and the grandeur are here more varied than
elsewhere. They return oftener; they are longer con-
tinued ; they are finished by a hand operating in a superior
manner. A gentleman^ of great respectability, who had
travelled in England, France and Spain, informed me, that
the prospects along the Connecticut excelled those on the
beautiful rivers in these three countries in two great par-
ticulars — the Forests and the Mountains (he might, I be-
lieve, have added the Intervals also) ; and fell short of them
in nothing but population and the productions of art. It is
hardly necessary to observe that both these are advancing
with a rapid step (perhaps sufficiently rapid), towards a
strong resemblance to European improvement.

Nor are these grounds less distinguished by their beauty.
The form of most of them is elegant. A river, passing
through them, becomes almost of course winding. As the

1 The late Chief Justice Ellsworth.

136 THE CONNECTICUT

earth, of which they are composed, is of uniform texture, the
impressions made by the stream upon the border, are also
nearly uniform. Hence this border is almost universally a
handsome arch with a margin entirely neat, and very com-
monly ornamented with a fine fringe of shrubs and trees.
Nor is the surface of these grounds less pleasing. The
terraced form and the undulations are both eminently hand-
some. In a country abounding in hills, plains moderate in
their extent, like these, are always agreeable. Their uni-
versal fertility makes a cheerful impression on every eye.
A great part of them is formed into meadows. Meadows
are here more profitable, and everywhere more beautiful,
than lands devoted to any other culture. Here they are
extended from five to five hundred acres, and are every-
where covered with a verdure peculiarly rich and varied.
The vast fields, also, which are not in meadow, exhibit all
the productions of the climate, interspersed in parallelo-
grams, divided only by mathematical lines, and mingled in
a charming confusion. In many places, large and thrifty
orchards, and everywhere forest trees standing singly, of
great height and graceful figures, diversify the landscape.

The first object, however, in the whole landscape is un-
doubtedly the Connecticut itself. This stream may, per-
haps, with as much propriety as any in the world be named
the Beautiful River. From Stuart to the Sound, it uniformly
sustains this character. The purity, salubrity and sweet-
ness of its waters ; the frequency and elegance of its
meanders ; its absolute freedom from all aquatic vegetables ;
the uncommon and universal beauty of its banks ; here a
smooth and winding beach ; there covered with rich verdure ;
now fringed with bushes ; now crowned with lofty trees ;
and now formed by the intruding hill, the rude bluff and

THE CONNECTICUT 137

the shaggy mountain ; are objects which no traveller can
thoroughly describe and no reader adequately imagine. When
to these are added the numerous towns, villages and ham-
lets, almost everywhere exhibiting marks of prosperity and
improvement ; the rare appearance of decline ; the nu-
merous churches lifting their spires in frequent succession ;
the neat schoolhouses, everywhere occupied ; and the
mills busied on such a multitude , of streams ; it may be
safely asserted that a pleasanter journey will rarely be found
than that which is made in the Connecticut Valley.

MOSBL 139

the Traun fall. Nor like the water that 'comes down at
Locarno or Verallo ; but a deeper, statelier colour, lighter
than the Kyle between Mull and Argyll, daricer than the
Thames at Cookham when at its best after a dry July. In
all the shallows wave long tresses of Undine's hair, and the
surface of the water is broken by little ruffing eddies into
the loveliest water-pattern. Perhaps other rivers are like
this ; I do not know them. It seemed to me a peculiar
and native charm of this river, never sullen, never bois-
terous, the lady of German rivers. Smooth-sliding is the
proper epithet. I wish my reed were vocal to praise her
aright. She has her own poet — Ausonius ; but his poem
is rather a catalogue than a hymn of praise, and he takes
her for a river, not a goddess, as she revealed herself to us.

Rawer, the vill^e where we were to spend the night,
was shimmering between sunset and starlight, and had its
own light besides, for the military were here, and all the
windows ablaze, and Faust and Wagner and their loves had
come out of Trier to take the air and drink, noisy but re-
spectable.

The next morning was the ist of September, a dawn of
golden haze telling of hot tramps over stubbles and turnip-
fields. We were cool and contented, and did not lust after
partridges. We find our boat in the dewy willow-bed and
give ourselves to the stream. We have got used to the
rustic oars, and it is no exertion to row with the swift cur-
rent, which here and there breaks into a little rapid and
makes the boat dance — on one occasion we shipped nearly
half a pint of water. It is no good to describe what was
enjoyed and is remembered ; but here are the facts, though
mere facts tell little. Red sandstone cliffs, alternating with
grey slate ; broad meadows of Alpine grass freckled with

140 MOSEL

pink crocus ; walnut and apple orchards ; sober villages
with dark roofs and spires ; here and there a ruined castle ;
high " faraways " of pasture and forest ; cavalry and
artillery flashing and rumbling as they march to the
manoeuvres along the riverside roads; slow wagons drawn
by fox-coloured cows; on and on we slide, stopping where
we like, bathing when we like, till at evening we see a lofty
rock at a bend of the river ; and a party of ladies in a punt.
Boldly we call out to ask if there is a good lodging here,
and gaily " Ja freilich ! " comes back the answer across the
river, and we land and put up at a clean and friendly inn.
The parents and two hard-featured and hospitable
daughters welcome us ; the whole family turn out of their
rooms and turn us in, and we sup under the stars and the
velvet sky in front of the wooded rock, which plunges
straight into the river and gives its name, " Echo," to the
inn. The stars were very grand that night, and the invo-
cation of Echo unearthly as always ; it was impossible not
to believe here in Kuhlebjorn and wood-spirits.

The next morning (Sedan-day) we were taken down to
the bank by father, mother and the two daughters, and find
the little brother clearing out the boat. How much
willingness and courtesy for so small a payment. We said
good-bye to the friendly family, wishing them many guests
and good weather for their wine, and dropped down to
Muhtheim and Berncastle, famous for its " Doctor," the
best wine on the Mosel, though much " Doctor " is sold
which did not grow at Berncastle, as there are not vines
enough at Zeltinger to furnish half the Zeltinger drunk in
England. But the name matters little if the wine is good.
At Berncastle or rather at Cues, on the opposite bank,
there is a large modern hotel near an iron bridge ; but

MOSEL 141

there is also an ancient castle, and a conventual building
founded by Cardinal Cusanus in 1465, no longer occupied
by Monks.

I wish I could convey something of the pleasure which
the rare beauty of the green water and the continual
variety of the landscape gave us ; the strong rippling of the
stream when the rowers, out of mere idleness, put on a
spurt and the steerer enjoys his ease ; the still backwaters
among the rushes, where the current is guided by groynes
into the mid-stream ; the sun-smitten cHfFs ; the soft, green
slopes and valleys, where cloud-shadows sleep. The new
landscapes came gliding into view with a change at every
bend; but all is harmony. We pass pious processions of
country people with banners and "Aves," the priest lead-
ing them. They seem tired but happy — country people of
the humblest kind, unreached by tourists. The trains tin-
kle to warn people of the crossings, the slow cow-wains creak
along the roads, little boys shout injurious remarks to the
" Engelander" women kneel by the stream and wash linen,
the fish leap in the shallows, the sun shines, and the day
goes by. How good the remembrance of the walk over
the hills, cutting ofF a long loop, while two of us took the
boat round; for the Mosel bends round more than once
almost in a circle, as at Durham and Chateau Gaillard, and
you walk across through grasshopper pastures and steep
vineyard paths, through cool dark woods and heathy sum-
mits looking far away, through quivering haze, towards
Coblenz and Mainz. How good, too, the blazing sun in
little Kinsheim, the Mittagsessen and reposeful hour under
the tulip-tree in the hot shady garden at the back of the inn.

Another great loop to Alf, a little boy and his sister
bringing the boat from picturesque Piinderich, their dwell-

142 MOSEL

ing place. Alf will be remembered, not for itself — for it is
a tiresome little watering place, crowded and hot, and
noisy with voices of German trippers, — but for our ex-
cursion to Elz. We climbed out of the trench in which the
river runs, and drove across a happy tableland of orchards j
roads bordered with fruit-trees, wide-spreading meadows,
cornland and wood — peaceful German country sleeping in
afternoon sunshine, mowing and reaping, planting and
building, unchanged for a thousand years ; then the road
descended through shady woods, and, lo ! at a turning,
" pricked with incredible pinnacles into heaven," with gables,
roofs and turrets innumerable, a castle, but, oh, what a
castle ! Here lived the Sleeping Beauty ; hither King
Thrushbeard brought his bride ; such a building Hop-o-my-
Thumb descried from his tree-top. Up in that turret was
the spinning-wheel ; under that window twanged Blondel's
zither; from that gateway Sintram and the trusty Rolf
spurred forward, and St. Hubert set out to chase the holy
stag ; and knights and ladies, with falcon on wrist or with
cross bow and spear, went out a-hunting, or rode " a stately
train in pomp of gold and jewels, velvet and vair " to joust
at Worms-upon-the-Rhine. Henceforward I have seen the
German Zauberland ; henceforward nothing can add to or
take from this impression. My dream is come true.

The castle stands on an isolated rock with deep wooded
ravines on all sides, to which no stranger may go. The
saucy castle defied all its neighbours and vexed the lands of
my lord archbishop the Elector of Trier, who, to curb its
pride, built another castle over against it and called it
" Trutz-Elz " (Who care for Elz ?). I don't know the rest
of the story, but there stands Elz as good as ever, possessed
by the lords of that ilk, and Trutz-Elz is a ruin.

MOSEL 143

Our time is running out. We left Alf in a dawning of
golden mist, and rowed merrily down to Ediger, with its
picturesque church, all flying buttresses, pinnacles and
crockets, like a church in a Diirer background, to Cochem,
with its restored castle and a sense of modern prosperity
which is better for the town than for the contemplative
traveller. Another clean little hostelry at Treis, with good
wine and a cheery landlord. There is a river at Treis and
a possibility of small trout if we take great trouble ; but we
don't ; it is too hot to take trouble ; there is no water in
the stream, and the fish are asleep. The river now makes
up its devious mind to go straight for Coblenz in long
reaches, with groynes on either bank. It comes on to rain ;
we bump a rock and dance along a rapid. Then come
commercial buildings with chimneys, reminding us that we
live in the iron age. The stream widens, the rain pours
down, the Roman bridge comes in sight. Coblenz finis
chartoeque viaeque.

May we go there again.

THE IRRAWADDY
EMILY A. RICHINGS

THE mighty Irrawaddy, which traverses the entire
length of Burma, impresses itself on popular
imagination as the living soul of the land, moulded and
coloured through countless ages by the influence of the
majestic river. If Egypt be the gift of the Nile, Burma is
scarcely less the gift of the Irrawaddy, deepened by myriad
tributary streams, and flowing in ever-widening volume
from forest cradle to fan-shaped Delta. The source of the
historic stream is still veiled in mystery, as it winds through
impenetrable jungle and untrodden mountains until it be-
comes navigable for the last thousand miles to the sea.
Manifold traditions encompass the great river with that
atmosphere of glamour which invests Burma with romantic
charm.

The song of the river breathes of nomadic hordes and
contending races, of old-world kings, mythical warriors,
and legendary saints, until the dominant Burmese united in
the Irrawaddy Valley, and the tribes wandering down the
lateral tributaries were absorbed or subjected by the ruling
power.

The modern voyager generally takes the downward
course of the river, journeying by train to Katha, through
the palm-studded plains and dense forests skirting the blue
hills which divide Burma from the Shan States on the bor-
ders of Siam. Under the hovering mists of dawn giant

THE IRXtAWADDY I4S

teak and feathery bamboo, looped together with coils of all-
embracing creeper, make a rich tangle of matted foliage.
Bhamo, the head of navigation as regards the great steamers
of the Irrawaddy Flotilla, and the frontier town on the
borders of China, lies along the yellow sand-bank of the
foreshore. The Siamese name, signifying " City of Pans,"
is derived from the local manufacture of iron and earthen-
ware jars, cauldrons, and pitchers, dating from primitive
times. Bhamo, formerly a walled Shan town, fiercely con-
tested both by China and Burma, was captured four times
by the Chinese, easily reinforced from their own frontier
only thirty miles away. The town of 12,000 inhabitants,
protected by an English battery and a police force of Indi-
ans and Kachins, is still the meeting-place of converging
races. Chinese, Moslems, and Hindus possess their own
quarters in the squalid city, where the astute Celestials re-
tain the largest share of local trade, importing cotton and
salt, or exporting honey, hides, ochre and chestnuts, with
thousands of cooking pans. Blue robes, sun-hats and pig-
tails, grey roofs with upcurved eaves, and tinselled banners
waving round the tarnished red of a Joss-house bristling
with weird figures, transport our thoughts to the Middle
Kingdom, reached by the sandy track beyond the ruined
walls. Tom-toms beat in the Hindu quarter, and dark
figures glide past with jingling anklets and filigree nose-
rings, or lie supine on rickety charpoys in the open street.
A muezzin chants from the minaret of a tiny mosque, and
the bearded sons of Islam spread their prayer-carpets in the
dust, prostrating themselves in obedience to the voice which
summons them to prayer on these alien shores. Beneath
the banyan trees of an arcaded court a marble Buddha
dreams amid the shadows, and kneeling Shan women offer

146 THE IRRAWADDY

their morning orisons at the crumbling altar. Tall black
head-dresses and dark-blue skirts, embroidered with many-
coloured wools, mark a distinct racial type. Silver cylin-
ders weigh down dusky ears, silver hoops encircle sunburned
necks, and the glittering chain of a silver needle-case hung
from the waist-belt of an almond-eyed girl denotes her rank
as a Shan lady. The intelligent faces are bright and ani-
mated, but every smile discloses teeth blackened with betel-
nut. The men of the party sip tea and smoke their silver
pipes under the green boughs, leaving the devotional exer-
cises to their womankind. A Burman in rose-coloured
turban and plaid kilt lolls upon a stone parapet, and Kachin
women, with mops of rough hair and furtive faces washed
in grease, pass the gateway with loads of elephant-grass
on their backs, bringing a barbaric element into the
scene.

Pagoda, Joss-house, and Buddhist temple stand in friendly
proximity, and no war of sect or creed disturbs the harmony
of life under the tolerant British rule ; but the Buddhism of
the Shan and the Nature-worship of the Kachin show many
points of contact.

The arrival of the Irrawaddy steamer, towing cargo
" flats " in its wake, is the event of the week, and rustic
barges thread the narrow defile above Bhamo, bringing their
contingent of produce and passengers from distant villages
on the confines of civilization. One of the great "flats"
is a floating market, where Burman and Kachin, Shan and
Chin, display their varied merchandise to the motley throng
of customers. Gaudy silks and cottons, rude pottery and
quaint lacquer-work, barbaric toys and trinkets, fruit, vege-
tables, and sweetmeats, with household utensils of every
kind, fill the dusky space of the covered deck with brilliant

THE IRRAWADDY I47

colour. Indolent Burmese doze and smoke on gaily-striped
quilts, while their wives chaffer and barter with business-
like aplomb; for the Burmese woman is the breadwinner
of the family, and retains most of the commercial transac-
tions of the country in her capable hands. A pretty girl
in white jacket and apple-green skirt, with a pink pawa
floating on her shoulders, sits on a pile of yellow cushions
and smokes her big cheroot of chopped wood and tobacco
in meditative calm. Diamonds glitter in her ears, and ruby
studs fasten her muslin bodice, for she goes as a bride to
some distant riverside town, and carries her "dot" on her
back. Strings of onions and scarlet chillies hang from the
rafters above bales of fur from China. Children flit up and
down, like many-coloured butterflies, in quaint costumes
brightened with pink scarfs and tiny turban, miniature
replicas of their elders, for no special garb of childhood
exists in Burma, and the general effect suggests an assem-
blage of gaily-dressed dolls. Shan women in tall black
turbans stand round a harper as he twangs the silken strings
of a black and gold lyre with sounding-board of varnished
deerskin. The weird fractional tones of native music, dis-
cordant to European ears, harmonize with the semi-barbaric
environment as the musician chants some heroic legend of
the mythical past. Presently he approaches a mattress of
white and scarlet, occupied by a woman whose brown
Mongolian face is blanched to the pallor of age-worn
marble by chronic pain, and sings a wild incantation over
the sufferer, who by the advice of a fortune-teller under-
takes the weary journey to pray for healing at the Golden
Pagoda of Rangoon. The charm apparently succeeds, for
the tired eyes close, and as the song dies off in a whisper-
ing cadence a peaceful slumber smoothes the lines of pain

148 THE IRRAWADDY

in the troubled face. Family parties sit round iron tea-
kettles, and girls bring bowls of> steaming rice from the
rude galley where native passengers cook their food.

Past green islets in sandy reaches, hemmed in by bold
cliffs conveying vague suggestions of Nile scenery, the great
steamer pursues her way. Above dark clumps of banyan
and tamarind, the golden spires of Buddhist monasteries, or
the shining tee of village pagodas, invest the changing land-
scape with the unique individuality of Burma, distinct in
character from the Indian Empire, though politically com-
prised within it. A magical peace and purity, suggesting a
world fresh from the Creator's hand, transfigures hill and
dale with ineiFable lucidity of atmosphere and delicacy of
colour. The solemnity of the deep gorges piercing the
profound gloom of virgin forest supplies a contrasting note
of haunting mystery, the loneliness of these upper reaches
merely accentuated by occasional signs of human life and
activity in the vast solitudes through which the river flows.
As the steamer swings round a projecting rock, the grotesque
forms of two colossal leographs — the hybrid lion and gryphon
of Burmese mythology — rear their white bulk against a
green tuft of towering palms at the gate of a Buddhist tem-
ple flanking the grey cone of a tall pagoda. Yellow-robed
monks lean on the balustrade of an island monastery hidden
like a bird's nest amid the thick foliage, and beautiful even
in decay. The broad-eaved roofs, with their carved and
gilded pinnacles, are miracles of art, for the historic founda-
tion was formerly renowned throughout Upper Burma, and
on festivals even the dog-fish, for which this reach of water
is famous, were decorated with strips of gold-leaf, and tamed
to come at the call of the monks. Farther on a yellow
procession descends a long flight of rocky steps cut in the

THE IRRAWADDY I49

face of a steep cliff crowned by a monastic pile bristling
with gilt finials and vermilion spires. At the foot of the
mountain stairway a huge funeral pyre of forest trees attracts
groups of villagers, who land from a fleet of carved and
decorated boats in festal array, for a monk is to be cremated
after the invariable custom of Buddhist orders, and the
ceremony is observed as a general holiday. The light-
hearted Burmese only extract pleasure from the gruesome
spectacle, for what matters this little incident in the mani-
fold cycles of progressive existence reserved for the rein-
carnating soul ?

Stockaded villages line the foreshore, and hilltops glitter
with the golden tee of clustering shrines. The sublime
defiles of the glorious river, with their frowning cliffs and
toppling crags, widen into the dreamy calm of land-locked
reaches, where pagodas multiply on every point of vantage,
in monumental testimony to the zeal and devotion of the
Burmese past. The nomadic races of Burma impressed
their character on the multitude of ruined cities and deserted
capitals buried under the veil of verdure in the tropical jun-
gle, or covering hill and plain with decaying splendour. In
a shadowy channel beneath overhanging rocks the wrecked
yacht of the luckless King Theebaw lies overturned, the
lapsing water rippling against red funnel and gilded poop.
No effort is made to raise the melancholy derelict, a fitting
emblem of past sovereignty. At the sacred heights of
Sagaing, transformed by the white and golden spires of
graceful pagodas into ideal loveliness, a pothoodaw^ or " man
of both worlds," in semi-monastic garb with yellow parasol,
awaits the arrival of the steamer.

The gentle humility of this old pothoodaw contrasts
favourably with the aggressive importance of a village

150 THE IRRAWADDY

"head-man," or local magistrate, who pushes him aside,
and struts along the narrow wharf in tartan silk and spot-
less muslin, an obsequious attendant carrying his master's
red umbrella and silver betel-box. Yellow-robed brethren
dismount from creaking bullock-wagons lined with hay,
and await the coming steamer to bear them to the crema-
tion ceremony up-stream. Palm-leaf fans are raised to the
brown faces, but two youthful novices satisfy their curiosity
concerning European womankind by peeping through the
interstices of the sun-dried fronds. Other waiting passen-
gers set out the huge pieces of a clumsy chessboard on a
pile of flour bags ; for time is no account on these dreamy
shores, and two hours must elapse before the Bhamo boat
swings in sight.

Evening turns the noble river into a sheet of flaming
gold; pink clouds lie like scattered rose-leaves in the path
of the sinking sun, and through the deepening veil of twi-
light the red fires twinkling outside reed-thatched huts of
tiny villages supply local colour to riverside life. Jungle-
grown Ava and ruined Amapura lie on the water's brink;
the Pagan, grandest of ancient capitals, covers a wide plain
with the imposing architecture of a thousand pagodas, the
colossal Ananda Dagon soaring like a huge cathedral above
multitudinous domes and spires, gold and crimson, white
and grey, of the deserted metropolis; for the tide of life
swept away from royal Pagan seven hundred years ago.
The white tents of the Government elephant camp cover
a stretch of sand above the bathing place of the herd, and
the officer in charge gives a fascinating account of his ad-
venturous life ; though many perils attend the capture of the
three hundred elephants annually required by authority, and
in the past year fifteen hunters have fallen victims to the

THE IRRAWADDY 15I

dangers which beset horse and rider from sharp tusks,
trampling feet, falling trees, and tangling creepers in the
dark recesses of primeval forest. The typical denizen of
Burmese woods possesses a sacred character in popular
estimation, and carven elephants loom through the tropical
greenery of the shores, supporting tapering pagoda or pil-
lared portico.

The steamer stops before the unfinished temple and
colossal Bell of Mingoon, cracked by earthquake, but the
second largest in the world, the grandeur of the uncom-
pleted design memorializing the frustrated ambition of a
Burmese king who desired to be immortalized as a Phaya-
Taga^ or " Pagoda-Builder," rather than by memories of
war and conquest. The spiritual idealism which colours
Burmese idiosyncrasy tinges the story of the past, and a
modern writer aptly epitomizes one aspect of British rule
as " an attempt to turn poetic philosophers into efficient
policemen." The charm of this freshwater cruise is en-
hanced by frequent opportunities of landing at riverside
villages, visits to Burmese farms, and strolls through pictur-
esque markets or beneath the palms and tamarinds of coun-
try roads leading to mouldering pagodas and forgotten
shrines. The inhabitants of these verdant shores are true
" children of the river " — the mystic flood which supplies
their wants and moulds their character, affording them an
" education of contact " with the outside world to soften
the crude asperity of mental isolation. The mother plunges
her little ones into the eddying waters so early that even in
helpless infancy they become amphibious as the croaking
frogs in the iris beds at the river's edge. Merry bathing
parties display their skill in diving, swimming, or fishing by
hand in the crystal depths ; and graceful girls, like brown

152 THE IRRAWADDY

Naiads, disport themselves beneath the drooping boughs
which kiss the ripples of some sheltered creek fit for a
fairy's haunt. Parrots call from the trees, and kingfishers
flit across the shallows in flashes of emerald light. Luxuri-
ance of vegetation and depth of colour increase with every
hour of the downward voyage. Gold mohur and scarlet
cotton-tree dazzle the eye as they tower up into the burn-
ing blue of the tropical sky, and when the crescent moon
sinks beneath the horizon myriads of glittering fireflies sug-
gest, in the beautiful words of an Oriental poet, that " the
night is adrift with her stream of stars."

Thabetkein, the busy port of the ruby mines sixty miles
away ; Yandoon, the malodorous fish-curing town a la
mode de Burma, which buries the native hors d^ oeuvre to eat
it in decay ; and beautiful Prome, asleep in the moonlight,
are visited in turn, the character of the scenery changing as
the wide Delta opens up before the advancing steamer in
branching channels, like numerous rivers springing from
the parent Irrawaddy. Above us rises the sacred clifF of
Guadama, an ancient resort of religious pilgrimage, with
countless statues of Buddha carved to inaccessible heights
in the living rock. The romance of this watery world
turns over a new page on entering the great Bassein Creek,
the last stage of the thousand mile course. Elephants feed-
ing in the Jungle, and requiring a whole day for a full
meal, crash through the canes regardless of the passing
steamer. Peacocks drag their gorgeous trains over pink
river-grass and golden sands. Grey egrets preen their soft
plumage at the water's edge, and purple hornbills rest on
swaying palms. The Delta is alive with craft — rice boats
and launches, cargo-boats and steamers. The barbaric
fenaw, with swelling sails and twenty oars ; the curving native

THE IRRAWADDY 1 53

barge, and the graceful Sampans, flitting like brown-winged
moths across the stream. Boys, tattooed from head to
foot in elaborate patterns, descend side-creek and canal in
a rude dug-out — the hollow tree which forms the primitive
boat — and the green tunnels of foliage show houses of
plaited mats, raised on piles and reached by ladders.

Miles of malarious marsh have been reclaimed by Gov-
ernment from the new land ever silting up above the level of
the water, and forming the rich rice-fields of this alluvial
soil. Riverside towns and villages become more frequent
in the lower reaches, and miniature markets of country pro-
duce make patches of brilliant colour on the sandy shore.
Silken-clad girls, with flower-decked heads, sit beneath pink
and green umbrellas, shading piles of golden plantains and
pineapples. Bamboo stalls of curious lacquer-ware and
trays of clay Buddhas, packets of gold-leaf, and sheaves of
incense-sticks appeal to the religious instincts of pilgrims
bound for the Golden Pagoda of distant Rangoon. The
trade here, as elsewhere, is monopolized by the Burmese
women, though many pink-turbaned admirers lie on the
sand, smoking, flirting, and singing with the characteristic
dolce ar niente of masculine life. The long fresh-water
cruise floats us from wilderness to the sea, from dreamland
to reality. Rice-mills line the shores, ocean-going ships
rush towards the forest of masts encircling busy Rangoon,
and huge teak-rafts, floated down from distant woods, and
sometimes two years on the way, reach their moorings at
the Ahlone timber-yards. Elephants, working with mili-
tary precision, drag the giant trunks by chains from the
river's brink and pile them up with mathematical exact-
ness, pushing them with their heads until perfectly level.
Even commercial Burma can never be commonplace, for

154 THE IRRAWADDY

beyond the motley throngs of the cosmopolitan port, the
golden spire of the Shway Dagon, queen of p^odas and goal
of the Irrawaddy voyager, idealizes the city clustering
round the sacred hill, and created by the central sanctuary
of Burma's ancient faith.

THE CLYDE

ROBERT WALKER

GLASGOW and its river have acted and reacted the
one upon the other ; and the conditions of the
city's prosperity and well-being are indissolubly linked with
the stream that wanders down from the upland moors of
Lanarkshire, tumbling over precipices, meandering through
rich orchard grounds, flowing through the busy haunts of
men, until it widens into the noble estuary whose waves
reflect the peaks of Arran and wash round the rugged steeps
of Ailsa Craig. In its course the Clyde runs amid all
variety of scenery : moorland, pastoral, woodland. It is,
at one time, a shallow stream, humming over a pebbly bed
and glittering in the clear sunshine ; at another, a foul and
sullen mass of water, which the energy of man has turned
to good account in his commercial enterprises ; and then
again, a restless sea, whose white-crested waves break upon
the base of Highland hills. Through all its changes, it is
dear to the heart of every true Glasgovian. It has been a
source of untold wealth to the place of his birth, and most
of his happiest memories are connected with the sunny days
of leisure he has spent among its lochs and by its sand-
edged bays. Glasgow looks upon the Clyde as its own
special glory and possession ; it is proud of the manner in
which the resources of the river have been developed ; it is
prouder still of its many natural beauties familiar to its
citizens from their earliest youth, and an all-powerful at-

156 THE CLYDE

traction for the strangers who are led to our shores by the
fame of its charms.

Glasgow, although it has many picturesque vistas within
its bounds which the ordinary business man, engrossed with
the cares of the Exchange, recks nothing of, is not, in itself,
a magnet to draw tourists who are simply in search of the
picturesque. Edinburgh, among Scottish cities, is, from its
own natural beauty, the cynosure of neighbouring and far-
away eyes. But Glasgow has the Clyde ; and the Clyde,
notwithstanding the advantages of the Callander and Oban
Railway, is still the pleasantest and most picturesque gate-
way and avenue to the West Highlands, where tourists
rightly love to congregate.

The practical energy and shrewdness of the Glasgow
people early turned to the best advantage the inducements
the Frith of Clyde oiFered to the thousands who were anx-
ious for " change of air," and on the outlook for summer
resorts. In no district of our island are travelling facilities
greater and travelling cheaper than on the Clyde. A
wonderful change has taken place since 1812, when the
Comet, the pioneer boat of a vast fleet of steamers, began to
sail between Glasgow, Greenock and Helensburgh. Out
of the Comet, with its forty-two feet of length, has been
evolved what is generally regarded as the premier boat on
the river, Mr. MacBrayne's Columha, which carries the
tourist-flocks from Glasgow to Ardrishaig, whence Mr.
MacBrayne's West Highland service is continued through
the Crinan Canal.

The Columha starts on her journey at seven o'clock in
the. morning, and as she threads her way down the busy
river-channel, the passengers can note the stir and bustle
of the wharves, and the evidences in ever-extending docks

a

t' '■,

■x

■'s -^

-1

- I ■; ■;

o

ik%

a

:: \''\

H

■ ^

\i

THE CLYDE 1 57

and quayage, the dredgers and divers, of the indefatigable
energy and well-directed skill of the Clyde Trustees, that
have turned a shallow meandering stream into a highway
for the largest ships that float. Down past the building
yards with their clanging hammers and great ships " of
iron framed," past what were once the cheerful rural
villages of Govan and Partick, now the grimy hives of
busy human bees, we steam, leaving behind us the ancient
royal burgh of Renfrew and the mouth of the Cart, and
come in view of Bowling and the Kilpatrick Hills, among
which the patron saint of Ireland is said to have first seen
the light. The river here broadens into something like an
inland lake and the landscape grows decidedly picturesque.
This has been a favourite subject for many Scottish land-
scape painters — Nasmyth, McCulloch and Bough among
the rest. There is a wide stretch of view and the hills
near and distant — the first glimpse we have yet had of the
beginning of the Highlands — give to it dignity and variety.
To the water, studded with craft of all rigs, Dalnottar
Hill, Dunglass (where stands the monument to Bell, who
introduced steam navigation to the Clyde), Dumbuck Hill
and the mass of Dumbarton Castle, are effective back-
ground and setting.

At the Tail of the Bank, as the anchorage off Greenock
is called, lie a motley crowd of craft : bluff-bowed timber
ships, smart Australian clippers, handsome steam vessels
of the various lines to America, gaily-painted foreign ships,
and in the midst of them, an embodiment of power and
authority, rides the guardship, a formidable ironclad.

The steamer at Greenock gathers passengers who have
come down from Glasgow by rail, and she takes in more
at Gourock, to which the Caledonian Company now run

158 THE CLYDE

trains. The old Gourock pier, dear from its fishing as-
sociations to the hearts of many generations of Glasgow
boys, is now completely altered ; a fine quay front has been
put up and a handsome station erected. Gourock is one
of the oldest of the Clyde watering-places; in its day it
was fashionable and thought to be pretty far removed from
the giddy world ; now it is the resort of the cheap-tripper,
and has about its houses something of a second-rate
look.

The view of the Frith from both Greenock and
Gourock piers is one of great extent and beauty. Oppo-
site, rise in the background range after range of hills, the
fantastic ridges of " Argyle's Bowling-green," the Cobbler,
the Black Hill of Kilmun, the steeps around Glen Messan,
and stealing between these mountain masses are the lochs
that are among the chief charms of the district. We have
fronting us the entrances to the Gareloch, Loch Long and
the Holy Loch, with wooded Roseneath and a white
stretch along the shore of cottages and little towns. If we
can only secure a day when the waves glitter in the sun
and the fleecy clouds fleck the hillsides with alternate
lights and shadows, then we need scarcely wish for a fairer
scene.

Glasgow men are enthusiastic yachtsmen, and the re-
gattas, the opening cruises and closing cruises of the
various clubs are among the chief galas of the westcoast
season. Our yachts and their builders — such as Watson
and Fife — our skippers and our crews, are famous all the
world over. The " white wings " spot the Frith at every
turn, and there are few prettier sights than one of these
Clyde greyhounds, bursting through the water under a
cloud of canvas, with her lee-rail well buried in the sea.

THE CLYDE 159

Down the Cowal shore the steamer slips and the long
belt of houses and villas that extends from Hunter's Quay
to Innellan — once all a lonely shore — is left behind, and
we round Toward Point and its lighthouse into Rothsay
Bay. This bay, with its environment of hills, is one of
the choice bits on the Clyde ; the natives all declare it to
be finer than the Bay of Naples. Few Rothsay men have
been at Naples. When a yacht club holds a regatta here,
and the boats cluster at anchor off Rothsay and there are
fireworks and illuminations, there is no livelier place than
this same bay.

The town itself is beautifully situated, but looks best at
a distance. From Barone Hill, at the back, a fine view
can be obtained of the panorama of the bay. Rothsay
has a long history : it is a royal burgh, and like Renfrew,
gives a title to the Prince of Wales. Its chief glory is its
ruined castle, over which Norsemen and Scots, Bruces and
Baliols, have fought and murdered one another. Old
memories and traditions cluster as thick round it as the
ivy on its walls.

Leaving Rothsay, we sail into the Kyles of Bute, a
narrow passage between the island and the mainland.
The wonder is how the steamer can thread its way through
the twisting, twining channel, that appears hardly broad
enough for the Columba's paddle-wheels. Now and
again it almost seems as if we should run ashore from
the sharpness of the turns. The Kyles are full of quiet
beauty. As we look at the little hamlets sheltered under
the wooded hills, they seem so out of the world and so re-
mote from the common cares that burden humanity, that
we wonder can ordinary sins and sorrows ever disturb
there the calm routine of life. The evening hour is the

l6o THE CLYDE

hour of enchantment, when your boat gently drifts on the
slow heaving water. The voices on the shore seem to
reach you through a muffled and mysterious air ; the opales-
cent light in the sky is reflected from the waves that lap
against the boat; sweet scents are wafted from the hill-
sides that loom solemn in the gathering darkness ; earth's
uneasy passions are at rest ; for the young, it is a pleasant
pause in the hurly-burly ; for those who are growing old,
it is the time of memories and regrets.

It is the garish light of day now, and with a long gaze at
the rugged mist-wreathed peaks of Arran, we round Ardla-
mont Point and, away to the left, meet the sparkling waters
and fresh breezes of Loch Fyne.

Tarbert, our first stoppage after the ferry at Ardlamont,
is one of the most noted fishing-villages in the west of
Scotland. The entrance to East Loch Tarbert, at which
the steamer calls, is exceedingly picturesque, and the dis-
trict, with its brown sails and its brawny fishermen, is one
much beloved of artists. Henry Moore, Colin Hunter,
David Murray, among the rest, have turned its beauties to
great use. Tarbert is the great centre of the trawl (or
seine) net fishing, which in Loch Fyne, after much dis-
cussion and many bickerings, has practically superseded in
the Loch the old drift-net method. Trawl boats work in
pairs with four men and a boy in each boat. Tarbert sends
out between eighty and ninety boats, and an exceptionally
good night's catch for a pair of trawls is about four or five
hundred boxes — each box containing, depending on the
size of the herring, from three to five hundred fish. The
men are sturdy, fine-looking fellows — and are fishermen
proper, as distinguished from the half crofter, half- fisher-
men of the farther North-west Highlands. The fishing-

THE CLYDE l6l

fleet going out before sundown is, on a good evening, the
sight of Tarbert, the brown sails and the yellow-brown
boats glancing in the golden light, as they rush and
hum through the clear blue-grey water. Tarbert itself,
which lies principally round the inner harbour, is not a par-
ticularly inviting place — it smells generally strongly of
herrings — but the hills around it are very pleasant to ramble
over, and the walk to West Loch Tarbert leads through
delightful highland country. There is a ruined castle here,
which dominates the harbour and is redolent of memories
of Robert the Bruce, the builder of the castle in 1325.
The narrow isthmus that separates the East from the West
Loch has been more than once surmounted by invading
Norsemen and other bold buccaneers, who dragged their
boats overland. Sir Walter Scott makes use of this fact in
The Lord of the Isles.

At Ardrishaig, six miles beyond Tarbert and on the
west side of Loch Gilp, the outward run of the Columha
ends, and passengers for the West Highlands tranship to
the Linnet^ in order to be conveyed through the Crinan
Canal.

THE VOLGA

KLIS^E RECLUS

THE rivulet which, at its farthest source, takes the
name of Volga, rises not in a highland region, but
in the midst of lakes, marshes and low wooded hills, little
elevated above the Volkosniky Les (" Volkon Forest ") and
Valdai plateau, which may be taken as the true source of
the stream. The highest ridges of the Valdai scarcely rise
220 feet above the plateau, although the chief crest, the
Popova Gora, attains an altitude of 1,170 feet. The mean
elevation of the land is also sufficient to give it a far more
severe aspect than that of the Lovat and Lake Ilmen plains
on the north-west. Its peat beds, lakes and fir forests are
more suggestive of the neighbourhood of Lake Onega,
some 300 miles farther north, and the climate is, in fact,
about two degrees colder than in the surrounding districts.
Yet the Valdai flora diiFers on the whole but little, if at all,
from that of the plains stretching towards the great lakes,
whence it has been concluded that these heights are of
comparatively recent origin. They have no indigenous
vegetation, all their species coming from the region re-
leased from its icy fetters at the close of the long glacial
epoch. The plateau, now furrowed by rain and frost,
formed at that time a continuation of the uniform slope of
the land, and like it, was covered by the ice-fields from
Finland. The fish of its lakes, and even of the Upper
Volga itself, do not belong to the Volga basin proper, which

o
>

THE VOLGA 163

the Valdai streams seem to have only recently joined. To
judge from their fauna, the true origin of the Volga
should be sought, not in the Valdai, but in Lake Belo
Ozero (" White Lake "), east of Lagoda. The sturgeon
and sterlet inhabit the Shesksna, the outlet of this lake, as
they do in the middle Volga itself. The region giving
birth to the Volga is one of the swampiest in West Russia,
resembling a lowland tract rather than a true water-parting.
Separated by a simple peat bed from a tributary of the
Volkhov, the streamlet rising in the Volgino Verkhovye,
and sometimes called the Jordan from its sacred character,
flows from a spot now marked by the ruins of a chapel,
thence oozing rather than flowing from bog to bog for a
distance of about twenty-two miles, when it successively
traverses three terraced lakes, whose levels differ only a few
inches from the other. The Jukopa, one of the southern
affluents, often causes a back flow to Lake Peno near its
course, the natural fall being so slight that the impulse of a
lateral current suffices to reverse it. After leaving Lake
Peno, which is close to Lake Dvinetz, source of the
Dvina, the Volga turns eastward to Lake Volgo, where it
is already a considerable stream, with a volume of from
3,500 to 3,600 cubic feet per second, according to the sea-
sons. Three miles farther down occurs its first rapid,
where a dam has now been constructed, which during the
rains converts the upper valley, with its lakes, into one vast
reservoir forty-eight miles long, over one mile wide, and
containing 6,300,000 cubic feet of water. Boats and rafts
are then able to descend from the lake region, and higher
up the river becomes regularly navigable. Near this point
the Volga is nearly doubled by the Selijarovka from the
winding Lake Seligen, whose insular monastery of St.

164 THE VOLGA

Nilus is still visited yearly by about 20,000 pilgrims. Here
may be said to begin the commercial stream, the Ra, Rhas,
or Rhos of the ancients and of the Mordvinians, the Yul
of the Cheremissiams, the Atel or Etil of the Tatars, the
Tamar of the Armenians — that is in these languages, the
" River " — and in Finnish the Volga, or the " Holy
River."

Below the Selijarovka it descends the slopes of the plateau
through a series of thirty-five porogi, or rapids^ wfhich, how-
ever, do not stop the navigation, and beyond the last of the
series it winds unimpeded through the great Russian low-
lands, receiving numerous navigable tributaries, and com-
municating by canal with the Baltic basin. After passing the
populous towns of Tver, Ribinsk, Yaroslav, and Kostroma,
it is joined at Niji-Novgorod by the Oka, of nearly equal
volume, and historically even more important than the main
stream. The Oka, which long served as the frontier be-
tween Tartar and Muscovite, rises in the region of the
" black lands " and throughout a course of goo miles waters
the most fertile plains of Great Russia, bringing to the Nijni
fair the produce of Orol, Kaluga, Tula, Riazan, Tambov,
Vladimir, and Moscow. Over 1,440 yards broad, it seems
like an arm of the sea at its confluence with the Volga.
East of this point the main artery is swollen by other tribu-
taries, which, though as large as the Seine, seem insignifi-
cant compared with the mighty Kama, joining it below
Kazan from the Urals, and draining an area at least equal
in extent to the whole of France. Judging from the direc-
tion of its course, the Kama seems to be the main stream,
for below the junction the united rivers continue the south-
erly and south-westerly course of the Kama, whose clear
waters flow for some distance before intermingling with the

THE VOLGA 165

grey stream of the Volga. Below Simbirsk the tributaries
are few and unimportant, and as the rainfall is here also
slight, and the evaporation considerable, the mean discharge
is probably as great at this place as at the delta.

Below the Kama junction there formerly existed a vast
lacustrine basin, which has been gradually filled in by the
alluvia of both streams. Here is the natural limit of the
peat region, and here begins, on the right bank, that of the
steppes. As we proceed southwards the atmosphere be-
comes less humid, the ground firmer, and below Simbirsk
we no longer meet those mossy and wooded quagmires
bound together by the tangled roots of trees, resembling
matted cord^e. But even in the boggy districts those
floating forests are slowly disappearing as the land is brought
more and more under cultivation.

Below the dried- up Simbirsk Lake the stream is deflected
by an impassable limestone barrier eastwards to Samara,
where it escapes through a breach and reverses its course
along the southern escarpment of the hills, thus forming a
long narrow peninsula projecting from the western plateau.
Here is the most picturesque scenery on the Volga, which
is now skirted by steep wooded cliffs, terminating in pyra-
mids and sharp rocky peaks. Some of the more inaccessible
summits are surmounted by the so-called " Stenka " Kur-
gans, raised in memory of Razin, Chief of the Cossacks and
revolted peasantry, who had established themselves in this
natural stronghold of the Volga. The- hills often rise more
than 300 feet above the stream, the Beliy Kluch, south-
west of Sizran, attaining an absolute elevation of 1,155
feet or 1,120 feet above the mean level of the Volga.

The region of the delta really begins at the Tzaritzin
bend, some 300 miles from the Caspian, for the stream

1 66 THE VOLGA

here branches into countless channels between the beds of
the Volga and the Akhtuba, known near the coast as the
Bereket. Still the delta, properly so called, is formed only
about thirty miles above Astrakhan, by the forking of the
Buzan branch from the main bed. Near Astrakhan the
Belda and Kutum, and, lower down, the Tzarova, Tzagan,
Birul, and other arms, break away, and in the vast alluvial
peninsula projecting into the Caspian, and which is at least
I lo miles round, there are altogether about two hundred
mouths, most of them, however, shifting streams choked
with mud. During the spring floods all the delta and lower
courses below Tzaritzin form one vast body of moving
waters, broken only by a few islands here and there, and
after each of these floods new beds are formed, old ones
filled up, so that the chart of the delta has to be constantly
planned afresh. Two hundred years ago the navigable
channel flowed due east from Astrakhan : since then it has
shifted continually more to the right and now runs south-
south-west.

Without including the shorter windings, the Volga has a
total length of 2,230 miles, presenting with its tributaries,
about 7,200 miles of navigable waters. From the sources
of the Kama to the delta, these waters cross sixteen paral-
lels of latitude, and nine isothermal degrees, so that while
the mean annual temperature of the region is at freezing
point, it oscillates about 9° in the delta. At Astrakhan the
Volga is frozen for about ninety-eight days, and at Kazan
for one hundred and fifty-two, while the Kama is ice-bound
for six months at the junction of the Chusovaya above
Perm. The rainfall of the basin is about sixteen inches,
which would give 700,000 cubic feet per second, were all
the moisture to be carried off by the bed of the Volga.

THE VOLGA 167

But much is absorbed by vegetation in the forests and
steppes and in the latter region direct evaporation may-
dissipate about forty inches during the year in tracts fully
exposed to the winds.

Altogether about three-fourths of the rainfall are thus
lost en route^ and preliminary estimates have determined the
mean discharge at about 203,000 cubic feet, which is less
than two-thirds of that of the Danube, draining an area
scarcely half as large as that of the Russian River.

The volume of water discharged by the Volga, which is
at least equal to that of all the other influents of the Caspian
together, is sufficient to exercise a considerable influence on
the level of the sea. Thus the floods of 1867, the heaviest
that had occurred for forty years, raised it by more than
two feet, the abnormal excess representing 9,600 billions
of cubic feet, or about three times the volume of the Lake
of Geneva. On the other hand, the delta steadily en-
croaches on the sea, though at a rate which it is almost impos-
sible to determine. The sedimentary matter held in solution,
estimated by Mrczkovski at about the two-thousandth part
of the fluid, continues to form islands and sand-banks,
while generally raising the bed of the sea round the face of
the delta.

The Volga abounds in fish, and the fishing industry sup-
ports a large number of hands. Its lower reaches espe-
cially form for the whole of Russia a vast reservoir of food,
varying with the seasons, and yielding large quantities even
in winter by means of holes broken in the ice at certain
intervals.

On the islands of the delta are numerous stations where
the fish is cut up, and the roe prepared to be converted into
fresh and salt caviar. The bieluga and the sterlet, both of

l68 THE VOLGA

the sturgeon family, attain the greatest size, and are the
most highly esteemed, but their number seems to have di-
minished since the appearance of the steamboat in these
waters.

THE CONGO

J. HOWARD REED

THE Congo is not only the largest river of the " Dark
Continent," but is second only in point of size and
volume to the majestic Amazon of South America. It
may, therefore, truly be called the largest river of the Old
World.

On referring to the latest maps of Africa we find that
the most distant source of the Congo is to be found in the
River Chambeze, which rises about midway between the
south end of Lake Tanganyika and the north end of
Lake Nyasa, at a height of 4,750 feet above the level of
the sea. Taking a south-westerly course, this stream flows
for some 250 miles, until it reaches a huge depression,
where it forms a lake, known to the natives by the name
Bangweolo. This lake is about 115 miles long by from
forty to sixty miles wide, with an area of from 6,000 to
7,000 square miles. At the south-west corner of Bang-
weolo the river emerges, having a width equal to that of
the Thames at London Bridge, and flows northward under
the name of Luapula. About 200 miles further to the
north Lake Moero, with an area of about 3,500 square
miles, is reached. From the north end of this lake the river
again issues, flowing away generally in a northward direc-
tion.

At a point about 200 miles from Lake Moero the river,
known from the lake to this point as the Luwa, is joined

170 THE CONGO

by another stream of much larger size, which rises some
500 miles to the south-west, and is known as the Lualaba.
Both these branches of the main river, from their sources to
this point, have, of course, had their volumes greatly in-
creased by the innumerable tributary streams flowing into
them from the hills and highlands on either side. The
two great rivers are now united into one majestic stream,
which, bearing the name of Lualaba, continues its flow in
a north-north-westerly direction. A little above the point of
junction the river receives, on its eastern side, the Lukuga
River, which drains the surplus waters of Lake Tanganyika
and its tributaries, and augments the mighty volume of the
main river.

When we remember that Lake Tanganyika is 400 miles
long, from twenty to forty miles broad, has an area of
12,650 square miles, and is fed by tributaries which drain
about 70,000 square miles of country, we can form some
idea of the enormous body of water which is added to the
main stream by the Lukuga River.

About 100 miles to the north of where the Lukuga joins
the Lualaba, namely, at the Arab settlement of Nyangwe,
the main river is more than a mile wide, with a volume and
velocity, according to Stanley, of 230,000 cubit feet of
water per second. About 300 miles to the north of
Nyangwe are to be found the Stanley Falls, where the
river, augmented by the discharged waters of a number of
important tributary streams, dashes itself madly down a
series of wild rapids and terrible cataracts. These falls ex-
tend for a distance of from sixty to seventy miles. From
this point the majestic river begins to turn slightly to the
westward, and, continuing its course first north-west, then
west, and finally south-west — in the form of a gigantic

"V3! ■''•r*"*'«*«h.w

Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N. Y.

THE CONGO

THE CONGO 171

horseshoe — reaches, after a thousand miles' uninterrupted
flow, the open expanse of Stanley Pool. Between Stanley
Falls and Stanley Pool the volume of the great river is still
further increased by the addition of the waters of a great
number of large tributary streams, many of which are
themselves extensive rivers, draining many thousands of
square miles of territory, and navigable for several hundred
miles.

Among the great tributaries should be mentioned specially
the following ; the Aruwimi, noted as the scene of the ter-
rible sufferings of the famous Emin Pasha relief expedition ;
the Ubangi, or Welle-Makua, which is itself a mighty river,
rising away in the " Heart of Africa," and flowing some
1,200 miles before it joins the main stream. On the south
bank may be named the Lubilash or Boloko, navigable for
200 miles ; the Lulongo, with its branches — the Lopori and
Maringa — navigated for 500 miles by the Rev. George
Grenfell ; the Chuapa, with its branch, the Busera, up which
Mr. Grenfell has also steamed some 500 miles. To these
may be added the Kwa, which with its tributaries — the
Lukenye, the Kasai, the Sankurn, the Kwango, and a
number of others — adds enormously to the volume of
the Congo, and affords some 1,500 miles of navigable
water.

The great river from Stanley Falls to Stanley Pool has
an average width of some five miles, but in places it reaches
as much as sixteen miles wide, and is split up into separate
channels by laige islands, with which its bosom is studded.
After passing through Stanley Pool the river ceases to be
navigable for about 235 miles — except for one comparatively
short break of eighty miles — owing to the angry cataracts
known as the Livingstone Falls. Below the falls the river

172 THE CONGO

again becomes navigable to the Atlantic Ocean, some IIO
miles distant.

The majestic river rushes with such an enormous vol-
ume into the open ocean that, for many miles out at sea,
its stream can be distinctly traced, and its waters remain
fresh, refusing for a long time to become contaminated by
the salt of the mighty waste of waters.

The main river and its tributaries have already been ex-
plored for at least 11,000 miles. This, of course, gives a
length of river banks of no less than 22,000 miles. It can
be better grasped what this means when we remember that
the whole coast-line of Europe, following every indentation
of the shore — from the most northern point of Norway to
the spot in the Black Sea where the Caucasus Mountains
separate Europe from Asia — is only 17,000 miles, or 5,000
miles less than the total length of river banks past
which the mighty Congo continually sweeps. To give
another illustration, I may remind you that the circumfer-
ence of the globe on which we live is 24,000 miles. So
that the length of the banks of the Congo — so far as they
are at present known — only falls some 2,000 miles short of
the total girth of our planet. When the great river be-
comes more completely known the extent of the river's
banks may probably be found to equal, and very possibly to
exceed, the earth's circumference.

The total length of the main river — omitting the
branches — from source to mouth is close upon three thou-
sand miles, equal to the distance from Liverpool to New
York.

The area of territory drained is something over 1,500,000
square miles, or equal, roughly speaking, to about one-
eight of the whole continent of Africa. It exceeds the

THE CONGO 173

total area of India by 200,000 square miles, and would
only be equalled by thirty-two Englands. It is needless
to quote further figures in order to impress upon us the
enormous extent and importance of Africa's greatest water-
way.

The wide-spreading arms of the Congo reach themselves
out on all sides to such a distance and extent that the re-
mote headwaters, or fountains, overlap and almost inter-
mingle with the streams which contribute their waters to
the other great rivers of the continent. On the north-west
we find some of the early streams flowing almost from the
same sources which supply tributaries of the Niger and
the Shari. In the north-east we find the remote tribu-
taries of the Welle-Makua almost touching those of the
Bahr-el-Ghazal, which helps to swell the Nile. The head-
waters of the Aruwimi, again, flow from within a few
minutes' walk of where a view can be obtained of the
Albert Lake, also belonging to the Nile system. The
Malagarazi River, which flows into Lake Tanganyika, and
so finds its way to the Congo, rises in the same hills which
gave birth to the Alexandra Nile, a western affluent to
Lake Victoria. We find, also, many of the great tribu-
taries on the southern bank of the Congo flow from high-
lands which also pay tribute to streams flowing to the
Zambezi.

In comparison with the historic tales the Nile and Niger
have to tell us, the story of the Congo is only very modern.
The early history of the great river is very meagre indeed,
and we search the ancient classics in vain for any mention
of even its existence.

The river was, and is to this day, known to the Portu-
guese as the Zaire, but the actual meaning of the word is

174 THE CONGO

doubtful. Some consider it to simply mean river. The
country through which the great river flows was known to
the Portuguese as the kingdom of the Congo, The Zaire,
therefore, appeared upon the early Portuguese maps as Rio
de Congo, which, when translated, became, of course, on
English maps. River of Congo, and finally simply Congo,
as we now know it.

Although the mouth of the Congo was discovered by the
Portuguese over four hundred years ago, very little was
known of the geography of the river itself until our own
century. Jesuit missionaries certainly settled in the
kingdom of the Congo, and they doubtless collected much
information from the native travellers regarding the geog-
raphy of the interior.

The English geographer, Peter Heylyn, writing in 1657,
speaks of the Zaire, or River of Congo, rising in Lake
Zembre. After naming the rivers of the Country of
Congo, he goes on to say : " This last (the Zaire), the
greatest of them all, if not of all Africk also : Of which,
though we have spoke already, we shall add this here, that
it falleth into the ^thiopic Sea with so great violence, that
for ten miles commonly, for fifteen sometimes, the waters
of it do retain their natural sweetness : not intermingled
nor corrupted with the Salt Sea-water : Nor can the people
sail above five miles against the stream of the cataracts,
or huge falls which it hath from the Mountains ; more
terrible and turbulent than those of the Nile."

The great discoveries connected with the Congo have
been in almost all cases the result of inquiries set on foot
for other purposes, and not the outcome of direct research.
This is especially the case with regard to the long and
tedious wanderings of Dr. Livingstone, between the years

THE CONGO 175

1866 and 1873, which terminated only in his death in the
latter year. When Livingstone started upon his last and
greatest expedition in 1866, it was with the idea of clearing
up certain doubtful points connected with Lakes Tangan-
yika and Nyasa, and of establishing, if possible, the
southern limit of the Nile watershed. He had no inten-
tion of working at the Congo at all, and, in fact, remarks
in his journal, in a half jocular manner, that he had no
desire to become " blackman's meat " for anything less than
the Nile.

Stanley's great journey from Nyangwe to Boma made
known, of course, only the main stream of the river, but
it opened the way, and from that day down to the present
a whole legion of travellers, both British and European,
have devoted themselves to the filling in of the details.
The great traveller himself shortly after discovered lakes
Leopold n. and Mantumba; and so recently as 1887 ex-
plored the great Aruwimi territory, following it to its
source in the neighbourhood of the Albert Lake, when
engaged in his last great journey through " Darkest
Africa."

The Nineteenth Century has been what we may call
the age of discovery, so far as the Congo is concerned.
The geography of the river is now fairly well known, the
discoveries of the past twenty years having undoubtedly
transcended all possible expectations or even conceptions.
The next century will in all probability be one of Congo
commerce and Congo engineering. Already we find a
railway some 250 miles in length, in course of con-
struction, which, when completed, will overcome the
natural difficulties of transport in the neighbourhood of
the Livingstone Falls, and throw open to the world the

176 THE CONGO

mighty natural highway to the heart of the Continent.
Already we find, in spite of the difficulties of the cataract
region, that some thirty odd steamers are daily ploughing
their way up and down the Congo's giant stream. Thus
has the great river begun the work of bearing the naturally
rich products of the Congo basin to the coast, and of
carrying the return commodities into the interior.

The work of the explorer, the trader, and the mission-
ary is already beginning to bear fruit. In their wake will
follow civilization, commerce and Christianity. Cities —
centres of industry and light — will be founded, and in due
time the peoples of the " Heart of Africa " will take their
place in the progress of the world.

THE MACKENZIE RIVER
WILLIAM OGILVIE

FORT Mcpherson stands on a high bank of gravel
and slate, on the east side of the Peel River, about
fourteen miles above the point where it divides and joins
the Mackenzie delta, v^hich is common to both rivers.
The height of this bank rapidly decreases towards the
mouth of the river, where it almost entirely disappears.
The country surrounding has evidently at one time been
a part of the Arctic Ocean which has been gradually filled
up with alluvial deposits brought down by the two rivers.

On this rich soil, the timber, mostly spruce, with some
tamarack, birch and poplar, is, for the latitude, very large.
When I arrived at Fort McPherson, on the 20th of June,
the new buds on the trees were just perceptible, and on the
evening of the 22d, when I left, the trees were almost fully
in leaf.

Between Peel River and the Mackenzie about two-thirds
of the channel in the delta averages more than a quarter of
a mile wide ; the remainder about one hundred yards. All
of it was deep when I passed through, and the Hudson's
Bay Company's steamer, Wrigley^ drawing five feet of
water, finds no difficulty in navigating it. The banks do
not rise more than ten or fifteen feet above the water, and
the current is continually wearing away the soft deposit and
carrying it down to the lower part of the delta and to the
Arctic Ocean.

178 THE MACKENZIE RIVER

Where we enter the Mackenzie proper, the channel is
three-fourths of a mile wide, but it is only one of four,
there being three large islands at this point. The whole
width of the river cannot be less than three or four miles.
Looking northward, down the westerly channel, the view
is bounded by the sky, and widens in the distance so that
one can fancy he is looking out to sea.

A north wind raises quite a swell here, and the salty odour
of the sea air is plainly perceptible above the delta. The
banks continue low, and the country flat on both sides of
the river, for some nine or ten miles above the islands.
The shore on the east side is sloping, while that on the
west is generally perpendicular, showing the action of the
current, which is wearing into and carrying away portions
of it. This form of bank changes into steep shale rock on
both sides, gradually increasing in height as far as the Nar-
rows, where they are probably one hundred and fifty feet
above the water.

On the Mackenzie I did not stay long enough to learn
much about the Indians in the district, nor did I see many
of them. While we were in the delta, nine large boats
loaded with Esquimaux from the coast passed us on the
way up to Fort McPherson to do their trading for the sea-
son, in one of which I noticed a young woman devouring
a raw musk-rat with evident relish. These people come
up from the coast in " skin " boats, called oumiaks, made,
it is said, of whale skin put round a wood frame. These
boats present a very neat appearance, and are capable of car-
rying about two tons each. Whale oil is one of the princi-
pal articles which they bring in for sale.

A few miles above the Narrows the banks change from
rock to clay and gravel, and continue generally steep and

THE MACKENZIE RIVER 1 79

high as far as Fort Good Hope. In a few places the bank
recedes from the river for a short distance, forming a low
flat, on which generally grows some fair spruce timber.
No rivers of importance flow into the Mackenzie between
Red and Hare Indian Rivers. One hundred and thirty
miles further on. Loon River enters from the east, and,
twenty miles above this Hare Indian River also enters from
the same side. The Indians report that Hare Indian River
rises in a range of hills on the north-west side of Great
Bear Lake, but about its navigability I could learn nothing.

We reached Fort Good Hope on Saturday, the 24th of
July, and remained over Sunday. The Fort is built on the
east side of the Mackenzie, about two miles above Hare
Indian River, and two below the " Ramparts." The Hud-
son's Bay Company has quite a large establishment at this
point, consisting of half a dozen houses and some stables.
The Roman Catholic Church has a flourishing mission
here, and the church is said to possess one of the best fin-
ished interiors in the country.

Two miles above the Fort we enter what is known in
the vicinity as the " Ramparts," though in the more
south-westerly it would be called a "Canon." Here,
for a distance of seven miles, the river runs perpendicular
and occasionally over hanging walls of rock. At the lower
end they rise one hundred and fifty feet above the water.
But their height decreases as we near the upper end, at
which point they are not more than fifty or sixty feet.
The river, at the lower end of the " Ramparts," is nearly a
mile wide, but its walls gradually converge until, about
three miles up, the width is not more than half a mile, and
this continues to the end. Sir Alexander Mackenzie, when
passing through, sounded at its upper end, and found three

l8o THE MACKENZIE RIVER

hundred feet of water, which accounts for the fact that
although the Canon is so narrow the current is not per-
ceptibly increased.

When Mackenzie discovered and explored this river in
1789, he met some Indians a short distance above this
place. After coniidence had been established by means of
presents, he prepared to start onward; and, although his
newly-made friends told him there was great danger
ahead in the form of a rapid or cataract which would swal-
low him and his party without fail, he continued, the Indi-
ans following and warning him of his danger. He advanced
cautiously into the " Ramparts," but could hear or see
nothing to verify their statements. At last, when through,
they admitted that the only bad weather to be encountered
was now passed, but that behind the island just below was
a bad spirit or monster which would devour the whole
party : failing there, the next island below would surely
reveal him.

From this incident the two islands have received the
names of Upper and Lower Manitou, respectively.

Forty-eight miles from Fort Good Hope, Sans Sault
Rapid is reached. It is caused by a ledge of rocks extend-
ing partially across the river.

A ridge of hills here extend beyond the river from the
Rocky Mountains, occasional glimpses of which can be
caught from the water.

Just above this the Mackenzie turns sharply to the east
from its southerly course, and skirts the base of the moun-
tains for six miles. Its course then curves a little to the
south, when, what might be termed a canon, is entered,
which extends for nine or ten miles. The river here aver-
ages a mile in width, and is walled on both sides by perpen-

THE MACKENZIE RIVER l8l

dicular limestone cliffs, rising from one to two hundred feet
above the water. On the south side, this wall terminates
in what is known as " Wolverine Rock," which rises per-
pendicularly from the water to a height of three hundred
feet. The formation is limestone, the strata of which
stand almost on edge, and the water has worn through them
in several places, so that one can sail underneath. Above
this point the mountains again approach the river for a few
miles, when they suddenly drop almost to the level of the
plain. The banks here are clay and gravel, with an aver-
age height of from one hundred to one hundred and fifty
feet.

Six and one-half miles above Sans Sault Rapids, Car-
cajou River empties its waters into the Mackenzie from
the west. This river I believe to be the largest tributary
of the Mackenzie below the Laird.

Four hundred and forty-four miles from Fort McPherson
brought us to Fort Norman, which is situated on the east
bank of the Mackenzie just above the entrance of Great
Bear River. I arrived here on Saturday, the 28th of July.

About three and a half miles above Fort Norman on the
east bank of the river, two extensive exposures of lignite
occur. The upper one is overlaid by about fifty feet of
clay and a few feet of friable sandstone, and is about fifteen
feet thick. The other seam is of about the same thick-
ness, and probably forty feet lower. When I was there, it
was nearly all under water.

The upper seam has been on fire for over a hundred years,
as it was burning when Sir Alexander Mackenzie passed in
1789, and according to Indian tradition, it must have been
burning much longer. The place is locally known as "Le
Boucan," from the fact that the Indians hereabout smoke

l82 THE MACKENZIE RIVER

and cook large quantities of meat or fish in these convenient
fire pits. The fire extends at present about two miles
along the river, not continuously, but at intervals ; when I
passed, it was burning in three or four places. After it has
burned a certain distance into the seam, the overlaying
mass of clay falls in, and, to some extinct, suppresses the
fire. This clay is, in time, baked into a red coloured rock,
in which are found innumerable impressions of leaves and
plants.

^ About a hundred miles above Fort Norman, on the
west side, a river discharges a large volume of clear,
black water, which rushes bodily half-way across the
Mackenzie, and preserves its distinctive character for
several miles before it mingles with the main stream. The
name applied to this river by the people at Fort Wrigley
was " La riviere du vieux grand luc." It is said to
flow out of a lake of considerable extent, lying not far
from the Mackenzie. Many peaks can be seen up its
valley.

Six hundred and twenty-four miles from Fort McPherson
brings us to Fort Wrigley. This post was formerly known
as "Little Rapid," but has received the name it now bears
in honour of Chief Commissioner Wrigley, of the Hud-
son's Bay Company. Just above the Fort there is a swift
rush of water over some limestone rock which appears to
extend across the river. On the west side two small islands
confine a part of the stream in a funnel-like channel, which,
being shallow, causes a slight rapid, and gives rise to the
former name of the post.

At Fort Wrigley, some slight attempts had been made at
cultivation, but I do not consider them a fair test of the
capabilities of the place. When I was there, the people

THE MACKENZIE RIVER 1 83

were gathering blueberries, then fully ripe, and as large and
well-flavoured as they are in Ontario. Ripe strawberries
were found on the 9th of August ninety miles below this,
and a few raspberries soon afterwards. Above Fort Wrig-
ley, wild gooseberries, and both red and black currants were
found in abundance ; some of the islands being literally cov-
ered with the bushes.

For about sixty miles below Fort Wrigley a range of
mountains runs parallel to the river on its east side. Above
Fort Wrigley the east bank is generally low and swampy,
but the west (although low near the river) gradually rises to a
height of seven or eight hundred feet. Fifty-eight miles
above Fort Wrigley this hill terminates in a bold, high
point, and the ridge turns off to the south-west, enclosing a
deep, wide valley between it and the mountains, which here
approach the river. This range continues south-eastward
out of sight. The positions and heights of some of the
peaks were determined by triangulation. One of them was
found to rise 4,675 feet above the river.

We arrived at Fort Simpson on Friday, the 24th of Au-
gust, and remained until the following Tuesday.

We arrived at Fort Providence on Saturday, the 8th of
September. Wild gooseberries and currants were plentiful
along the banks, but at this season somewhat over-ripe.
At the fort, where we remained over Sunday, the usual col-
lection of buildings at a Hudson Bay Company's post is to
be found. The Roman Catholic Church has also a mission
here.

Forty-six miles from Fort Providence we enter Great
Slave Lake. The south shore of the lake, between the
Mackenzie and Great Slave Rivers, is so low and flat that
most of it was submerged when I passed. Fish are numer-

184 THE MACKENZIE RIVER

ous in the Mackenzie. Tlie principal species is that
known as the " Inconnu." Those caught in the lower
river are veiy good eating, much resembling salmon in
taste, being also firm and juicy.

THE LOIRE
VICTOR HUGO

I HAVE some recollection of having already said so else-
where : the Loire and Touraine have been far too
much praised. It is time to render justice. The Seine
is much more beautiful than the Loire ; Normandy is
a much more charming " garden " than Touraine.

A broad, yellow strip of water, flat banks, and poplars
everywhere — that is the Loire. The poplar is the only
tree that is stupid. It masks all the horizons of the Loire.
Along the river and on the islands, on the edge of the dyke
and far away in the distance, one sees only poplars. In my
mind there is a strangely intimate relationship, a strangely
indefinable resemblance, between a landscape made up of
poplars and a tragedy written in Alexandrines. The pop-
lar, like the Alexandrine, is one of the classic forms of
boredom.

It rained ; I had passed a sleepless night. I do not know
whether that put me out of temper, but everything on the
Loire seemed to me cold, dull, methodical, monotonous,
formal, and lugubrious.

From time to time one meets convoys of five or six small
craft ascending or descending the river. Each vessel has
but one mast with a square sail. The one that has the big-
gest sail precedes the others and tows them. The convoy
is arranged in such a fashion that the sails grow smaller in
size from one boat to the other, from the first to the last.

1 86 THE LOIRE

with a sort of symmetric decrease unbroken by any uneven-
ness, undisturbed by any vagary. One involuntarily recalls
the caricature of the English family; one might imagine
one saw a chromatic scale sweeping along under full
sail. I have seen this only on the Loire ; and I confess
that I prefer the Norman sloops and luggers, of all
shapes and sizes, flying like birds of prey, and ming-
ling their yellow and red sails with the squall, the rain, and
the sun, between Quilleboeuf and Tancarville.

The Spaniards call the Manzanares "the viscount of
waterways " ; I suggest that the Loire be called " the dow-
ager of rivers."

The Loire has not, like the Seine and the Rhine, a host
of pretty towns and lovely villages built on the very edge
of the river and mirroring their gables, church-spires, and
house-fronts in the water. The Loire flows through a
great alluvion caused by the floods and called La Sologne.
It carries back from it the sand which its waters bear down
and which often encumber and obstruct its bed. Hence
the frequent risings and inundations in these low plains
which thrust back the villages. On the right bank they
hide themselves behind the dyke. But there they are almost
lost to sight. The wayfarer does not see them.

Nevertheless, the Loire has its beauties. Madame de
Stael, banished by Napoleon to fifty leagues' distance from
Paris, learned that on the banks of the Loire, exactly fifty
leagues from Paris, there was a chateau called, I believe,
Chaumont. It was thither that she repaired, not wishing
to aggravate her exile by a quarter of a league. I do not
commiserate her. Chaumont is a dignified and lordly
dwelling. The chateau which must date from the Six-
teenth Century, is fine in style; the towers are massive.

Id
o

THE LOIRE 187

The village at the foot of the wooded hill presents an aspect
perhaps unique on the Loire, the precise aspect of a Rhine
village — of a long frontage stretching along the edge of the
water.

Amboise is a pleasant, pretty town, half a league from
Tours, crowned with a magnificent edifice, facing those
three precious arches of the ancient bridge, which will dis-
appear one of these days in some scheme of municipal im-
provement.

The ruin of the Abbey of Marmontiers is both great and
beautiful. In particular there is, a few paces from the road,
a structure of the Fifteenth Century — the most original I
have seen : by its dimensions a house, by its machicoulis a
fortress, by its belfry an hotel de ville^ by its pointed door-
way a church. This structure sums up, and, as it were,
renders visible to the eye, the species of hybrid and com-
plex authority which in feudal times appertained to abbeys
in general, and, in particular, to the Abbey of Mar-
montiers.

But the most picturesque and imposing feature of the
Loire is an immense calcareous wall, mixed with sandstone,
millstone, aijd potter's clay, which skirts and banks up its
right shore, and stretches itself out before the eye from
Blois to Tours, with inexpressible variety and charm, now
wild rock, now an English garden, covered with trees and
flowers, crowned with ripening vines and smoking chim-
neys, perforated like a sponge, as full of life as an ant-hill.

Then there are deep caves which loi;ig ago hid the
coiners who counterfeited the E. of the Tours mint, and
flooded the province with spurious sous of Tours. To-day
the rude embrasures of these dens are filled with pretty
window-frames coquettishly fitted into the rock, and from

1 88 THE LOIRE

time to time one perceives through the glass the fantastic
head-dress of some young girl occupied in packing aniseed,
angelica, and coriander in boxes. The confectioners have
replaced the coiners.

THE LOIRE

HONORS DE BALZAC

THE banks of the Loire, from Blois to Angers, have
been high in favour with the two last branches of
the royal race that occupied the throne before the House
of Bourbon. This beautiful basin so richly deserves the
honours paid to it by royalty that this is what one of our
most elegant writers has said of it :

" There exists in France a province that has never been
sufficiently admired. Perfumed like Italy, flowered like
the banks of the Guadalquiver, and beautiful in addition
with its individual physiognomy, and entirely French, hav-
ing always been French, in contrast to our northern prov-
inces, corrupted by German contact, and our southern
provinces that have lived in concubinage with the Moors,
Spaniards and all races that desired to ; — this province pure,
chaste, brave and loyal is Touraine ! Historic France is
there ! Auvergne is Auvergne ; Languedoc is only Lan-
guedoc, but Touraine is France ; and for us the most na-
tional river of all is the Loire that waters Touraine. Hence,
we should not be so astonished at the quantity of monu-
ments found in the Departments that have taken the name
and derivatives of the name of the Loire. At every step
we take in this land of enchantment, we discover a picture
the frame of which is a river or a tranquil oval sheet that
reflects in its liquid depths a castle with its turrets, woods
and springing waters. It was only natural that where

1 9° THE LOIRE

royalty abode by preference and established its court for
such a long period the great fortunes and distinctions of
race and merit should group themselves and raise palaces
there grand as themselves."

Is it not incomprehensible that Royalty did not follow
the advice given by Louis XI. indirectly to make Tours
the capital of the kingdom ? There, without much expend-
iture, the Loire could have been made accessible to trading
vessels and to ships of war of light draught. There, the
seat of government would have been secure from the sur-
prise of an invasion. The northern strongholds would not
then have demanded so much money for their fortifications,
as costly to themselves as the sumptuousness of Versailles.
If Louis XIV. had listened to the advice of Vauban, who
wanted to build a residence for him at Mont Louis, between
the Loire and the Cher, perhaps the Revolution of 1789
would not have occurred. Still, here and there, those
lovely banks bear the marks of the royal affection. The
castles of Chambord, Blois, Amboise, Chenonceaux, Chau-
mont, Plessis-lez-Tours, all those which the mistresses of
our kings, and the financiers and great lords built for them-
selves at Veretz, Azay-le-Rideau, Ussi, Villandri, Valen^ay,
Chanteloup, Duretal (some of which have disappeared but
the majority still exist) are admirable monuments that are
redolent with the marvels of that epoch that is so ill com-
prehended by the literary sect of Mediaevalists. Among all
these castles, that of Blois is the one on which the mag-
nificence of the Orleans and the Valois has set its most
brilliant seal ; and is the most interesting of all for the his-
torian, the archaEologist, and the Roman Catholic.

THE POTOMAC

ESTHER SINGLETON

THE Potomac was an important river from the earliest
period of the country's history. Explorers followed
its route to the interior of the country, and as early as 1784
The Potomac Company was chartered with Washington as
its president for the purpose of connecting the Potomac
Valley with the west by means of a canal for general land
improvement. This was succeeded by the Chesapeake and
Ohio Canal Company, whose canal runs parallel with and
near to the river all the way from Georgetown to Cumber-
land.

The first attempt to explore the Chesapeake Bay and its
tributary rivers was made in 1608 by Captain John Smith,
who speaks of the Patawomeke as six or seven miles broad
and navigable for 140 miles. Another Indian name was
Cohonguroton (River of Swans). No less than forty tribes
of the warlike Algonquins lived upon its banks and held
their councils at the point of land now occupied by the
Arsenal.

In 1634, Henry Fleet with some of Calvert's people visited
the Falls of the Potomac ; and early in the Seventeenth
Century several tracts of land on the river banks were
granted to settlers. Among these was one Francis Pope,
gentleman, who in 1663 had four hundred acres laid out
which he called Rome, on the east side of the Anacostian
River and to the mouth of the Tiber, for so this little arm

192 THE POTOMAC

of the Potomac was called more than a century before
Washington was founded, there being a tradition that on
its banks would rise a capital greater than Rome. The
Tiber has now disappeared beneath the streets of Wash-
ington, but it once flowed below the hill on which the
Capitol now stands between forest-lined banks and was
noted for its shad and herring.

The Potomac is formed by the junction of two rivers on
the boundary between Maryland and West Virginia. The
North Branch rises in the Western AUeghanies and the
South Branch in the Central; and, flowing north-east, they
unite about fifteen miles south-east of Cumberland. The
Potomac thus forms an irregular boundary between Mary-
land and West Virginia and Maryland and Virginia through-
out its entire course of four hundred miles. Its chief trib-
utaries are the Shenandoah from Virginia and the Monocacy
from Maryland. At Harper's P'erry the Potomac breaks
through the Blue Ridge meeting the Shenandoah — " Daugh-
ter of the Stars " — which has cut its way through the
mist-wreathed mountains, laved the Luray Caverns and
watered a lovely valley. These rivers winding around
Loudon Heights, Bolivar Heights and Maryland Heights
are picturesque m the highest degree, and the scenery is
rendered more interesting by the associations with John
Brown's raid and capture and other thrilling incidents of
the Civil War.

Twelve miles below is Point of Rocks and below this
the Monocacy joins the main stream.

A number of falls mark its course through the mountains ;
and about fifteen miles above Washington it descends
rapidly until it reaches Great Falls, at which point it breaks
through the mountain in a channel narrowing to a hundred

<
o

H
O

PL,

w

K
H

THE POTOMAC 193

yards in width and bounded on the Virginia side by per-
pendicular rocks seventy feet high. Cedars, oaks, willows
and other forest trees contribute beauty to this wild spot,
where cherries and strawberries abound, and which is the
haunt of the rattlesnake and other venomous reptiles. The
water falls in a series of cascades. Not far from this point
Cabin-John Bridge is reached, a bridge formed of large
blocks of granite 420 feet long and twenty feet wide, which
springs the chasm of Cabin-John Creek at a height of 101
feet in a single arch of 220 feet. This is the largest stone
arch in the world, the second being the Grosvenor Bridge
(with a span of 200 feet), over the Dee.

At a distance of four miles below Great Falls, the stream
widens and flows quietly for ten miles ; and then descends
thirty-seven feet in a second series of cascades known as
Little Falls, about three miles above Georgetown. The
Potomac, thus released from the hills above Georgetown,
expands into a broad lake-like river, and receives the
Anacostia at Washington, where it meets the tide.
About twenty-five miles below Washington, it becomes
an estuary from two to eight miles wide, and enters the
Chesapeake Bay, after having made a journey of four hun-
dred miles.

The chief places of interest on the banks of the Potomac
are, of course, Washington, Arlington House, Mount Ver-
non, and the sleepy old town of Alexandria founded in 1 748
and once a rival of Annapolis and Baltimore. It is full of
associations with Washington, whose estate, Mount Vernon,
is but a few miles below. Mount Vernon, in Washington's
time, an estate of two thousand acres, belonged originally
to his half-brother, Lawrence, who named it for Admiral
Vernon under whom he had served.

194 THE POTOMAC

Arlington House, the residence of the adopted son of
General Washington, George Washington Parke Custis,
came into possession of Gen. Robert E. Lee through his
wife who was the daughter of Mr. Custis. The house,
built from drawings of the temple at Paestum, near Naples,
stands on a bluff two hundred feet above the river about
four miles from Washington. The building with its two
wings has a frontage of 140 feet and the portico sixty feet
long is surmounted by a pediment resting on eight Doric
columns twenty-six feet high and five feet in diameter. On
the south were the gardens and greenhouses, and in the
rear the kitchens, slave quarters and stables. In 1863
Arlington House and the estate of 1,000 acres was sold under
the Confiscation Act and taken possession of by the
National Government ; and in 1867 the grounds were ap-
propriated for a National Cemetery.

The Potomac was the scene of skirmishes in 18 14, when
Alexandria surrendered to the British ; and in this connec-
tion it is interesting to learn what Admiral Napier, who com-
manded the fleet, has to say regarding the ascent of the river :

" The river Potomac is navigable for frigates as high up
as Washington, but the navigation is extremely intricate
and nature has done much for the protection of the country
by placing one-third of the way up, very extensive and
intricate shoals, called the ' Kettle Bottoms.' They are
composed of oyster banks of various dimensions, some not
larger than a boat, with passages between them.

" The best channel is on the Virginia shore ; but the
charts gave us mostly very bad directions and no pilots
could be procured. A frigate had attempted some time be-
fore to effect a passage, and, after being frequently aground,
gave it up as impossible. The American frigates them-

THE POTOMAC 19S

selves never attempted it with their guns in, and were sev-
eral weeks in the passage from the naval yard at Washing-
ton to the mouth of the Potomac.

" When the tide was favourable and the wind light, we
warped by hand ; with the ebb and the wind strong, the
hawsers were brought to the capstan. This operation be-
gan at daylight and was carried on without interruption till
dark and lasted five days, during which the squadron warped
upwards of fifty miles, and on the evening of the fifth day
anchored off Maryland Point. The same day the public
buildings of Washington were burnt. The reflection of the
fire on the heavens was plainly seen from the ships, much
to our mortification and disappointment, as we concluded
that that act was committed at the moment of evacuating
the town. . . .

" The following morning, to our great joy, the wind be-
came fair, and we made all sail up the river, which now as-
sumed a more pleasing aspect. At five o'clock in the after-
noon Mount Vernon — the retreat of the illustrious Wash-
ington — opened to our view and showed us, for the first
time since we entered the Potomac, a gentleman's residence.
Higher up the river, on the opposite side, Fort Washington
appeared to our anxious eyes ; and, to our great satisfaction,
it was considered assailable.

"A little before sunset the squadron anchored just out of
gun-shot; the bomb vessels at once took up their positions
to cover the frigates in the projected attack at daylight
next morning and began throwing shells. The garrison, to
our great surprise, retreated from the Fort ; and, a short
time after. Fort Washington was blown up — which left the
capital of America, and the populous town of Alexandria,
open to the squadron, without the loss of a man.

196 THE POTOMAC

"A deputation from the town arrived to treat; but
Captain Gordon declined entering into any arrangement
till the squadron arrived before Alexandria. The channel
was buoyed, and next morning the 27th, we anchored
abreast of the town and dictated terms.

"Alexandria is a large well-built town and a place of great
trade. It is eight miles below Washington, where few
merchant ships go, and is, in fact, the mercantile capital, and,
before the war, was a most flourishing town, but at the time
of its capture had been going rapidly to decay. Agricultural
produce was of little value ; the storehouses were full of it.
We learnt that the army after destroying Barney's flotilla,
had made a forced march on Washington, beat the Ameri-
cans at Bladensburg, destroyed the public buildings and
navy yard, and retreated to their ships. Had our little
squadron been favoured by wind, the retreat would have
been made along the right bank of the Potomac, under our
protection, and the whole country in the course of that
river would have been laid under contribution."

THE EUPHRATES

GEORGE RAWLINSON

EUPHRATES is probably a word of Arian origin. It
is not improbable that in common parlance the name
was soon shortened to its modern form of /ra/, which is
almost exactly what the Hebrew literation expresses.

The Euphrates is the largest, the longest, and by far the
most important of the rivers of Western Asia. It rises
from two chief sources in the Armenian Mountains, one of
them at Domli, twenty-five miles north-east of Ezeroum,
and little more than a degree from the Black Sea ; the other
on the northern slope of the mountain range called Ala-
Tagh, near the village of Diyadin, and not far from Mount
Ararat. Both branches flow at first towards the west or
south-west, passing through the wildest mountain-districts of
Armenia; they meet at Kebban-Maden, nearly in longitude
39° east from Greenwich, having run respectively 400 and
270 miles. Here the stream formed by their combined
waters is 120 yards wide, rapid and very deep. The last
part of its course, from Hit downwards, is through a low,
flat, and alluvial plain, over which it has a tendency to
spread and stagnate ; above Hit^ and from thence to Sa-
mosata, the country along its banks is for the most part
open but hilly ; north of Samosata, the stream runs in a
narrow valley among high mountains, and is interrupted by
numerous rapids. The entire course is calculated at 1,780
miles, nearly 650 more than that of the Tigris, and only

198 THE EUPHRATES

200 short of that of the Indus ; and of this distance more
than two-thirds (1,200 miles) is navigable for boats, and
even, as the expedition of Col. Chesney proved, for small
steamers. The width of the river is greatest at the dis-
tance of 700 or 800 miles from its mouth. The river has
also in this part of its course the tendency already noted, to
run off and waste itself in vast marshes, which every year
more and more cover the alluvial tract west and south of
the stream. From this cause its lower course is continually
varying, and it is doubted whether at present, except in the
season of the inundation, any portion of the Euphrates water
is poured into the Shat-el-Arab.

The annual inundation of the Euphrates is caused by the
melting of the snows in the Armenian highlands. It oc-
curs in the month of May. The rise of the Tigris is
earlier, since it drains the southern flank of the great Ar-
menian chain. The Tigris scarcely overflows, but the
Euphrates inundates large tracts on both sides of its course
from Hit downwards.

The Euphrates has at all times been of some importance
as furnishing a line of traffic between the east and the west.
Herodotus speaks of persons, probably merchants, using it
regularly on their passage from the Mediterranean to Babylon.
Alexander appears to have brought to Babylon by the Eu-
phrates route vessels of some considerable size, which he
had had made in Cyprus and Phoenicia. They were so
constructed that they could be taken to pieces, and were thus
carried piecemeal to Thapsacus, where they were put to-
gether and launched. The disadvantage of the route was
the difficulty of conveying return cargoes against the cur-
rent. According to Herodotus, the boats which descended
the river were broken to pieces and sold at Babylon, and

THE EUPHRATES 199

the owners returned on foot to Armenia, taking with them
only the skins. The spices and other products of Arabia
formed their principal merchandise. On the whole there
are sufficient grounds for believing that throughout the Baby-
lonian and Persian periods this route was made use of by
the merchants of various nations, and that by it the east and
west continually interchanged their most important prod-
ucts.

The Euphrates is first mentioned in Scripture as one of
the four rivers of Eden. We next hear of it in the cove-
nant made with Abraham where the whole country from
" the great river Euphrates " to the river of Egypt is
promised to the chosen race. In Deuteronomy and Joshua
we find this promise was borne in mind at the time of the
settlement in Canaan ; and from an important passage in
the first Book of Chronicles it appears that the tribe of
Reuben did actually extend itself to the Euphrates in the
times anterior to Saul. Here they came in contact with
the Hagarites, who appear upon the middle Euphrates in
the Assyrian inscription of the later empire. It is David,
however, who seems for the first time to have entered on
the full enjoyment of the promise, by the victories which
he gained over Hadadezer, king of Zobah, and his allies,
the Syrians of Damascus. The object of his expedition
was " to recover his border," and " to establish his do-
minion by the river Euphrates" ; and in this object he ap-
pears to have been altogether successful ; in so much that
Solomon, his son, who was not a man of war, but only in-
herited his father's dominions, is said to have " reigned over
all kingdoms from the river (the Euphrates) unto the land
of the Philistines and unto the border of Egypt. Thus
during the reigns of David and Solomon the dominion of

200 THE EUPHRATES

Israel actually attained to the full extent both ways of the
original promise, the Euphrates forming the boundary of
their empire to the north-east, and the river of Egypt to
the south-west. The "Great River" had meanwhile
served for some time as a boundary between Assyria and
the country of the Hittites, but had repeatedly been crossed
by the armies of the Ninevite kings, who gradually estab-
lished their sway over the countries upon its right bank.
The crossing of the river was always difficult ; and at the
point where certain natural facilities fixed the ordinary pass-
age, the strong fort of Carchemish had been built, probably
in very early times, to command the position. Hence,
when Necho determined to attempt the permanent con-
quest of Syria, his march was directed upon " Carchemish
by Euphrates," which he captured and held, thus extending
the dominion of Egypt to the Euphrates, and renewing the
old glories of the Rameside kings.

These are the chief events which Scripture distinctly con-
nects with the " Great River." It is probably included
among the " rivers of Babylon," by the side of which the
Jewish captives " remembered Zion," and wept, and no
doubt is glanced at in the threats of Jeremiah against the-
Chaldean " waters " and " springs," upon which there is to
be a " drought," that shall " dry them up." The fulfil-
ment of these prophecies has been noticed under the head
of Chaldaea. The river still brings down as much water
as of old, but the precious element is wasted by neglect of
man ; the various water-courses along which it was in for-
mer times conveyed, are dry; the main channel has
shrunk j and the water stagnates in unwholesome marshes.

THE WYE
A. R. QUINTON

AMONG the many beautiful streams of Britain there
is perhaps not one of which has so many and so
varied charms as the River Wye. Issuing from the south-
ern slopes of the great Welsh mountain, Plinlimmon, it be-
gins its life as a mountain torrent, but gradually sobers
down into a placid stream, flowing in a sinuous course of
one hundred and thirty odd miles, and receiving many trib-
utary streamlets before it mingles its waters with those of
its big sister, the Severn, a few miles below Chepstow.
Thickly dotted along its banks are picturesque ruined cas-
tles, abbeys, and manor-houses — each with its own story to
tell of bygone days ; quaint old towns, and at least one
stately cathedral, each bearing names which often recur in
the pages of history, and still retaining signs of the age
when kings, barons, and Commoners, priests and laymen,
struggled for supremacy.

Although there is much that is interesting and pleasing
in the earlier part of its course, it is at Ross that the roman-
tic scenery of the Wye may be said to commence. Above
that town the river flows for many miles through a fairly
open valley, bordered indeed with wooded hills, but with a
broad expanse of meadow land between their feet and its
margin. But on approaching Ross the slopes draw nearer
to the brink of the stream, and for twenty miles or more
the Wye flows through an almost continuous glen, carved
deeply out of a lofty and undulating table-land.

202 THE WYE

The ancient town of Ross, our starting place, is chiefly
built upon the slope of a hill terminating on a plateau, de-
scending steeply to the river. Upon this plateau stands the
church, with its adjoining garden, the Prospect, which com-
mands a lovely view over the valley of the Wye ; whence
the graceful spire of the church forms a landmark for all
the country round.

The district traversed by the Wye in the first stage of its
seaward journey, from Ross to Monmouth, is an elevated
upland, a region of rolling hills shelving down towards
winding valleys, whose declivities become abrupt towards
the margin of the main river. Near to this the hills are
often scarped into cliffs and carved into ridges, but further
back we have slopes and undulations, cornfields and scattered
woodlands, in marked contrast with the crags and forest-
clad glades near the edge of the swift and strong stream.
The valley narrows after leaving Ross, but the scenery im-
proves as we come in view of Goodrich Castle, crowning
a wooded steep above the river, and Goodrich Court, also
seated on an eminence. The latter is a modern imitation
of a mediaeval dwelling, and formerly contained the remark-
ably fine collection of ancient armour which has since found
a home in the South Kensington Museum, and is known
as the Meyrick Collection. The Castle, which is some
distance beyond the Court, was in its day a fortress of
formidable strength. There is little doubt that the keep
was built about the period 1135-1154, in the time of King
Stephen.

In the time of the civil wars it was held for the King
Charles I. by Sir Henry Lingen, but was taken from him by
the Parliamentarians in 1646.

At Goodrich the river commences one of its most re-

THE WYE 203

markable bends. From Goodrich Ferry to Huntsholme
Ferry is little more than a mile overland, but by the river it
is eight miles. The Wye sweeps round in an easterly di-
rection after Kern Bridge is passed, then turns abruptly and
flows for a mile in an opposite course, enclosing in the loop
thus formed the house and grounds of Courtfleld, where, in
a more ancient mansion, " Wild Prince Hal " is reported to
have passed the days of early childhood, under the care of
the Countess of Salisbury. The pretty village of Welsh
Bicknor is also passed, and then we presently come in view
of the lofty Coldwell Rocks, where the river, which for a
time has pursued a southerly direction, now doubles back
almost upon its former course, and makes the most remark-
able curve in the whole of its windings from Plinlimmon to
the sea. It is far-famed Symonds* Yat, a limestone plateau
some 600 feet above the river, which here describes a huge
elongated loop, so that after a course of between four and
five miles it returns again to within less than half a mile of
its former channel.

More extensive prospects may, doubtless, be obtained
from other view points, but for a grand combination of
rocks and woodlands, this spot may well take the palm.
After leaving the Yat, the Wye bends round the stone hills
on its right bank. On both are remarkable encampments,
whilst fossil remains of hyena, elephant, stag, and other
animals have been found in a cave known as King Arthur's
Cave, on the former hill.

Very lovely is the course of the river as it flows onward
through steep and densely wooded slopes and presently
brings us in view of a detached cluster of rocks called the
" Seven Sisters." This part of the Wye is reported to
have a greater depth than any other length in its course;

204 THE WYE

At the end of the reach is the beautiful level height called
King Arthur's Plain, which in the distance assumes the ap-
pearance of towers belonging to an ancient castle. The
high road turns away from the river at the apex of Sy-
monds' Yat, but a foot-path follows the banks on either side
as far as Monmouth. Shortly before reaching that town
the wilder and more romantic part of the Wye ends and the
river pursues a straighter and less ruffled course.

The situation of the town of Monmouth is remarkably
picturesque. Beautiful hills surround it on all sides, but the
valley has expanded to allow the Monnow and the Trothy
to form a junction with the Wye. A curious old bridge
spans the Monnow, bearing on its first pier an ancient gate-
house, one of the few survivors of a defensive work once
common in England, which, though somewhat altered
by being pierced with postern arches for foot-passengers,
still retains the place for its portcullis and much of its an-
cient aspect. Formerly the town was surrounded by a wall
and moat, and was entered by four gates, of which the Mon-
now Gate alone remains.

A short distance below Monmouth the Wye again enters
a narrow glen, hardly less beautiful if less romantic, than
the gorge which it has traversed on its course from Ross to
Monmouth. The hills once more close in upon the river,
leaving but seldom even a strip of level meadow between its
margin and their slopes. The steeply wooded banks are so
wild and so continuous that at times we seem to be passing
through an undisturbed remnant of primeval forest. At Red
Brook, however, there are signs of human activity. A
prfetty glen here descends from among the hills to the left
bank of the Wye. By the riverside are little quays with
barges alongside, and, alas, it must also be added, tall chim-

THE WYE 205

neys pouring forth smoke to mar the beauty of a lovely
spot.

At Bigswier the river is spanned by an iron bridge, thrown
lightly from bank to bank, and is of sufficiently pleasing de-
sign to harmonize with the surroundings. From this point
the Wye is affected by the tide, but not to any appreciable
extent, until a few miles below, in the neighbourhood of
Tintem. On a hill overlooking Bigswier stand the church
and castle of St. Briavels. The castle was erected soon
after the Norman conquest as one of the border defenses ;
it stands on the edge of the ancient Forest of Dean, and
saw much rough work in its early days. The old keep is
in ruins, but the other portions are used as a residence.

The next village encountered, on our way down the
stream, is Llandago, which nestles among gardens and
orchards, and rises tier above tier on the thickly wooded hill
which rises steeply from the road beside the river. Near
by is Offa's Chair — a point in the great earthwork known
as Offa's Dyke, which once extended from Tidenham,
across Herefordshire and Radnorshire, to the Flintshire
hills beyond Mold, and perhaps to the coast of North
Wales. As the valley again slightly expands, shelving
bands of sward, dotted with houses, announce that we are
approaching the precincts of the far-famed Tintern Abbey.
First we must pass the long and scattered village of Tintern
Parva, whose pretty white cottages and pleasant gardens ex-
tend for a mile along the river's bank, which here makes
another of its sharp bends. Cunningly indeed did the
monks of old choose their dwelling places. There is no
spot for many a mile which so completely fulfils the re-
quirements of quiet and seclusion with certain mundane
comforts, as that which they have selected. As one gazes

206 THE WYE

at this noble relic, and the winding Wye stealing past it
through the hills, one must accord the first place among the
classic ruins of this island, in so far as regards the beauty
of its situation. Forests were near at hand to supply them
with fuel without stint, and game for their table on days of
feasting. The tidal river would bring the barks of mer-
chandise to their very door, and its leaping salmon would
alleviate the severity of their fast days. Chepstow, with its
castle, guarded them from marauders by the sea, and they
were far enough within the line of border fortresses to fear
no ill from incursions from the mountains of Wales.

The plan of the foundation of the Abbey is cruciform,
and what remains of the grey skeleton of the edifice affords
a fine example of early Twelfth-Century work. It was
founded in the year 1131 by one Walter de Clare " for the
good of his soul, and the soul of his kinsmen," and was con-
fined to the use of monks of the Cistercian order. Two
inscribed tombs in the cloisters give the names of two of the
abbots, but, apart from such fragmentary scraps of informa-
tion, the history of Tintern may be said to have perished
with the Abbey. The scene on entering the interior, is
most impressive. Vaulted roof and central tower are gone,
but the arches which supported the latter are intact. The
glass, of course, has long since perished with the windows,
even the muUions and tracery are gone ; ivy, ferns, and
herbage, form a coping for the wall ; the greensward has
replaced the pavement of stone or tiles ; but still it is hardly
possible to imagine a more imposing and lovely scene than
these ruins.

Between Tintern and Chepstow the scenery of the Wye
assumes an entirely fresh character. As we approach the
Wynd cliff, the grassy bed of the river opens out into a

THE WYE 207

sort of amphitheatre, and we can trace the huge horseshoe
curve swept out upon its floors by the stream, between the
base of the Wynd clifF which it washes, and the mural es-
carpment of Bannagor and Tidenham Crags, which form
the opposite boundary of this great river-trench. It is a
steep climb to the top of the Wynd clifF, but the glorious
prospect obtained from the summit well repays the effort.
Below is the beautiful horseshoe fold of the Wye, bounded
by richly-wooded slopes that sweep from the right with a
curve in the form of a sickle. Where the curve ends there
stands an imposing wall of rock with a reddish base, its
brow of dazzling white lined with green woodland, while
far away towards the coast the point where the river enters
the Severn estuary, which is here broadening out on its
way towards the distant sea, is faintly visible. The beauti-
ful grounds of Piercefield lie between the Wynd clifF and
Chepstow. Art has here assisted Nature, in this domain, by
carrying paths through a belt of woodland, with outlooks
cunningly contrived to command the best views. These
grounds are thrown open to the public on certain days.

The town of Chepstow occupies the right bank of the
Wye, and is built upon a slope, which descends in places
rather abruptly from the general level of the surrounding
country to the river's brink. Formerly it was enclosed by
walls, like Monmouth, considerable portions of which are
here and there preserved, especially in the neighbourhood
of the castle. One of the gates still remains in High
Street. It is called the Town Gate, and was for a long time
used as a prison. Chepstow Castle is approached by a gen-
tle acclivity clothed with greensward.

THE INDIAN RIVER

L. C. BRYAN

THIS river, or sound, spans a region of a hundred and
forty miles from north to south, is salt, and yet al-
most without tide, neither rising nor falling more than a few
inches by the winds ; lies upon the very shore of the Atlan-
tic, and from one to seven miles wide — a most placid, safe
and beautiful inland sea in the very teeth of a wild tem-
pestuous ocean.

Unlike the St. John's or any other possible river, having
no considerable rise or fall, its bordering lands are not over-
flowed, and unlike other seacoast waterways, it is not cum-
bered with interminable salt marshes. Its waters beat upon
a bold, often abrupt shore, diversified into high and low
lands of every grade and covered with the luxuriant vegeta-
tion common to warm climates.

Wonderfully beautiful is Indian River. There is no
other such sheet of water in the world. Nature, with lavish
hand, spread its waters and adorned its shores. The design
of the Great Master Artist is seen in the narrow strip of
land as a levee separating the river from the Atlantic, and
in the forest on the levee as a great wind-break to curb
the fierce winds of the ocean. Properly speaking, it is not
a river, but a sound, or arm of the sea. Its centre is on an
air line north and south 140 miles long, while its banks
curve in and out in beautiful bays and grottoes. A few
small creeks empty into it from the west, while the water

:~^

•~- ■•miTiiifi I iMi

Copyright, 1901, bv Detroit Puotocraphic Companv

THE INDIAN

THE INDIAN RIVER 209

empties into it from the Atlantic through Indian River In-
let and Jupiter Inlet.

It is a sea without its dangers, a river without a current,
seldom calm, but always in motion from the winds. From
this constant motion its water is kept pure. The winds of
winter, coming from the north-west, are softened and
warmed by the waters of the upper St. John's River, and
the pine forests on the west of the hammocks of this river,
and the winds of summer coming from the east, are tempered
and cooled by the Gulf Stream, making the climate most
delightful in winter and summer, and, perhaps, most to be
desired of any in America.

Of the Indian River we find the following from the able
pen of ex-Governor Gleason :

" Indian River, as it is called, is a sound, and lies parallel
to the Atlantic, separated from it by a narrow strip of land
varying from a few rods to three miles in width ; it is a
sheet of pure tide water, salt, clear and transparent. It has
two inlets from the ocean — Indian River Inlet, about 100
miles from its north head, and Jupiter Inlet at its extreme
southern end. From its north head to within twenty-five
miles of Jupiter Inlet, it is from one to six miles wide ;
from Jupiter Inlet to the mouth of the St. Lucie River, a
distance of about twenty-five miles, it is from one-fourth of
a mile to a mile in width, and is known as Jupiter Narrows.
It is affected very little by the tide and the current moves
by the wind, fieing in the region of the trade winds, with
almost a constant breeze from the east during the daytime,
it affords peculiar facilities for sailing up and down the river,
and the people take advantage of it. Every house is either
on the river bank or a short distance up some navigable
stream flowing into it, and has a boat landing. It is the

2IO THE INDIAN RIVER

Venice of America, and one can seldom look out upon the
water without seeing boats sailing both ways. The river is
well supplied with the finest oysters, sea-turtles, and a great
variety of fish, among which are mullet, cavalli, snapper,
blue fish, sheepshead and sea-trout. The manatee is
caught at the mouth of the St. Lucie and Jupiter Inlet.
Some of them weigh from 1,500 to 2,000 pounds and are
very grand eating. They are found nowhere else in the
United States, their principal habitat being near the mouths
of the streams flowing into the Caribbean Sea, where they
feed upon a peculiar grass called manatee, which grows at
the bottom of most tide-water streams in the tropics."

Merritt's Island, which is about forty miles long and con-
tains about thirty thousand acres is situated in the northern
part of the river. The water on its east side is from one-
fourth of a mile to six miles wide, and is known as Banana
River. The shores of Indian River, both on the west side
of Merritt's Island and on the main land, are free from
swamps and marshes, and rise at an angle of from twenty
to twenty-five degrees to an elevation of from twenty-five
to fifty feet. In many places the banks are high bluffs
The country on Merritt's Island, and the west shore has
the appearance of an endless park, the timber being princi-
pally scattered pines, with an undergrowth of palmettos
and grass, interspersed with an occasional forest of palm,
live oak and other hard wood timbers.

The orange belt is from one to three miles in width, and
is principally on the west side near the river. West of the
orange belt are the St. John's prairies, which are unfit for
orange culture, but afford fine pasturage, and are good for
vegetables and the culture of sugar-cane and hay.

The river south of Indian River Inlet, on the eastern

THE INDIAN RIVER 211

shore, is skirted with a narrow belt of mangrove timber of
only a few rods in width, which is very dense and almost
impenetrable. It is a deep green the entire year, and pre-
sents a beautiful appearance. The strip of land adjacent to
the ocean between Jupiter Inlet and the mouth of St. Lucie
River, is known as Jupiter Island, and is about half a mile
wide and twenty miles long. It has some excellent land
and is elevated from fifteen to thirty feet above the sea.
The river here, at Jupiter Narrows, is less than half a mile
wide. The western bank is from forty to fifty feet high
and covered with a dense low scrub of live oak bushes, not
more than two or three feet high, and when viewed from
the Island, these heights remind one of the green pastures
of the north — they are always the same colour, a beautiful
green. This portion of the river is full of oysters and the
inlet is the finest fishing on the coast. On the bank of
the river, at various places, are large mounds of clam and
oyster shells ; the largest of them near Jupiter Inlet, is
nearly a quarter of a mile long and about forty feet high.

At the north end of the river are some fine live oak and
palm hummock lands, very rich and suitable for orange
groves, sugar-cane and garden vegetables. The climate
from October to May is a perpetual Indian summer, com-
mingled with the balmiest days of spring, seldom interrupted
by storms and only with occasional showers, while most of
the time there is a gentle breeze coming inland from the
even-tempered waters of the Gulf Stream. The pre-
vailing winds are easterly, being the trade winds, which ex-
tend as far north as Cape Carnaveral and are perceptible as
far north as New Smyrna and St. Augustine. The nights
are cool even in summer — the atmosphere invigourating
and health restoring.

212 THE INDIAN RIVER

Mineral and other springs are frequent, many of them
possessing medicinal properties. Game is abundant — bear,
deer, quail and wild turkeys on the land, ducks on the lakes
and rivers, and green turtle and fish in the waters. All of
these, with its beautiful building sites, its superior surf bath-
ing and boat sailing, the absence of swamps and marshes,
will eventually cause the banks of this magnificent sheet of
water to become one vast villa of winter residences.

THE NILE

J. HOWARD REED

THE holy river — " the Jove-descended Nile " — formerly
bore the name of iEgyptus. Professor Rawlinson
in his History of the Ancient Egyptians^ says : " The term
Egypt was not known to the ancient Egyptians themselves,
but appears to have been first used by the Greeks as a name
for the Nile, and thence extended to the country. It is
stated by some authorities that the river received its present
title from Nilus, an ancient king of Thebes, who named the
stream after himself."

" Father Nile " was an object of great veneration to the
ancients, and a gift of its waters was considered by them as
a present fit for kings and queens. The veneration in
which the river was held, of course, arose from the bless-
ings of its annual overflow spread broadcast over its banks
by fertilizing the seed of the sower, producing abundant
crops for the sickle of the reaper, and thus making glad the
heart of man. It is stated that the Arabs in the present day
consider it a delicious privilege to slake their thirst with
the salubrious and ^reeable waters of the river, and I have
read that they will even artificially excite thirst to indulge
in the pleasure of imbibing refreshing and satisfying
draughts from the " holy stream." The general Pescennius
Niger is said to have cried to his soldiers : " What ! crave
you for wine, when you have the water of the Nile to
drink .? " Homer is stated to have said, no doubt referring

214 THE NILE

poetically to its regular and fertilizing overflow : " The
Nile flows down from heaven." The Egyptians say that
" If Mahomet had tasted the waters of the Nile, he would
have prayed God to make him immortal, that he might have
enjoyed them for ever."

The river has a total length of considerably over 3,000
miles, and is remarkable among the rivers of the world from
the fact that for about the last 1,500 miles of its flow it re-
ceives no tributary — none, in fact, after the Albara or
Tacazze, The consequence is that, by the time it reaches
the sea, its volume is considerably reduced by evaporation,
and from the large quantity of water used along its banks
for irrigation and other purposes. The river is formed of
two principal branches, the Bahr-el-Azrek, or Blue Nile,
and the Bahr-el-Abiad, or White Nile, the latter of which
is the main branch or true Nile. It receives also, as trib-
utary rivers, the Atbara or Tacazze before mentioned, with
the Sobat and Asua on the east side ; and the Bahr-el-Ga-
zelle on the west ; besides other smaller and less important
streams. Its waters are discharged into the Mediterranean
through several mouths, the two principal of which are
known as the Rosetta and Damietta mouths — the iirst-named
being to the west and the other to the east. The princi-
pal island formed by the divisions of the river being shaped
like the fourth letter of the Greek alphabet, takes the name
of Delta ; and the Nile is doubtless the river which first
suggested what is now a technical name for all similar for-
mations at the mouths of rivers.

The rise and overflow of the Nile caused by the seasonal
rains of the interior, has been for ages noted for its regular-
ity. The rise commences about midsummer, reaches its
greatest height at the autumnal equinox, and has again sub-

►J
Z

THE NILE 21 S

sided by Christmas ; leaving the land highly enriched by the
fertilizing sediment of red earth brought down by the Abys-
sinian tributaries and deposited by the river. The land
can then be wrorked and the crops planted. The rise and
fall of the river is watched with great anxiety by the inhab-
itants of the Nile valley. At intervals along its banks
river gauges, or nilometers, are fixed, upon which the varia-
tions of the river are duly recorded.

Nearly five centuries before the Christian era, the first
great African traveller, Herodotus, writing about the Nile,
said : " Respecting the nature of this river, I was unable to
gain any information, either from the priests or any one else.
I was very desirous, however, of learning from them why
the Nile, beginning at the summer solstice, fills and over-
flows for a hundred days ; and when it has nearly completed
this number of days, falls short in its stream and retires ; so
that it continues low all the winter, until the return of the
summer solstice."

Seneca writes that the Emperor Nero sent an exploring
expedition under two centurions with military force to ex-
plore the countries along the banks of the Astapus or
White River, and to search for the Nile's sources. They
passed down the river a considerable distance until immense
marshes were met with. They forced their way through,
and continued their journey southward, until the river was
seen "tumbling down or issuing out between the rocks."
They were then obliged to turn back and declare their
mission a failure. The centurions are stated to have brought
back with them a map of the districts they had passed
through, for the information of the Imperial Nero.

This early expedition succeeded in penetrating about 800
Roman miles south of Meroe— that is to say, reaching three

21 6 THE NILE

or four degrees north latitude. The place where water was
seen " tumbling down from between the rocks " was prob-
ably the Fola or Mekade cataract, again discovered in our
own day by the late General Gordon. The river here
rushes through a narrow ravine, over and between rocks of
from thirty to forty feet high. These falls are stated to be
the only insurmountable obstacle to the navigation of the
Nile, for vessels of considerable size, from the Mediter-
ranean to the Albert Lake.

About seventy years later, during the Second Century,
we find Claudius Ptolemy, a celebrated geographer and as-
trologer of Alexandria, writing about the Nile and its
sources. He tells us that the " holy stream " rises some
twelve degrees south of the equator, in a number of streams
that flow into two lakes, situated east and west of each
other; from which, in turn, issue two rivers ; these after-
wards unite and form the Nile. Ptolemy also mentions
that in the interior of Africa were some mountains which
he called " Selenes Oros" — generally translated " Mountains
of the Moon."

Following in the steps of Ptolemy, come the Arab geog-
raphers, and they are stated to have practically adopted all
his theories and geographical notions.

Later on we find that the Portugese travellers obtained a
considerable amount of information regarding the geography
of the interior of Africa. They appear to have had some
knowledge of the existence of several large lakes in the
centre of the continent, and in some of their early maps
these lakes find a place.

It appears to have been known to the ancients that the
Nile proper is formed of two principal branches, which
join and form one river close to where the town of Khar-

THE NILE 217

toum (or its ruin) now stands ; but beyond this, as we have
seen, little authentic information has been handed down.

In the year 1770, Bruce gave his attention to the Blue
Nile. He was enabled to locate the sources of that branch
of the river among the mountains and highlands of Abys-
sinia, near Lake Dembea. In 1788, the African Association
was founded, and in furtherance of its objects much in-
formation was obtained of the geography of the " Dark
Continent." In 1827, M. Linant, a French traveller,
passed up the White Nile to a considerable distance above
its junction with the Blue Nile branch. About the year
1840 two Egyptian naval officers headed an expedition, fitted
out by Mahommed AH, the then ruler of Egypt; they
forced their way through the terrible marshes to within 3°
4" of the equator ; but were, like the expedition of the Em-
peror Nero, at last obliged to turn back.

In 183 1, the old African Association was merged into the
Royal Geographical Society, and from then, right down to
the present time, our knowledge of the Nile and its sources
has been perfecting itself.

While resting on the plateau land above the south-west
corner of the Albert Lake, on the 25th of May, 1888, Stan-
ley's attention was called to a towering mountain height
capped with snow, which, from where he stood, lay about
fifty miles away to the south-east. Twelve months later
on his homeward journey, after crossing the Semliki River,
which he found flowing into the south end of the Albert
Lake, Stanley found himself following a range of hills, the
tops of which towering up some 19,000 feet high, were
covered with perpetual snow. This melting under the
action of a tropical sun, poured its volumes of water into
the Semliki River at his feet, which in turn conveyed it

2l8 THE NILE

thence to the Albert Lake and onwards to swdl the torrent
of Father Nile.

Stanley writes : " Little did we imagine it, but the re-
sults of our journey from the Albert Nyanza to

where I turned away from the newly-discovered lake in
1876, established beyond a doubt that the snowy mountain,
which bears the native name of Ruwenzori or Ruwenjura,
is identical with what the ancients called ' Mountains of
the Moon.'

"Note what Scheadeddin, an Arabian geographer of the
Fifteenth Century writes : ' From the Mountains of the
Moon the Egyptian Nile takes its rise. It cuts horizon-
tally the equator in its course north. Many rivers come
from this mountain and unite in a great lake. From this
lake comes the Nile, the most beautiful and greatest of the
rivers of all the earth.' "

THE NILE

ISAAC TAYLOR

AFTER a few days at Cairo — one of the most amus-
ing and picturesque cities in the world — the Ex-
press Nile Service of Messrs. Cook brings the traveller in
three days to Luxor, where he will find enough to occupy
him for as many weeks. The first view from the river
shows the appositeness of the epithet Hecatompylos, ap-
plied to Thebes by Homer. Huge cubical masses of
masonry — not the gateways of the city, which was never
walled, but the pylons and propylons of the numerous tem-
ples — are seen towering above the palms, and, separated
from each other by miles of verdant plain, roughly indicate
the limits of the ancient city.

At Luxor the Nile valley is about ten miles across. The
escarpment of the desert plateau, which elsewhere forms a
fringing cliff of nearly uniform elevation, here breaks into
cone-shaped peaks rising to a height of seventeen hundred
feet above the level plain, which in January is already wav-
ing with luxuriant crops — the barley coming into ear, the
lentils and vetches in flower and the tall sugar-canes be-
ginning to turn yellow. The plain is dotted with Arab
villages, each raised above the level of the inundation on
its tell, or mound of ancient debris, and embosomed in a
grove of date-palms mingled with the quaint dom-palms
characteristic of the Thebiad. Animal life is far more
abundant than in Italy or France. We note the camels
and buffaloes feeding everywhere, tethered in the fields ; the

220 THE NILE

great soaring kites floating in the air ; the graceful hoopoos,
which take the place of our English thrushes ; the white
paddy-birds fishing on the sand-banks of the river; gay
king-fishers, among them the fish-tiger pied in black and
white; the sun-bird, a bee-eater clad in a brilliant coat of
green and gold ; the crested lark, the greater and lesser owl,
as well as water-wagtails, pipits, chats and warblers, numer-
ous swifts and swallows, with an occasional vulture, eagle,
cormorant, pelican, or crane. The jackal is common ; and
the wolf, the hyena, and the fox are not unfrequently
heard, but seldom seen.

The sunsets on the Nile, if not the finest in the world,
are unique in character. This is probably due to the ex-
cessive dryness of the atmosphere, and to the haze of im-
palpable dust arising from the fine mud deposited by the
inundation. As the sun descends, he leaves a pathway or
glowing gold reflected from the smooth surface of the Nile.
Any faint streaks of cloud in the west shine out as the
tenderest and most translucent bars of rose ; a lurid reflec-
tion of the sunset lights up the eastern sky ; then half an
hour after sunset a great dome of glow arises in the west,
lemon, changing mto the deepest orange, and slowly dying
away into a crimson fringe on the horizon — the glassy mir-
ror of the Nile gleaming like molten metal ; and then, as
the last hues of sunset fade, the zodiacal light, a huge milky
cone, shoots up into the sky.

On moonless nights the stars shine out with a brilliancy
unknown in our misty northern latitudes. About three in
the morning the strange marvel of the Southern Cross rises
for an hour or two, the lowest star of the four appearing
through a fortunate depression in the chain of hills. When
the moon is nearly full, the visitors sally out into the tern-

THE NILE 221

pies to enjoy in the clear, calm and balmy air the mystery
of their dark recesses, enhanced by the brilliant illumination
of the thickly clustered columns. It is a sight, once seen,
never to be forgotten.

But the charm of Luxor does not consist mainly in its
natural beauties, though these are not to be despised, but
in its unrivalled historical interest. There is no other site
of a great ancient city which takes you so far and so clearly
back into the past. All the greater monuments of Thebes,
all the chief tombs and temples, are older than the time of
Moses; they bear in clearly readable cartouches on their
sculptured walls the names of the great conquering kings of
the eighteenth and nineteenth dynasties — Thotmes III.,
Amenhotep III., Seti I., and Rameses II. — who carried the
victorious arms of Egypt to Ethiopia, Lybia, the Euphrates
and the Orontes ; the great wall-faces forming a picture-
gallery of their exploits. More modern names on the tem-
ple-walls of Thebes are those of Shishak, who vanquished
Rehoboam, and Tirhakah, the contemporary of Hezekiah.
The earliest name yet found at Thebes is that of Usertasen,
a king of the twelfth dynasty, who lived some forty-three
centuries ago; the latest considerable additions were made
by the Ptolemies, and the record finally closes with a car-
touche in which we spell out the hieroglyphic name of the
Emperor Tiberius. But practically the monumental history
of Thebes has ended before that of ancient Rome begins.
The arches of Titus and Constantine, the mausoleum of
Hadrian, Trajan's Column, the Colosseum and the Cata-
combs — in short, all the great structures of pre-Christian
Rome — date from a time when Thebes had begun to be
forsaken, and the ruin of her temples had commenced.
Even the oldest Roman monuments, the Cloaca Maxima,

222 THE NILE

the Agger, and the substructures of the Palatine belong to
a period when the greater edifices of Thebes were hoary
with the dust of centuries. When Herodotus, the father
of European history, voyaged up the Nile to Thebes, at a
time when the Greeks had not even heard of an obscure
Italian town which bore the name of Rome, the great tem-
ples which he saw, the vocal Memnon which is the statue
of Amenhotep III., and the buildings which he ascribed to
a king he called Sesostris, already belonged to an antiquity
as venerable as that which separates the Heptarchy and the
Anglo-Saxon Kings from the reign of Queen Victoria.

Difficult as it is to realize the antiquity of these monu-
ments, in many of which the chiselling is as sharp and the
colouring as brilliant as if they had been executed only yes-
terday, it is still more difficult by any description to convey
an impression of their vastness. The temples and tombs
are scattered over a space of many square miles ; single
ruins cover an area of several acres ; thousands of square
yards of wall contain only the pictured story of a single
campaign. For splendour and magnitude the group of tem-
ples at Karnak, about two miles from Luxor, forms the
most magnificent ruin in the world.

THE DON

igUSEB R^CLUS

THE lands draining to the Sea of Azov, form no sharply
defined region, with bold natural frontiers and
distinct populations. The sources of the Don and its head-
streams intermingle with those of the Volga and Dnieper
— some — like the Medveditza, flowing even for some
distance parallel with the Volga. As in the Dnieper and
Dniester valleys, the " black lands " and bare steppes here
also follow each other successively as we proceed south-
wards, while the population naturally diminishes in density
in the same direction. The land is occupied in the north
and east by the Great Russians, westwards by the Little
Russians, in the south and in New Russia by colonies of
every race and tongue, rendering this region a sort of com-
mon territory, where all the peoples of the empire except
the Finns are represented. Owing to the great extent of
the steppes, the population is somewhat less dense than in
the Dnieper basin and Central Russia, but it is yearly and
rapidly increasing.

The Don, the root of which is probably contained in its
Greek name Tanais, is one of the great European rivers, if
not in the volume of its waters, at least in the length of its
course, with its windings some 1,335 miles altogether.
Rising in a lakelet in the government of Tula, it flows first
southwards to its junction with the nearly parallel Veronej,
beyond which point it trends to the south-east, and even
eastwards, as if extending to reach the Volga. After

224 THE DON

being enlarged by the Khopor and Medveditza, it arrives
within forty-five miles of that river, above which it has a
mean elevation of 138 feet. Its banks, like those of the
Volga, present the normal appearance, the right being raised
and steep, while the left has already been levelled by the
action of the water. Thus the Don flows, as it were, on a
sort of terrace resembling a stair step, the right or western
cliffs seemingly diverting it to the lower Volga bed. Nev-
ertheless, before reaching that river, it makes a sharp bend
first southwards, then south-westwards to the Sea of Azov.
From a commercial stand-point, it really continues the
course of the Volga. Flowing to a sea which, through the
Straits of Yeni-Kaleh, the Bosphorus, Dardanelles, and
Gibraltar, communicates with the ocean, it has the im-
mense advantage over the Volga of not losing itself in a
land-locked basin. Hence most of the goods brought down
the Volga are landed at the bend nearest the Don, and
forwarded to that river. When besieging Astrakhan the
Sultan Selim II. had already endeavoured to cut a canal
between the two rivers, in order to transport his supplies
to the Caspian. Peter the Great resumed the works, but
the undertaking was abandoned, and until the middle of the
present century the portage was crossed only by beasts of
burden and wagons. But since 1861 the rivers have been
connected by rail. Free from ice for about two hundred
and forty days at its easternmost bend, the Don is some-
times so low and blocked with shoals that navigation be-
comes difficult even for flat-bottomed boats. During the
two floods, at the melting of the ice in spring, and in the
summer rains, its lower course rises eighteen to twenty feet
above its normal level, overflowing its banks in several
places for a distance of eighteen miles.

o

Q
a
H

THE DON 225

The most important, although not the most extensive,
coal-fields of Russia cover an area of about 10,000 square
miles, chiefly in the southern part of the Donetz basin.
Since 1865, nearly 650 beds have been found, mostly near
the surface, the seams varying in thickness from one foot to
twrenty-four feet, and containing every description of com-
bustible material, from the anthracite to the richest bitu-
minous coal. The ravines here furrowing the land facili-
tate the study of the strata and the extraction of the min-
eral. Yet these valuable deposits were long neglected, and
even during the Crimean war the Russians, deprived of
their English supplies, were still without the necessary
apparatus to avail themselves of these treasures.

Even the iron ores, which here also abound, were little
utilized till that event, since when the extraction both of
coal and iron has gone on continually increasing in the
Donetz basin. In 1839, the yield scarcely exceeded 14,000
tons, whereas the output of the Grushova mines alone now
amounts to 210,000 tons, and the total yield of the coal-
pits exceeded 672,000 tons in 1872. The coal is now used
by the local railways and steamers of the Don, Sea of
Azov, and Euxine.

Already reduced in extent by the terrestrial revolutions
which separated it from the Caspian, the Sea of Azov has
been further diminished in historic times, although far less
than might be supposed from the local traditions. No
doubt Herodotus gives the Palus Maeotis an equal area to
that of the Euxine. But as soon as the Greeks had visited
and founded^ settlements on this inland sea they discovered
how limited it was compared with the open sea. Never-
theless, fifteen hundred years ago it was certainly somewhat
larger and deeper than at present, the alluvia of the Don

226 THE DON

having gradually narrowed its basin and raised its bed. Its
outline also has been completely changed, Strabo's descrip-
tion no longer answering to the actual form of its shores.

The town of Tanais, founded by the Greeks, at the very
mouth of the Don, and which at the time of Ptolemy was
already at some distance from the coast, has ceased to exist.
But the architectural remains and inscriptions discovered
by Leontiyev between Siniavka and the village of Nedoi-
govka, show that its site was about six miles from the old
mouth of the Great Don, since changed to a dry bed. The
course of the main stream has been deflected southwards,
and here is the town of Azov, for a time the successor of
Tanais in strategic and commercial importance. But where
the flow is most abundant, there also the alluvium encroaches
most rapidly, and the delta would increase even at a still
more accelerated, rate for the fierce east and north-east
gales prevailing for a great part of the year. The sedi-
mentary matter brought down, in the proportion of about
one to 1,200 of fluid, amounts altogether to 230,160,000
cubic feet, causing a mean annual advance of nearly twenty-
two feet.

The Gulf of Taganrog, about eighty miles long and
forming the north-east extremity of the sea, may, on the
whole, be regarded as a simple continuation of the Don, as
regards both the character of its water and its current, and
the windings of its navigable channel. This gulf, with a
mean depth of from ten to twelve and nowhere exceeding
twenty-four feet, seems to have diminished by nearly two
feet since the first charts, dating from the time of Peter the
Great. But a comparison of the soundings taken at vari-
ous times is somewhat difficult, as the exact spots where
they were taken and the kind of feet employed are some-

THE DON 227

what doubtful, not to mention the state of the weather, and
especially the direction of the winds during the operations.
Under the influence of the winds the level of the sea may be
temporarily raised or lowered at various points as much as
ten or even sixteen or seventeen feet. The mean depth of
the whole sea is about thirty-two feet, which, for an area
of 14,217 square miles, would give an approximate volume
of 13,000 billion cubic feet, or about four times that of
Lake Geneva. The bed, composed, like the surrounding
steppes, of argillaceous sands, unbroken anywhere by a
single rock, is covered, at an extremely low rate of progress,
with fresh strata, in which organic remains are mingled
with the sandy detritus of the shores. If a portion of the
sedimentary matter brought down by the Don were not
carried out to the Euxine, the inner sea would be filled up
in the space of 56,500 years.

THE COLUMBIA
J. BODDAM-WHETHAM

THE Mackenzie River flows through the plain, and is
singularly beautiful. Great blocks of basalt come
sheer down to the water's edge, and are divided naturally
with great exactitude into huge segments. Their yellow
and brown colours are reflected with wondrous effect on
the surface of the stream. After a few most pleasant days,
passed in the neighbourhood of Eugene City, I went on to
Oregon City, and there remained to visit the Falls of the
Willamette.

The river narrows near the town, and the water, rushing
very swiftly, is precipitated down a fall of about fifty feet.
The rocks on either side are of deep black basalt ; and
these huge walls, when viewed from the south, are ex-
tremely grand. It is only when they are seen from below
that the mind is fully impressed with the magnificence of
these falls. They have been worn into a horseshoe form
by the action of the stream, and the river plunges into the
depths below in great curves and sweeping currents.
Masses of broken basalt show their heads amidst the rush
of foaming waters, and altogether there is a noise, mist, and
confusion enough to justify the Oregonians in their pride
of their miniature Niagara. Formerly, these falls were the
only obstruction to the free navigation of the river, but now
it is overcome by the construction of locks, which have

o

H

THE COLUMBIA 229

been built in the most substantial manner. The scenery of
the river is very picturesque and diversified, and a lovely
panorama of hill and dale, water and forest is continually
passing before the view.

Portland had lately been nearly destroyed by fire, conse-
quently I had not a good opportunity of judging of the
town. It is, however, beautifully situated on the Willa-
mette River, and is surrounded by magnificent forests.
There are some delightful drives through the woods, one
especially to a place called the White House, through a
succession of glades and glens full of splendid trees and
sweet-scented shrubs, and with views of peculiar quiet
loveliness.

The Willamette runs into the Columbia River about
twelve miles below Portland ; so, taking the morning
steamer, I prepared to ascend that river, which for grandeur
of scenery is not surpassed by any river (with the exception,
perhaps, of the Fraser) on the American continent.

We started so early that a grey fog swallowed up every-
thing, and the only objects visible were the paddle-boxes
and the funnel.

We steamed very slowly and cautiously down the
Willamette, and as we approached the junction of that river
with the Columbia the mist lifted. As it slowly crept back
to the shores and up the hills and away to the north, moun-
tains, sky and river came out with intense brilliancy and
colour under the rays of the rising sun.

Wonderful forests extended from the far distance down
to the very edge of the river. Beeches, oaks, pines, and
firs of enormous size formed a sombre background, against
which the maple and ash flamed out in their early autumn
tints. On the north, the four stately snow-crowned moun-

230 THE COLUMBIA

tains, Rainier, St. Helen's, Jefferson, and Adams lifted
themselves, rose-flushed, high up in the heavens ; the great
river flowed rapidly and smoothly between mountain shores,
from a mile to a mile and a quarter apart, and the bold
rocky heights towered thousands of feet in the air.

The mountains line the river for miles. When occasion-
ally a deep ravine opens you catch a glimpse of distant
levels, bounded, in their turn, by the never-ending chain of
mountains.

There is a rare combination, too, of beauty about these
mountains ; vegetation and great variety of colour height-
ening the picturesque effect of the huge masses of bold bare
rock. Now and then the cliffs impeded the flow of the
river, which then ran, disturbed and dangerous, between
rocky islands and sand-bars. Often the ^itated waters be-
came gradually calm and formed long narrow lakes, with-
out any apparent outlet, until a sudden turn showed a
passage through the lofty walls into another link of the
water-chain.

Sometimes a cataract of marvellous beauty came leaping
down the rocks from a height of 200 and 300 feet.

The Multanomah Falls in particular are most beautiful,
possessing both the swift resistless rush of the downpour of
water and that broken picturesque outline which is the prin-
cipal charm of a fall.

Castle Rock, a huge boulder with basaltic columns like
those of Staffa, stands out grandly and alone from a feathery
mass of cotton-wood, whose golden splendour rivals in
beauty that of the spreading dark green boughs of the pines,
whilst the contrast of colour heightens the effect of each
brilliant hue.

On the crest of the rock a fringe of pine trees, growing

THE COLUMBIA 23 1

out of the bare stone and dwarfed to insignificance, shows
the vast height of this rifted dome.

And now we are approaching Cape Horn, whose ramparts
rise sheer and straight, lilce a columnar wall, 800 feet high.

This majestic portal forms a worthy entrance to the cas-
cades. Fierce, seething rapids extend for six miles up the
river, and the track of the " portage " runs near the water's
edge for the entire distance. The river is narrowed here
by lofty heights of trap rock, and the bed itself is nothing
but sharp gigantic rocks, sometimes hidden by the water and
sometimes forming small islands, between which the foam-
ing torrent rushes with tremendous uproar.

Near where the " portage " begins, a relic of Indian war-
fare, in the shape of an old block-house, stands under the
fir-trees.

A small party of white men held a very large body of In-
dians at bay for several days in 1856; and as the provi-
sions ran short, a grand attack was made on the red men,
who were totally routed with great slaughter.

The scene in this gorge is wild in the extreme. Passing
Rooster Rock, the mountain-sides approach each other, and
the river flows faster and fiercer; the pillared walls rise
sometimes to a height of nearly 3,000 feet, and the wind
roaring through the ravine beats up huge w^ves and adds to
the wild grandeur of the view. Whenever the mountains
recede to the south. Mount Hood fills the horizon. Ris-
ing 14,000 feet, its snow-covered head shines out magnifi-
cently against the blue sky, with unvarying grandeur and a
strangely attractive form.

Soon we pass an Indian burial-ground called CaiEn
Rock, a more desolate slope, covered with rude monuments
of rock and circular heaps of piled grey stones.

232 THE COLUMBIA

Dalles City, where we now arrive, ranks as the second
place of importance in Oregon. It takes its name from
the " dales " or rough flag-stones, which impede the river,
making narrow crooked channels, and thereby causing an-
other " portage " for a distance of fifteen miles. Above
the town the scene changes ; the cliffs disappear, and from
splendid forests and mountains we pass into a region of
sand and desert. One tall pillar of red rock, overlooking
the sandy waste, stands up forlorn and battered, as if it were
the last fragment of a giant peak; and numbers of birds
hovering over it seem to regard it as their special ob-
servatory.

Hot white sand is everywhere, and the wind scatters it
about in a most uncomfortable manner, covering the track
and half-stifling you in its blinding showers. The river
scenery is very fine all along this passage, the Dalles being
a succession of rapids, falls, and eddying currents.

Although it was late in the season hundreds of salmon
were still ascending, and on the flat shore-rocks were several
Indian lodges; their occupants busily engaged in spearing
and catching the fish.

Their usual mode of catching salmon is by means of
nets fastened to long handles. They erect wooden scaffolds
by the riverside among the rocks, and there await the ar-
rival of the fish — scooping up thirty or forty per hour.
They are also very skilful at spearing them ; rarely missing
a fair mark.

At one of the falls we saw a most treacherous contrivance.
A large tree with all its branches lopped off had been brought
to the edge of the river and there fastened, with its smaller
end overhanging the foaming fall. A large willow basket,
about ten feet deep and over twenty feet in circumference.

THE COLUMBIA 233

was suspended at the end. The salmon in its efforts to
leap the fall would tumble in the basket, and an Indian
seated in it would then knock the fish on the head with a
club and throw it on shore.

This mode requires relays of men, as they soon get almost
drowned by the quantity of spray and water. Very often,
between two and three hundred salmon are caught in a day
in this manner. We saw about twenty, averaging in weight
from five to twenty pounds, caught in the hour during
which we watched the process. But the hook-nosed
salmon — coarse, nasty fish — were the most abundant.
They always appear in the autumn, and are found every-
where. The salmon are in their greatest perfection in the
Columbia River towards the end of June. The best va-
riety is called the " chinook," and weighs from twenty to
forty pounds. This species is generally accompanied in its
ascent by a smaller variety, weighing on an average about
ten pounds, and which is also extremely good eating.
Gradually as the salmon go higher and higher up the river,
their flesh changes from a bright red to a paler colour until
it becomes quite white. There are such enormous quanti-
ties of them that they can be easily jerked on shore with a
stick, and they actually jostle each other out of the water.
It is estimated that over 500,000 salmon were taken out
of the Columbia River during the year 1872. There is a
perfectly true story of a traveller who, when riding, had to
cross a stream running from the Cascade Mountains, at a
spot where the fish were toiling up in thousands ; and so
quickly were they packed as to impede the progress of the
horse, which became so frightened as almost to unseat his
rider.

When the salmon are caught, the squaws cure them by

234 THE COLUMBIA

splitting them and drying the pieces upon wickerwork
scaffoldings. Afterwards they smoke them over fires of fir
branches. The wanton destruction and waste of these fish
is terrible. In the season the Indians will only take the
fish in the highest condition, and those that do not satisfy
their fastidious tastes are thrown back mutilated and dying
into the water. Even when they have killed sufficient to
last them for years, they still go to the falls and catch and
spear all they can, leaving the beautiful silvery salmon to
rot on the stones. Salmon ought certainly to have " Ex-
celsior " for a motto. Always moving higher and higher,
they are never content, but continue the ascent of the river
as far as possible. They go on till they drop, or become
so weak and torn from rubbing against the rocks and against
one another, that they are pushed into shallows by the
stronger ones and die from want of water. Out of the
hosts that ascend the rivers, it is generally supposed that a
very small proportion indeed ever find their way back to
the sea.

Just below the Great Salmon Falls the whole volume of
the stream rushes through a channel hardly one hundred
and fifty feet in width. At the falls themselves the river
is nearly a mile across,- and pours over a rocky wall stretch-
ing from shore to shore and about twenty feet high. It is
fascinating in the extreme to watch the determined crea-
tures as they shoot up the rapids with wonderful agility.
They care neither for the seething torrent nor for the deep
still pools, and with a rush — and with clenched teeth, per-
haps — they dart up like a silver arrow, and defying rock
and fall, are at length safe in the smooth haven above.

THE PO

GEORGE G. CHISHOLM

THE northern plain of Italy, whose area is estimated at
about 16,450 square miles, or about half that of
Scotland, is a geographical unit of the most unmistakable
kind. It is, indeed, made up of many river basins, but
these are all of one character and without marked lines of
delimitation. By far the greater part of the area belongs to
the basin of the Po, and the rivers that do not belong to
that basin present a general parallelism to the tributaries of
the Po. The general slope of the plain is that indicated
by the course of its main river, from west to east, but
there is also a slope from north to south, and another from
south to north, determining the general direction of at least
the upper portions of the numerous affluents descending from
the Alps and the Apennines. But before reaching the main
stream, these affluents are affected in their general direction
by the general easterly slope of the plain; that is to say,
their course changes more or less to south-easterly (Dora
Baltea, Sesia, Ticino, Adda, Oglio, Mincio), or north-
easterly (Tanaro, Scrivia, Trebbia, Taro, Secchia, Panaro),
and the farthest east they are the larger is the proportion of
the entire course deflected in this manner. In the most
easterly portion of the plain, lying west of the Adriatic, so
marked is this effect that the rivers (Adige, Brenta, Piave,
Livenza) are carried to the sea before reaching the Po.
North of the Adriatic the slope and the general direction

236 THE PO

of the rivers (Tagliamento, Stella, Cormor) become wholly
southerly.

Since ancient times the Po has been recognized as rising
to the height of 6,400 feet in the marshy valley of Piano del
Re at the foot of Monte Viso, the ancient Vesulus, and
after a course of only twenty-one miles and a fall of 5,250
feet, it enters the plain at the bridge of Revello, where its
middle course may be said to commence. Fed by the " aged
snows " of the Alps, and by the heavy rains of the Alps
and Apennines, it is already at Turin, where it receives from
the west the Dora Riparia, a navigable stream with a
width of 525 feet. At the mouth of the Ticino, the outlet
of the Lago Maggiore, its lower course may be said to com-
mence. Thence onwards it winds sluggishly across the
great plains of

Fruitfiil Lombardy,

The pleasant garden of great Italy,

with a mean depth of about six and one-half to fifteen and
one-half feet, and a fall not exceeding 0.3 : 1,000, so that
the waters could hardly move onwards were it not for the
impetus imparted by the numerous mountain torrents which
it receives at an acute angle. At last, charged thick with
sediment, it passes onwards through the mouths that intersect
its muddy delta into the Adriatic.

In this part of its course, artificial embankments have
been found necessary to protect the surrounding country
from inundation, and from Cremona onwards these dykes,
in part of unknown antiquity, are continuous. After re-
ceiving the Mincio, the last tributary on the north, the Po
assumes a south-easterly direction, which in ancient times
and during the Middle Ages down to about 1150, it main-

o

THE PO 237

tained to its mouths, passing Ferrara on tlie south, and then
dividing into two main arms, the Po di Volano to the north,
and the Po di Primaro to the south of the Valli di Comacchio.
But about that date, it is said, the people of Ficarolo cut
the dyke on the north side at Stellata, and thus gave rise to
a new mouth, known first as the Po di Venezia, now as the
Po della Maestra, by which the entire volume of the river
now runs eastwards, till it breaks up into several small
branches at the delta. Since then the arm of the Po be-
tween Stulata and Ferrara has become silted up. Since 1577
the Panaro which formerly entered this arm at Ferrara has
gradually moved its mouth backwards till it enters the main
stream just below Stellata. The Po di Volano, which in
the Second Century b. c. was the most accessible mouth
for shipping and afterwards the main mouth, has now be-
come wholly detached from the Po, and merely serves as a
drainage canal for the surrounding marshes, while the Po di
Primaro has been utilized since 1770 as the mouth for the
regulated Remo.

Long before the historic period, tens of thousands of
years ago, but which geologists call recent, the great valley
was an arm of the sea ; for beneath the gravels and alluvia
that form the soils of Piedmont and Lombardy, sea-shells of
living species are found in well-known unconsolidated strata
at no great depth. At this period the lakes of Como, Mag-
giore, and Garda may have been fiords, though much less
deep than now. Later still, the Alpine valleys through
which the affluents of the Po run were full to the brim
with the huge old glaciers already referred to.

When we consider the vast size of the moraines shed
from the ancient glaciers that fed the Po, it is evident that
at all times, but especially during floods, vast havoc must

238 THE PO

often have occurred among the masses of loose debris.
Stones, sand, and mud, rolled along the bottom and borrte
on in suspension, must have been scattered across the plains
by the swollen waters.

It will thus be easily understood how the vast plains that
bound the Po and its tributaries were gradually formed by
the constant annual Increase of river gravels and finer
alluvia, and how these sediments rose in height by the over-
flow of the waters, and steadily encroached upon the sea by
the growth of the delta. The fact that the drainage line of
the plain lies not in the middle but farther from the Alps than
the Apennines, shows that in this process the loftier range
on the north has contributed more than the lower one to
the south. And this process, begun thousands of years be-
fore history began, has largely altered the face of the
country within historic times, and is powerfully in action
at the present day.

It has been estimated by Sir Archibald Geikie that the
area drained by the Po is on an average being lowered one
foot in 729 years, and a corresponding amount of sediment
carried away by the river.

It is hard to get at the historical records of the river more
than two thousand years ago, though we may form a good
guess as to its earlier geological history. Within the histor-
ical period extensive lakes and marshes (some of them prob-
ably old sea lagoons) lay within its plains, since gradually
filled with sediment by periodical floods. The great lines
of dykes that have been erected to guard against those
floods have introduced an element that modifies this process.
The result has been that the alluvial flats on either side of
the river outside the dykes have long received but little ad-
dition of surface sediment, and their level is nearly station'

THE PO 239

ary. It thus happens that most of the sediment that in old
times would have been spread by overflows across the
land is now hurried along towards the Adriatic, there, with
the help of the Adige, steadily to advance the far-spreading
alluvial flats that form the delta of the two rivers. But the
confined river, unable by annual floods to dispose of part of
its sediment, just as the dykes were increased in height,
gradually raised its bottom by the deposition there of a por-
tion of the transported material, so that the risk of occa-
sional floods is again renewed. All these dangers have
been increased by the wanton destruction of the forests of
the Alps and Apennines, for when the shelter of the wood
is gone, the heavy rains of summer easily wash the soil from
the slopes down into the rivers, and many an upland pas-
ture has by this process been turned into bare rock. In this
way it happens that during the historical period the quantity
of detritus borne onwards by the Po has much increased ;
and whereas between the years 1200 and 1600 the delta ad-
vanced on an average only about twenty-five yards a year,
from 1600 to 1800 the annual advance has been more than
seventy-five yards. Between 1823 and 1893 the deposits
at the Po di Maestra and the Po di Goro advanced on an
average 260 feet yearly, those of the Po di Tolle 315 feet,
and those of the Po della Gnocca no feet. The area of
the Po delta has increased within that time by twenty and
one-half square miles, and that of the whole coast from
44° 20' to the Austrian frontier by 29.8 square miles.
Besides the Po and some of its chief tributaries, the Adige
is the only river in the northern plain of Italy of importance
as a waterway ; and even it, though navigable for vessels of
considerable size, as high as Trent in the Tirol, where
there is a depth of from thirteen to sixteen feet, is navigable

240 THE PO .

only with great difficulty in consequence of the great
rapidity of its course. Boats can descend from Trent to
Verona (fifty miles) in twenty-four hours, but for the as-
cent require from five to seven days. The country on the
banks of this river is much subject to inundations, protec-
tion against which is afforded, as on the Po, by dykes,
which begin about twelve njiles below Verona.

THE MENAM

MRS. UNSWORTH

THE River Menam (mother of waters) is the central
attraction of all life and trade ; it is the great high-
way for traffic and the great cleanser and purifier of the
cities ; its tide sweeps out to the sea all the dirt and refuse
accumulating therein ; it is the universal bath for all the
Siamese. The children paddle and play their games in it ;
it is the scene of their frolics in infancy, their means of
livelihood in manhood, and to many of them their grave in
death. At sunset, when work is suspended, there is a
great splashing and plunging going on all along the river
banks, everybody taking a bath or amusing themselves in
the water. The river bar is a great trouble to navigators. The
king will not have it dredged, as he, in his ignorance, thinks
it a natural protection to his country, as only ships of a
shallow draft can cross. Trading ships have to be built
specially constructed for that purpose. No large man-of-
war can cross, but the king did not take into consideration
the small torpedo boats that can do so much mischief; re-
cent events, however, must have opened his eyes. We
cannot rush into Siam at railway speed ; the ship must be
lightened as much as possible, and we must wait until the
tide is at its highest — it may be two hours, or it may be
twenty-two — and even then the channel is so narrow that
if we go a little to the right or to the left we run aground.
Many times there are two ships fast aground; once or

242 THE MENAM

twice there have been four and five. Some have had to
stay seven and eight days, and have every movable thing
taken out before they could rise. Nothing can exceed the
monotony of lying aground there ; there is nothing to see,
only in the distance some low-lying ground covered with a
scrub, no sign of habitations, no clifFs or green hills rising
out of the sea — nothing but water, water all around, and a
glimpse of flat low-lying ground with wild shrubs on it.

After crossing this vexatious river bar, we proceed up the
river eight miles with nothing to see but low banks until
we come to the forts at Paknam. The river banks are
very low, and fringed at the water's edge with palms and
huge tree ferns; the mango and tamarind trees hang over
and the banyan tree, with its branches hanging down and
taking root again, makes quite an entanglement of roots and
branches. At night these trees are lit up with thousands of
fire flies ; on a dark night they glisten and sparkle like the
firmament. But in the morning the river is alive with
buyers and sellers. We very soon come to a market lying
in the river — all kinds of Eastern fruits and vegetables and
crockcryware are piled up on floating rafts, the sellers sit-
ting cross-legged beside their wares, and the buyers rushing
about in small canoes propelled with one oar.

If the officers in charge of steamships liketo be mischievous
and go full speed, leaving a big swell in their track, they
have the fun of seeing the floating stalls swaying up and
down, banging against one another fruit and vegetables,
rolling ofF into the water, with the stall-holders shouting
and plunging into the river to save their wares !

We then come to more floating houses and houses on
piles. Europeans find the advantage of living on the river
to be that they get more breeze and fewer mosquitoes j so

<

2

THE MENAM 243

here and there, among the floating mat-shed erections, we
see a neat painted wooden house on piles ; it has to be ap-
proached by a boat, and you enter up a staircase on to a
wide verandah. The sitting-rooms and bedrooms all open
out of this verandah. No windows, no fireplaces are
needed in this country — very strange un-home-like resi-
dences they are to any one coming fresh from England, yet
they are suitable for the climate.

Here and there amongst the palm trees, and under wide-
spreading tamarind trees we see white-washed temples, with
fantastically-shaped gilded roofs; they look very pictur-
esque amongst the trees ; they have a style of architecture
peculiar to the country, which is more prominent in the
shape of the roof, which is a sloping Gothic roof,
with all the corners branching out and turning up; one
roof is surmounted with another smaller, and then a
smaller one still. These buildings give quite a char-
acter to the country and are very numerous. It makes
Siamese architecture quite distinctive from that of other
countries.

As we get to the city of Bangkok, the sides of the river
are lined with timber and saw-mills and rice-mills, with tall
chimneys, and black smoke oozing out. This is European
enterprise; they quite spoil the scenic effect on the river,
but not any more than the mean, dirty bamboo huts that
line the riversides. The Siamese have no medium re-
spectability ; it is all either gorgeously gilded palaces, and
fantastically-adorned temples, or filthy-looking huts. A
great many of the shopkeepers have their shops right on
the river. Some of them are neatly arranged, with a plat-
form in front, on which you land from your boat. All the
family are lounging about this platform, the wife carrying

244 'I'HE MENAM

on her domestic duties, washing up the cooking utensils by
dipping them into the river; the clothes (what few they
wear) go through the same process ; and the children,
naked, are sporting about this narrow platform, or sitting
on the edge with their feet in the water.

It is very convenient for a shopkeeper who wishes to
change his place of business ; if he thinks there is a more
desirable and more frequented spot, he just unmoors his
floating shop and has it towed to the place he wants, with-
out disarranging his wares.

Branching off from the river are innumerable canals, or
creeks — the Siamese call them klongs — the banks of which
are lined with houses and shops ; they make a canal where
we would make a road or a street. Up some of these klongs
there are pretty views, especially at sunset. Graceful ferns
and palms, bamboo trees, with their branches dipping into
the water and reflected therein, and between the branches
the sloping roof of some house or temple is visible. But
many of these klongs or canals, in the most frequented part
of the city, are the reverse of pretty. They are just like a
large open sewer running down to the river, full of filthy
garbage. When the tide is low there are the black slime, the
naked children playing in it, and the dirty huts on rickety
piles leaning forward as if they wanted to slide down into
the mud ; sometimes a dead body comes floating down, and
plenty of dead animals.

It is very lively on the river in the city. Here are ocean-
going steamers and sailing vessels moored amid-stream, or
tied up to the various wharves, whilst an endless variety of
native craft are darting about — narrow boats, like canoes,
propelled with one oarsman, hawking fruit and betel ; pretty
little house boats, fashioned something like the Venetian

THE MENAM 245

gondolas, with four, six or more rowers, standing up,
dressed in bright uniforms, according to the rank of the
family they belong to; the rice boats from far up the
country, of very peculiar construction, flat-bottomed, to go
through shallow water, and wide bulging out sides, roofed
over like houses. In the rainy season, when the river is
full, the large teak-wood rafts about 1,000 feet long, come
floating down, with huts for the steersman built on them.
Small steam launches and ferries, running up and down
from various places, all combine to make the river scene
pretty and interesting. One enthusiastic newspaper corre-
spondent pronounced Bangkok to be the Venice of the
East. It may resemble Venice in the amount of water
traflic, but it would require a great stretch of imagination,
and the help of some glorifying and transfiguring tints from
the setting sun, before we could allow the comparison ; but
no doubt it bears the same relation to the East, where filth
and squalor predominate, as Venice bears to the refined and
cultured Europe.

There are a few well-kept houses of business and private
residences bordering the river, but not many, and these in
no way resemble the marble palaces of European Venice.
The general aspect of the river banks is dirty disorder —
rotten piles, with untidy-looking floating houses, mat-
sheds, and bamboo huts, reaching up to the King's palace.
The palace walls enclose many buildings, offices, temples,
private residences, gardens, and residences for the sacred
white elephants. The attractive part of these buildings
and the great ornamentation are in the roofs, which are
very gorgeous. Some have tall pointed pinnacles, all
gilded ; some are covered with a fantastic pattern in
porcelain, with little gilded peaks, which look dazzling in

246 THE MENAM

the sun. Viewed from a distance these buildings realize
all that has been written in glowing terms of Eastern
palaces, but near to the charm is not so vivid, as there is
much tawdriness about them. Whilst remaining on the
river the filth and refuse are not so prominent ; the tide
sweeps all away. But leave the river, and take to the
woods. Oh ! the offensive sights and smells that greet
one's eyes and nose — ofFal and waste of every description
thrown in front of the houses in the public streets. But
nature is kind and very luxurious here ; in a short time
these heaps of rubbish are covered with a growth of grass
and creeping plants. The principal shops are like those on
the river — one large room open to the street, no doors or
windows, the family living there, and the domestic arrange-
ments mixed up with the business of selling.

Bangkok is a modern city. It is not more than 250
years old. It has risen to importance through the ever-in-
creasing exportation of rice and timber. It is not purely
Siamese, being a mixture of all Eastern nations, the
Chinese being very largely represented; and the Euro-
pean influence is very prominent. The rice-mills
for cleaning the rice and the saw-mills arc all fitted up
with modern machinery and are the outcome of European
enterprise. There is a fine naval dockyard entirely
managed by English engineers, and the regular lines of
steamers running here constantly are all British. I must
just mention that fifty years ago the Siamese had a fine
fleet of sailing vessels, built in Bangkok of teak-wood ; but
the steamers have taken away their trade and that industry
has died out. The ship-building yards are quite deserted
and silent now.

But if we wish to see a real Siamese city, wc must leave

THE MENAM 247

Bangkok and go to Ayuthia, the old capital, before
Bangkok was thought of.

It is sixty miles farther up the river. The scenery go-
ing up is monotonous — no variety at all; it is a flat
country. In the months of October and November it is
all under water; the river rises and floods the country for
miles, so we can understand the reason for living in floating
houses and on piles. But how can any one describe
Ayuthia ? It is so different from any other city in the
world ; and entirely Siamese.

The inhabitants live principally on the river in small
houses of bamboo, roofed with Atap palm leaves. In
some parts there is only a narrow passage for a small boat,
the river is so crowded up with their houses. The trade
seems to be buying and selling, and the principal things
sold rice and fruit, with a few very simple cooking utensils.
There is an old palace here which illustrates how much
richer the kings must have grown with the increase of trade.

In the Siamese court there are several very interesting
ceremonies, probably unlike anything belonging to any
other country, a pageantry peculiar to Siam, and of great
magnificence.

One of the principal of these is a royal cremation.
Then there is a royal hair-cutting. This is an occasion
for very great rejoicing. When a boy attains the age of
fourteen or fifteen, his head is shaved, and then he enters the
priesthood. When it is one of the royal family, or the
Crown Prince, then not many other courts can exceed such
a magnificent and gorgeous festival. The ceremony lasts
for a week — a continued succession of religious rites, with
processions and feasts. One of these is the sacred bath in the
river, where the priests dip the young prince.

248 THE MENAM

Another elaborate spectacle is when the king, attended
by all his nobles, visits every great temple. This takes
some vceeks to accomplish, is an annual event, and is
another series of grand processions. It is a water proces-
sion, and the barges which are kept and only used on this
occasion are most sumptuous. They are richly carved and
gilded, with silken awnings. They are long, narrow boats
about 100 feet long, roWed by over 150 oarsmen with
gilded oars. The whole procession is a scene of barbaric
splendour, and recalls the stories of Aladdin and his
Wonderful Lamp.

THE MERRIMACK

HENRY D. THOREAU

WE were thus entering the state of New Hampshire
on the bosom of the flood formed by the tribute
of its innumerable valleys. The river w^as the only key
which could unlock its maze, presenting its hills and valleys,
its lakes and streams, in their natural order and position.
The Merrimack, or sturgeon river, is formed by the conflu-
ence of the Pemigewasset, which rises near the notch of
the White Mountains, and the Winnipiseogee, which drains
the lake of the same name, signifying " The smile of the
Great Spirit." From their junction it runs south seventy-
eight miles to Massachusetts, and thence east thirty-five
miles to the sea. I have traced its stream from where it
bubbles out of rocks of the White Mountains above the
clouds, to where it is lost amid the salt billows of the ocean
on Plum Island Beach. It was already the water of Squam
and Newfound Lake and Winnipiseogee, and White Moun-
tain snow dissolved, on which we were floating, and
Smith's and Baker's and Mad Rivers, and Nashua and
Souhegan and Piscataquong, and Suncook and Soucook and
Contoocook, mingled in incalculable proportions, still fluid,
yellowish, restless all, with an ancient, ineradicable inclina-
tion to the sea.

So it flows by Lowell and Haverhill, at which last place it
first suffers a sea change, and a few masts betray the vicinity
of the ocean. Between the towns of Amesbury and New-

250 THE MERRIMACK

bury it is a broad, commercial river, from a third to half a
mile in width, no longer skirted with yellow and crumbling
banks, but backed by high green hills and pastures, with
frequent white beaches on which fishermen draw up their
nets. I have passed down this portion of the river in a
steamboat, and it was a pleasant sight to watch from its
deck the fishermen dragging their seines on the distant
shore, as in pictures of a foreign strand. At intervals you
may meet with a schooner laden with lumber, standing up
to Haverhill, or else lying at anchor or aground, waiting
for wind or tide, until, at last, you glide under the famous
Chain Bridge, and are landed at Newburyport. From the
steeples of Newburyport you may review this river stretch-
ing far up into the country, with many a white sail glanc-
ing over it like an island sea, and behold, as one wrote who
was born on its head-waters, " Down out at its mouth, the
dark inky main blending with the blue above. Plum Island,
its sand ridges scalloping along the horizon like the sea-
serpent, and the distant outline broken by many a tall ship,
leaning, still, against the sky."

Rising at an equal height with the Connecticut, the Mer-
rimack reaches the sea by a course only half as long, and
hence has no leisure to form broad and fertile meadows,
like the former, but is hurried along rapids, and down nu-
merous falls, without long delay. The banks are generally
steep and high, with a narrow interval reaching back to the
hills, which is only rarely or partially overflown at present,
and is much valued by the farmers. Between Chelmsford
and Concord, in New Hampshire, it varies from twenty to
seventy-five rods in many places, owing to the trees having
been cut down, and the consequent wasting away of its
banks. The influence of the Pawtucket Dam is felt as far

i

14
o
<
S

04

04

w

X

THE MERRIMACK 25 1

as Cromwell's Falls, and many think that the banks arc be-
ing abraded and the river filled up again by this cause.
Like all our rivers, it is liable to freshets, and the Pemige-
wasset has been known to rise twenty-five feet in a few
hours. It is navigable to vessels of burden about twenty
miles ; for canal-boats, by means of locks, as -far as Con-
cord in New Hampshire, about seventy-five miles from its
mouth ; and for smaller boats to Plymouth, one hundred
and thirteen miles. A small steamboat once plied between
Lowell and Nashua, before the railroad was built, and one
now runs from Newburyport to Haverhill.

Unfitted to some extent for the purposes of commerce by
the sand-bar at its mouth, see how this river was devoted to
the service of manufactures. Issuing from the iron regions
of Franconia, and flowing through still uncut forests, by in-
exhaustible ledges of granite, with Squam, and Winnipis-
eogee, and Newfound, and Massabesic Lakes for its mill-
ponds, it falls over a succession of natural dams, where it
has been offering its privileges in vain for ages, until at last
the Yankee race came to improve them. Standing at its
mouth, look up its sparkling stream to its source, — a silver
cascade which falls all the way from the White Mountains
to the sea, — and behold a city of each successive plateau, a
busy colony of human beavers around every fall. Not to
mention Newburyport and Haverhill, see Lawrence, and
Lowell, and Nashua, and Manchester, and Concord, gleam-
ing one above the other. When at length it has escaped
from under the last of the factories, it has a level and un-
molested passage to the sea, a mere waste water, as it were,
bearing little with it but its fame ; its pleasant course re-
vealed by the morning fog which hangs over it, and the
sails of the few small vessels which transact the commerce

252 THE MERRIMACK

of Haverhill and Newburyport. But its real vessels are
railroad cars, and its true and main stream, flowing by an
iron channel farther south, may be traced by a long line of
vapour amid the hills, which no morning wind ever disperses
to where it empties into the sea at Boston. This river was
at length discovered by the white man " trending up into
the land," he knew not how far, possibly an inlet to the
South Sea. Its valley, as far as the Winnipiseogee, was
surveyed in 1652. The first settlers of Massachusetts sup-
posed that the Connecticut, in one part of its course ran
north-west, " so near the great lake as the Indians do pass
their canoes into it over-land." From which lake and the
" hideous swamps " about it, as they supposed, came all the
beaver that was traded between Virginia and Canada — and
the Potomac was thought to come out of or from very near
it. Afterwards the Connecticut came so near the course of
the Merrimack that, with a little pains they expected to di-
vert the current of the trade into the latter river, and its
profits from their Dutch neighbours into their own pockets.
Unlike the Concord, the Merrimack is not a dead but a
living stream, though it has less life within its waters and
on its banks. It has. a swift current, and, in this part of its
course, a clayey bottom, almost no weeds, and comparatively
few fishes. We looked down into its yellow water with
the more curiosity, who were accustomed to the Nile-like
blackness of the former river. Shad and alewives are taken
here in their season, but salmon, though at one time more
numerous than shad, are now more rare. Bass, also, are
taken occasionally ; but locks and dams have proved more
or less destructive to the fisheries. The shad make their
appearance early in May, at the same time with the blos-
soms of the pyrus, one of the most conspicuous early flow- ,

THE MERRIMACK 253

ers, which is for this reason called the shad-blossom. An
insect called the shad-fly also appears at the same time,
covering the houses and fences. We are told that " their
greatest run is when the apple-trees are in full blossom.
The old shad return in August; the young, three or four
inches long, in September. These are very fond of flies."
A rather picturesque and luxurious mode of fishing was
formerly practised on the Connecticut, at Bellows Falls,
where a large rock divides the stream. " On the steep
sides of the island rock," says Belknap, " hang several arm-
chairs, fastened to ladders, and secured by a counterpoise,
in which fishermen sit to catch salmon and shad with dip-
ping nets." The remains of Indian weirs, made of large
stones, are still to be seen in the Winnipiseogee, one of the
head-waters of this river.

It cannot but affect our philosophy favourably to be re-
minded of these shoals of migratory fishes, of salmon, shad,
alewives, marsh-bankers, and others, which penetrate up the
innumerable rivers of our coast in the spring, even to the
interior lakes, their scales gleaming in the sun ; and again,
of the fry which in still greater numbers wend their way
downwards to the sea. " And is it not pretty sport," wrote
Captain John Smith, who was on this coast as early as 1614,
"to pull up twopence, sixpence, and twelvepence, as fast as
you can haul and veer a line ? " — And what sport doth
yield a more pleasing content, and less hurt or charge, than
angling with a hook, and crossing the sweet air from isle to
isle, over the silent streams of a calm sea.

THE YEN-E-SAY

HENRY SEEBOHM

WE left London on Thursday, the ist of March, at
8:25 p. M., and reached Nishni Novgorod on
Saturday, the 9th inst., at 10 A. M,, having travelled by rail
a distance of 2,400 miles. We stopped three days in St. Pe-
tersburg to present our letters of introduction and to pay some
other visits. At Nishni we bought a sledge, and travelled
over the snow 3,240 English miles, employing for this pur-
pose about a thousand horses, eighteen dogs, and forty rein-
deer. We left Nishni on the evening of the loth of March,
and travelled day and night in a generally easterly direction,
stopping a couple of days at Tyu-main, and a day at Omsk,
and reached Kras-no-yarsk on the morning of the 2d of
April, soon after crossing the meridian of Calcutta. We
rested a day in Kras-no-yarsk, and sledged thence nearly
due north, spending four days in Yen-e-saisk and three
days in Toor-o-kansk.

The Yen-e-say is said to be the third largest river in the
world, being only exceeded in size by the Amazon and the
Mississippi. The principal stream rises in the mountains
of Central Mongolia, enters Siberia near the famous town
of Kyakh-ta, on the Chinese frontier, and flowing through
Lake By-kal, passes Eer-kutsk (Irkutsk) the capital of
Siberia, under the name of the An-go-ra or Vairkh-nya,
Tun-goosk, and enters the smaller stream, whose name it
subsequently bears, a few miles south of Yen-e-saisk. Up

THE YEN-E-SAY 255

to this point its length may be roughly estimated at 2,000
miles, and judging from the time it takes to sledge across
the river at Ycn-e-saisk, its width must exceed an English
mile. Following the windings of the river from the latter
town to the Arctic Circle, the road is calculated as a journey
of 800 miles, during which the waters are augmented by
two important tributaries, the Pod-kah-min-a-Tun-goosk
and the Nizh-ni-Tun-goosk, which increase the width of
the river to more than three English miles. On the Arctic
Circle it receives an important tributary, the Koo-ray-i-ka,
about a mile wide, and, somewhat more circuitously than
appears on our maps, travels to the islands of the delta, a
distance possibly slightly over-estimated, during which the
average width may be about four miles. The delta and
lagoon of the Yen-e-say are about 400 miles in length, and
must average twenty miles in width, making the total length
of the river about 4,000 miles.

Throughout the whole extent of the river, from Yen-e-
saisk, in latitude 58° to Gol-chee-ka in latitude 71^^°, the
banks are generally steep and lofty, from sixty to one hun-
dred feet above the water-level, and so far as I could learn,
comparatively little land is covered by the summer floods.
The villages on the banks are from twenty to thirty versts
(fifteen to twenty miles) apart, and are of course built upon
high ground. As we sledged down the river, we had al-
ways a heavy climb up to the port stations ; and in descend-
ing again into the bed of the river, it sometimes almost made
our hearts jump into our mouths to look down the precipice,
which our horses took at a gallop, with half-a-dozen vil-
lagers hanging on the sledge to prevent an upset, a feat
they performed so cleverly, that although many a peasant
got a roll in the snow, we always escaped without any seri-

256 THE YEN-E-SAY

ous accident. We found a good supply of horses as far as
Too-ro-kansk. The second stage from this town we trav-
elled by dogs, and completed the rest of the journey by
reindeer. Soon after leaving Yen-e-saisk agriculture prac-
tically ceases. A few cows graze on the meadows near the
villages, and hay is cut for their use during winter, but the
villagers are too busy fishing during the short summer to
till the land.

The banks of the Yen-e-say are clothed with magnificent
forests up to the Arctic Circle, but northwards the trees
rapidly diminish in size, and disappear altogether soon after
leaving Doo-din-ka, in latitude 69^°. These forests are
principally pine of various species. We reached the Koo-
ray-i-ka on the 23d of April, and found the crew of the
Thames in excelient health.

The winter quarters chosen by Captain Wiggins were
very picturesque. Standing at the door of the peasant's
house on the brow of the hill, we looked down on to the
" crow's nest " of the Thames. To the left the Koo-ray-i-ka,
a mile wide, stretched away some four or five miles, until a
sudden bend concealed it from view ; whilst to the right the
eye wandered across the snow-fields of the Yen-e-say, and
by the help of a binocular the little village of Koo-ray-i-ka
might be discerned about four miles off, on the opposite
bank of the great river. The land was undulating rather
than hilly, and everywhere covered with forest, the trees
reaching frequently two, and in some rare instances three
feet in diameter. The depth of the snow varied from four
to six feet; and travelling without snow-shoes, except on
the hard-trodden roads, was of course utterly impossible.

When we arrived at the ship, we found that it was still
winter, and were told that there had not been a sign of rain

THE YEN-E-SAY 257

since last autumn. April went by and May came in, but still
there was no sign of summer, except the arrival of some of
the earliest migratory birds. We generally had a cloudless
sky 5 and the sun was often burning hot. On the gth,
lOth, and i ith of May we had rain for the first time, and
the prospects of summer looked a little more hopeful. The
rest of May, however, was more dreary and wintry than
ever, alternations of hard frosts and driving snow-storms ;
but the river was slowly rising, and outside the thick centre
ice was a strip of thin, newly-frozen ice. There was, how-
ever, little or no change in the appearance of the snow.
Up to the end of May the forces of winter had gallantly
withstood the fiercest attacks of the sun, baffled at all points,
and entered into an alliance with the south wind, and a com-
bined attack was made upon the winter forces. The battle
raged for fourteen days, the battle of the Yen-e-say, the
great event of the year in this cold country, and certainly
the most stupendous display of the powers of nature that
it has ever been my lot to witness. On the morning of the
1st of June the pressure underneath the ice caused a large
field, about a mile long and a third of a mile wide, opposite
the lower angle of junction of the Koo-ray-i-ka and the
Yen-e-say, to break away. About half the mass found a pas-
sage down the strip of newly-formed thin ice, leaving open
water behind it. The other half rushed headlong on to the
steep banks of the river. The result of the collision was a
little range of mountains, fifty or sixty feet high, and pic-
turesque in the extreme. Huge blocks of ice, six feet
thick and twenty feet long, in many places, were standing
perpendicular, whilst others were crushed up into fragments
like broken glass ; and in many other places the ice was
piled up in layers one over the other. The real ice on the

258 THE YEN-E-SAY

river did not appear to have been thicicer than two or three
feet, clear as a glass, and blue as an Italian sky. Upon
the top of this was about four feet of white ice. This was
as hard as a rock, and had, no doubt, been caused by the
flooding of the snow when the waters of the river had risen,
and its subsequent freezing; Upon the top of the white
ice was eighteen inches of clean snow, which had evidently
never been flooded. When we turned into our berths in
the evening the captain thought it best to institute an
anchor-watch. We had scarcely been asleep an hour be-
fore the watch called us up with the intelligence that the
river was rising rapidly, and that the ice was beginning to
crack. We immediately dressed and went on deck. We
saw at once that the Yen-e-say was rising so rapidly that
it was beginning to flow up its tributaries. A strong cur-
rent was setting up the Koo-ray-i-ka, and small floes were
detaching themselves from the main body of the ice and
were running up the open water. By and by the whole
body of the Koo-ray-i-ka broke up and began to move up
stream. Some of the floes struck the ship some very ugly
blows on the stern, doing considerable damage to the rud-
der;, but open water was beyond, and we were soon out of
the press of ice, with, we hoped, no irretrievable injury.
All this time we had been getting steam up as fast as
possible, to be ready for any emergency. It was hopeless
to attempt to enter the creek opposite which we were
moored, and which was now only just beginning to fill
with water ; but on the other side of the river, across only
a mile of open water, was a haven of perfect safety. But,
alas ! when the ice had passed us, before we could get up
sufiicient steam, the river suddenly fell three feet, and left
aground by the stern, and immovable as a rock. Nor was

THE YEN-E-SAY 259

it possible, with a swift current running up the river at the
rate of four knots an hour, to swing the ship round so as to
secure the rudder against any further attacks of the ice.
Half a mile ahead of us, as we looked down the river, was
the edge of the Yen-e-say ice. The river was rising again ;
but before the stern was afloat we discovered, to our dis-
may, that another large field of ice had broken up ; and the
Koo-ray-i-ka was soon full of ice again. In the course of
the night the whole of the ice of Yen-e-say, as far as we
could see, broke up with a tremendous crash, and a dense
mass of ice-floes, pack-ice, and icebergs backed up the
Koo-ray-i-ka, and with irresistible force drove the Koo-
ray-i-ka ice before it. When it reached the ship, we
had but one alternative, to slip the anchor and let her
drive with the ice. For about a mile we had an exciting
ride, pitching and rolling as the floes of ice squeezed the
ship, and tried to lift her bodily out of the water, or crawl
up her sides like a snake. The rudder was soon broken to
pieces, and finally carried away. Some of the sailors
jumped on to the ice and scrambled ashore, whilst others
began to throw overboard their goods and chattels. Away
we went up the Koo-ray-i-ka, the ice rolling and tumbling
and squeezing along side, huge lumps climbing one on the
top of another, until we were finally jammed in a slight
bay, along with a lot of pack-ice. Early in the morning
the stream slackened, the river fell some five or six feet,
and the ice stood still. The ship went through the terrible
ordeal bravely. She made no water, and there was no evi-
dence of injury beyond the loss of the rudder. In the
evening the ship was lying amidst huge hummocks of ice,
almost high and dry. The Koo-ray-i-ka, and right across
the Yen-e-say, and southwards as far as the eye could reach

26o THE YEN-E-SAY

was one immense field of pack-ice, white, black, brown,
blue, green, piled in wild confusion as close as it could be
jammed. Northwards the Yen-e-say was not yet broken
up. All this time the weather was warm and foggy, with
very little wind, and occasional slight rain. There was a
perfect Babel of birds as an accompaniment to the crashing
of the ice. Gulls, geese, and swans were flying about in
all directions ; and their wild cries vied with the still wilder
screams of the divers. Flocks of red polls and shore larks,
and bramblings and wagtails in pairs, arrived, and added to
the interest of the scene. On the 2d of June there was
little or no movement in the ice until midnight, when an
enormous pressure from above came on somewhat suddenly,
and broke up the great field of ice to the north of the Koo-
ray-i-ka, but not to a sufficient extent to relieve the whole
of the pressure. The water in the Koo-ray-i-ka rose
rapidly. The immense field of pack-ice began to move up
stream at the rate of five or six knots an hour. The poor
ship was knocked and bumped along the rocky shore, and
a stream of water began to flow into the hold. At nine
o'clock all hands left her, and stood upon the snow on the
bank, expecting her instant destruction. The stream rose
and fell during the day ; but the leak, which was appar-
ently caused by the twisting of the stern-post, choked up.
Late in the evening an opportunity occurred of a few
hours' open water, during which steam was got up ; and by
the help of a couple of ropes ashore, the rudderless ship
was steered into the little creek opposite to which she
had wintered, and run ashore. Here the leak was after-
wards repaired and a new rudder made. We calculated
that about 50,000 acres of ice passed the ship up stream
during these two days; and we afterwards learned that

THE YEN-E-SAY 26 1

most of this ice got away some miles up the Koo-ray-i-ka,
where the banks are low, and was lost in the forest.

The battle of the Yen-e-say raged for about a fortnight.
The sun was generally burning hot in the daytime; but
every night there was more or less frost. The ice came
down the Yen-e-say at various spuds. Sometimes we
could see gigantic masses of pack-ice, estimated at twenty to
thirty feet in height, driven down the river at an incredible
pace, not less than twenty miles an hour. In the Koo-ray-
i-ka the scene was constantly changing. The river rose and
fell. Sometimes the pack-ice and floes were jammed so tight
together that it looked as if one might scramble across the
river without difficulty. At other times there was a good deal
of open water, and the icebergs " calved " as they went along
with much commotion and splashing, that could be heard
half a mile off. Underlayers of the iceberg ground ; and
after the velocity of the enormous mass has caused it to pass
on, the pieces left behind rise to the surface, like a whale
coming up to breathe. Some of these " calves " must come
up from a considerable depth. They rise up out of the
water with a great splash, and rock about for some time be-
fore they settle down to their floating level. At last the
final march past of the beaten winter-forces in this great
fourteen days' battle took place and for seven days more
the rag, tag, and bob-tail of the great Arctic army come
straggling down — warm and weather-beaten little icebergs,
dirty ice-floes that looked like mud-banks floating down,
and straggling pack-ice in the last stages of consumption.
The total rise of the river was upwards of seventy feet.

The moment that the snow disappeared vegetation sprang
up as if by magic, and the birds made preparations for
breeding. As we passed through Yen-e-saisk I bought a

262 THE YEN-E-SAY

schooner of a ship-builder of the name of Boiling, a Heli-
golander. I christened it the Ibis; and on the 29th of
June we left the Koo-ray-i-ka with this little craft in tow.
Our progress down the river, however, was one catalogue
of disasters, ending in our leaving the Thames on the 9th
of July a hopeless wreck, lying high and dry on a sand-
bank, in latitude 67". As we sailed northwards in the
Ibis, the forests became smaller and smaller, and disappeared
altogether about latitude 70°. The highest point we
reached was latitude 71^^°, where I sold the/foV to the cap-
tain of a Russian schooner, which had been totally wrecked
during the break-up of the ice.

On the 23rd of July I left Gol-chee-ka in the last Rus-
sian steamer up the river ; and reached Yen-e-saisk on the
14th of August. After a few days' delay I drove across
country to Tomsk, stopping a day or two in Kras-no-yarsk.
In Tomsk I found an excellent iron steamer, in which I
sailed down the river Tom into the Obb, down which we
steamed to its junction with the Eer-tish, up which we pro-
ceeded until we entered the Tob-ol, and afterwards steamed
up the Too-ra to Tyu-main, a distance by water of 2,200
miles. From the Tyu-main I drove through Ekatereenburg
across the Urals to Perm, where I took my passage on
board the Sam-o-lot, or self-flyer, down the Kama, and up
the Volga, to Nishni Novgorod.

THE YARROW

JOHN MACWfflRTER

YARROW and its vale form one of the high places of
the earth. In this age of cheap trips it is easy to
get there, and perhaps you don't think much of it as you
rattle through on the coach. There is many a Highland
scene incomparably grander. After all

" What's Yarrow, but a river bare.
That glides the dark hills under ?
There are a thousand such elsewhere.
As worthy of your wonder."

A word of dry description must commence. The Yarrow
Water is in Yarrow and Selkirk parishes of the country of
Selkirk. It rises in St. Mary's Loch, it courses therefrom
to its junction with Ettrick Water fourteen and a half miles,
when the latter gives its name to the united currents.
They are soon lost in the Tweed. Beyond St. Mary's
Loch, and separated from it by a narrow strip of land, is the
Loch o' the Lowes (or Lochs). It is about two miles in
length, and is fed by the Yarrow, which rises some two
miles higher up, though it is usually taken as beginning in
the large lake. In the lower reach the banks are wooded ;
farther up the hills are bare, soft, rounded, the stream is
clear and swift-flowing, with a musical note on its large and
small stones ; there is no growth of sedge or underwood,
but the fresh green grass stretches up the slope till it is lost
in the heather. Between the hills are glens down which
wind greater or smaller tributaries to the Yarrow. Each

264 THE YARROW

has its legend and its ruin. Dim, romantic, enticing, these
glens stretch away into the mysterious mountain solitude.
You begin your excursion from Selkirk, which is on Ettrick
Water, ten miles down stream from its junction with the
Yarrow, and two places soon take your attention, Carter-
haugh and Philiphaugh. There is a farm " toun," as they
name a steading in the north, that is called Carterhaugh ;
but what is meant here is a charming piece of greensward
and wood, that lies almost encircled by the two streams at
and near their meeting place. A very Faeryland ! and here
is laid the scene of the faery ballad of " The Young Tam-
lane." The song is very old ; it was well known in 1549,
as we learn from a chance mention in a work of the period.
It is a delicious poem, pure phantasy ; a very Mid-summer
Night's Dream, scarcely of the earth at all, far less dealing
with historical incident. The forgotten poet, lest he should
be all in the air, makes the young Tamlane son to Ran-
dolph, Earl Murray, and Fair Janet, daughter to Dunbar,
Earl March, but this is only because these were the noblest
names in Scotland, and he chooses Carterhaugh for his
stage ; as like as not he lived somewhere on the Yarrow,
and the stream sang in his ears as he built the song. Tam-
lane is nine when his uncle sends for him " to hunt and
hawk and ride," and on the way —

" There came a wind out o' the north,
A sharp wind and a snell.
And a dead sleep came over me.
And frae my horse I fell.
The Queen of the Fairies she was there.
And took me to herself."

On the left bank of the Yarrow, just across from Carter-

o
<

THE YARROW 265

haugh, is Philiphaugh. It is a large space of level ground,
and here the fortunes of the great Montrose and his High-
land army came to hopeless smash in the early morning of
13th September, 1645. Montrose had won six victories in
the Highlands, had been appointed Viceroy of Scotland,
and full of ill-placed confidence was preparing an invasion
of England. He spent the previous evening at ease in Sel-
kirk (they still show you the house) and was writing de-
spatches to the king, when he heard the sound of firing.
He galloped to the field and found everything practically
over ! David Leslie had been seeking him far and near for
some time, had found the camp and invaded it in a mist.
The Royalists were scattered ; Montrose — no one ever
counted cowardice among his vices — made a desperate effort
to retrieve the fortune of the day, but all in vain. Finally
he dashed through the opposing forces, galloped away up
the Yarrow, then by a wild mountain path, right over
Minchmoor, and drew not bridle till he dashed up to Tra-
quair House, sixteen miles from the battle-field. A num-
ber of prisoners were taken. The common lowland Scot
has still a certain contempt for the Highlander, whose ap-
preciation in the modern world is due to literature ; then he
looked upon him as an outcast and outlaw, "a broken
man," in the expressive phrase of an earlier day. The
captives were shot in the court-yard of Newark Castle, and
buried in a field still called Slain-mans-lee. Celtic troops
are very brave, but unless mixed with the steadier Saxon,
they don't seem reliable.

Still keeping on the left bank, follow the road by the
riverside and as before you come to two places, each with
an interest very different from the others. One is a ruined
house, a poor enough building at the best. An inscription

266 THE YARROW

tells you that Mungo Park (1771-1805) the African travel-
ler, was born and lived here. He saw^ Scott a little before
his last voyage, told how he dreaded leave-taking (he had
been recently married ! ) and that he meant to leave for
Edinburgh on some pretence or other and make his adieux
from there. On Williamhope ridge the two parted.

" I stood and looked back, but he did not," says Scott.
He had put his hand to the plough. Poor Mungo Park !
his discoveries seem little now-a-days, yet to me, he is
always the most attractive of African travellers, his life
the most interesting, his end the most melancholy. One
thinks how under the hot sun in those fearful swamps
he must have often remembered the cool delicious green
braes of his native Yarrow. But we turn our eyes to the
opposite bank and scarce need be told that the castle we
see, majestic, though in ruins, is " Newark's stately tower."
'Tis a great weather-beaten square keep, where Anna, relict
of the ill-fated Duke of Monmouth, lived for some years of
her widowed life. To her Scott's " Last Minstrel " sings his
lay. But the place was already centuries old. It was once
a hunting-seat of the Scots kings, when the whole region
was the densely wooded Ettrick Forest, and here there was
great sport with the wolf, the mountain bear, the wild-cat,
and all sorts of other small and large deer. Some place-
names still save the old memories, Oxcleugh, Durhame,
Hartleap, Hindshope, and so forth.

After Yarrow hamlet the land is more desolate, the
stream shrinks to a mountain burn, there are no more
clumps of trees, and the hills creep in near the water's
edge, and they are taller and steeper. You pass lofty
Mount Benger, near where Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd,
who loved and sang of those sweet vales, had a farm.

THE YARROW 267

Farther on the right bank is Altrive, where he afterwards
lived, and where he died. Almost opposite, the Douglas
Burn flows through a gloomy and solitary glen to Yarrow.
Follow this burn and you come to the ruins of Blackhouse
Tower. It was from here that Lord William and Lady
Margaret fled at midnight from Lord Douglas and his
seven sons. These were slain one by one, but it was only
when her lover began to press roughly on her father that
the lady interposed.

" Oh hold your hand. Lord William, she said.
For your strokes they are wondrous sair.
True lovers I can get many a one.
But a father I can never get mair."

An obvious if belated reflection ! 'Twas of no avail, the
father is left dead and dying, and the lady follows her
knight (" For ye've left me nae other guide," she says
somewhat bitterly). They light down at "yon wan
water" and his "gude heart's bluid" dyes the stream,
though he swears " 'Tis naething but the shadow of my
scarlet cloak." However, the lovers die that very night
and are buried in St. Marie's Kirke, and " a bonny red rose "
and a briar grew out of the grave and twined together to
the admiration of all who saw, but to the great wrath of
Black Douglas, who, a sworn foe to sentimentality,

" Pull'd up the bonny briar
And flang'd in St. Marie's Loch."

The wild path followed by the lovers over the hillside is
still to be traced, the place of the combat is marked by
seven stones; but again these are of an earlier date, and
again it would be useless to criticise the creation of the
fancy too curiously.

268 THE YARROW

And now we are at St. Mary's Loch, a beautiful sheet of
water three miles long and half a mile broad. At the head
of the loch is a monument to the Ettrick Shepherd. Near
the monument is St. Mary's Cottage, better known as
" Tibbie Shiel's," and scene of many a gay carouse of
Christopher North and his merry men, as you know very
well if you have read the Nodes Ambrosianae . The cottage
is still kept by a relative of the original Tibbie, as a
humble sort of an inn. If you are wise you will prefer it
to the large new Rodona hotel not far off. It has a touch
of the old times with its huge fireplace and box beds. It
is something to hear the local anecdote, how one morning
" after " Christopher or the shepherd, being more than ever
consumed with the pangs of thirst, in a burst of wild
desire, cried " Tibbie, bring ben the Loch." It is said
that Scott was never farther than the door. Scott, Hogg,
Wilson were, we all know, great writers, though to-day
Wilson is but little read, Hogg popular through one or two
lyrics, whilst Scott is more and more known with the years.
But each of the three had an impressive and attractive
personality — he is more than a writer, he is first of all
a man. Superior in interest to monument and cottage is St.
Mary's Kirk, which stands on a height on the left bank of
the loch. One should say stood, for nothing of it is left.
Here generations of martyrs and freebooters were carried,
and the heroes and heroines of so many of the tales and
ballads were laid to rest, but —

" St. Mary's Loch lies slumbering still.
But St. Mary's Kirk-bells lang dune ringing.
There's naething now but the grave-stone hill.
To tell o' a' their loud Psalm-singing."

THE YARROW 269

They still bury there, though at rare and distant intervals.
Hard by is Dryhope Tower. Here was born Mary
Scott, the " Flower of Yarrow." The romance of the
name caused this heroine to be incessantly be-rhymed
through all the subsequent centuries, but we don't know
much about her. She was married to Walter Scott of
Harden, a gentleman widely and justly renowned for his
skill in " lifting " other people's cattle. As a portion the
bride's father agreed to " find his son-in-law in man's meat
and horse's meat for a year and a day, five barons becoming
bound that, on the expiry of that period. Harden should
retire without compulsion." Not one of the parties to the
contract could write. A daughter of the " Flower of
Yarrow " was married to another freebooter called " Gilly
wi' the gouden garters." The bride was to remain at her
father's house for a year and a day, and in return Gilly
contracted to hand over the plunder of the first harvest
moon. By the way, there is rather a pretty though quite
untrustworthy tradition of the origin of the ballads con-
nected with the name of Mary Scott. In the spoils
brought home by her husband from one of his forays, was
a child. Him she took and reared. Of gentle nature, he
delighted to hear of and celebrate in songs the tragedies and
romances acted or repeated around him ; and so he,
" nameless as the race from whence he sprung, saved other
names and left his own unsung." The Meggat Water is
one of the many streams that fill the loch. On one of its
tributaries called Henderland-burn is a ruined tower, and
near it a large stone broken into three parts, on which you
may still make out the inscription, " Here lyes Perys of
Cockburne and his wyfe Marjory." Cockburne was in his
day a noted freebooter, and secure in his tower defied all

270 THE YARROW

attempts to bring him to justice. But James V. in his
famous progress through the Border-land, heard of his pro-
ceedings, and came right over the hills and down upon
Henderland, whose proprietor he found eating his dinner.
It was his last meal ; he was at once seized and strung up
before his own door. His wife fled and concealed herself
in a place called the Lady's seat, and when she recovered the
silence of the glen told her that the invaders had departed,
and she returned and buried her husband. One of the most
pathetic of the old ballads is said to be her lament

" But think na' ye my heart was sair.
When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair ;
O think na' ye my heart was wae.
When I turned about, awa' to gae."

By the way, gold was found in the glen here ; probably a
little might be extracted to-day ; but then it wouldn't pay
for the washing. Quite a different set of traditions deals
with the Covenanting period. Far up in the solitary side
glens were favourite meeting-places ; here the saints came
from far and near with Bible, and sword and gun, ready to
offer up their lives if need may be, but quite determined to
sell them as dearly as possible. Alas ! the minstrels were
not on their side, and no contemporary ballads tell the story
of the dangers and deaths, though those were dramatic
enough. In later times Hogg and Wilson did something to
weave them into song and story. It was near the loch of
the Lowes that Renwick preached his last sermon.
" When he prayed that day few of his hearers' cheeks were
dry." On the 17th February, 1688, " he glorified God in
the grass-market," as the old phrase ran.

And now one can understand how Yarrow came to its

THE YARROW 27 1

fame. Quieter, sweeter, softer than other vales, its green
braes, its delicious streams attracted the old singers who
preserved the memories of others' deeds. But why is
this music sad ? Well, most border ballads are little
tragedies, the strongest emotions are the saddest, and such
the singers preferred. And then one or two ballads gave a
decided tone to the others. The " Dowie Dens," in fact,
strikes the key-note of them all. William Hamilton, of
Bangour, and John Logan have both told a story of love
and death in excellent fashion in their poems on " The
Braes of Yarrow." As for the rest, Scott is chiefly de-
scriptive ; Wordsworth, in spite of an occasional line or
even verse of high excellence, is on the whole very poor;
and Alan Ramsay is exceedingly bad.

THE MISSISSIPPI
ALEXANDER D. ANDERSON

IN the early days of European discoveries and rivalries in
the Mississippi Valley its comprehensive river system
played a prominent part on the stage of public affairs. The
discovery of the river, in 1541, by De Soto and his Spanish
troops, was about a century later followed by explorations
by the French under the lead of Marquette, Joliet, La Salle
and others, who entered the valley from the north. La
Salle, during the years 1679-83, explored the river through-
out its whole length, took possession of the great valley in
the name of France, and called it Louisiana in honour of
his King, Louis XIV. Then resulted grand schemes for
developing the resources of the valley, which a French
writer characterized as " the regions watered by the Missis-
sippi, immense unknown virgin solitudes which the imag-
ination filled with riches." One Crozat, in 1712, secured
from the King a charter giving him almost imperial control
of the commerce of the whole Mississippi Valley. There
was at that date no European rival to dispute French dom-
ination, for the English of New England and the other At-
lantic colonies had not extended their settlements westward
across the AUeghanies, and the Spanish inhabitants of New
Spain or Mexico had not pushed their conquest farther
north than New Mexico. Crozat's trading privileges
covered an area many times as large as all France, and as
fertile as any on the face of the earth. But he was equal

0^

an

< 2

THE MISSISSIPPI 273

to the opportunity, and, failing in his efForts, soon sur-
rendered the charter.

John Law, a Scotchman, at first a gambler, and subse-
quently a bold, visionary, but brilliant financier, succeeded
Crozat in the privileges of this grand scheme, and secured
from the successor of Louis XIV. a monoply of the trade
and development of the French possessions in the valley.
In order to carry out his w^ild enterprise he organized a
colossal stock company, called " The Western Company,"
but more generally known in history as the " Mississippi
Bubble." According to the historian Monette " it was
vested with the exclusive privilege of the entire commerce
of Louisiana and New France, and with authority to en-
force its rights. It was authorized to monopolize the trade
of all the colonies in the provinces, and of all the Indian
tribes within the limits of that extensive region, even to the
remotest source of every stream tributary in anywise to the
Mississippi." So skilful and daring were his manipulations
that he bewitched the French people with the fascinations
of stock gambling. The excitement in Paris is thus de-
scribed by Thiers :

" It was no longer the professional speculators and cred-
itors of the Government who frequented the rue Quincam-
poix ; all classes of society mingled there, cherishing the
same illusions — noblemen famous on the field of battle,
distinguished in the Government, churchmen, traders, quiet
citizens, and servants whom their suddenly acquired fortune
had filled with the hope of rivalling their masters."

The rue Quincampoix was called the Mississippi. The
month of December was the time of the greatest infatua-
tion. The shares ended by rising to eighteen and twenty
thousand francs — thirty-six and forty times the first price.

274 THE MISSISSIPPI

At the price which they had attained, the six hundred
thousand shares represented a capital of ten or twelve bil-
lions of francs.

But the bubble soon burst; and its explosion upset the
finances of this whole kingdom. Some years later, in 1745,
a French engineer named Deverges made a report to his
Government in favour of improving the mouth of the Mis-
sissippi, and stated that the bars there existing were a se-
rious injury to commerce.

But France met with too powerful rivalry in the valley,
and in 1762 and 1763, after a supremacy of nearly a hun-
dred years, was crowded out by the English from the At-
lantic colonies and the Spaniards from the south-west, the
Mississippi River forming the dividing line between the re-
gions acquired by those two nations. The Spanish officials,
for the purpose of promoting colonization, and to aid in es-
tablishing trading-posts on the Mississippi, Missouri, Ar-
kansas, Red, and other rivers in the western half of the
valley, granted to certain individuals, pioneers, and settlers,
large tracts of land. They made little progress, however,
in peopling their new territory.

But whatever progress was made under the successive
supremacies 'of France and Spain, the Mississippi and its
navigable tributaries supplied the only highways of com-
munication and commerce.

In the year 1800, soon after Napoleon I. became the
civil ruler of France, he sought to add to the commercial
glory of his country by re-acquiring the territory resting
upon the Mississippi which his predecessors had parted
with in 1763.

To quote the language of a French historian : " The
cession that France made of Louisiana to Spain in 1763

THE MISSISSIPPI 275

had been considered in all our maritime and com-
mercial cities as impolitic and injurious to the interests of
our navigation, as well as to the French West Indies, and
it was very generally wished that an opportunity might oc-
cur of recovering that colony. One of the first cares of
Bonaparte was to renew with the court of Madrid a nego-
tiation on that subject."

He succeeded in these negotiations, and by secret treaty
of St. Ildefonso, in 1800, French domination was once more
established over the great river.

Two years later, the commerce of the river had grown to
large proportions. Says Marbois, of that period : " No rivers
of Europe are more frequented than the Mississippi and
tributaries." A substantially correct idea of their patronage
may be obtained from the record of the foreign commerce
from the mouth of the Mississippi, for nearly all of the
commodities collected there for export had first iloated
down the river.

Marbois well illustrates the intense indignation at this
order on the part of the Western people by attributing to
them the following language : " The Mississippi is ours
by the law of nature ; it belongs to us by our numbers, and
by the labour which we have bestowed on those spots
which before our arrival were desert and barren. Our in-
numerable rivers swell it and flow with it into the Gulf
Sea. Its mouth is the only issue which nature has given
to our waters, and we wish to use it for our vessels. No
power in the world shall deprive us of this right."

Of Morales's order James Madison, then Secretary of
State, wrote the official representative of the United States
at the court of Spain :

" You are aware of the sensibility of our Western citi-

276 THE MISSISSIPPI

zens to such an occurrence. This sensibility is justified by
the interest they have at stake. The Mississippi to them
is everything. It is the Hudson, the Delaware, the Poto-
mac, and all the navigable rivers of the Atlantic States
formed into one stream."

At this time Thomas Jefferson was President, and in
view of the uneasiness of the Western settlers, he hastened
to send to France a special ambassador to negotiate for the
purchase of the Louisiana Territory. The opportunity was
a favourable one, for France was then in danger of a con-
flict with Great Britain. The latter country had become
alarmed at and jealous of Bonaparte's commercial conquests,
and he, apprehending war and fearing that he could not hold
Louisiana, had about determined to do the next best thing
— dispose of it to one of England's rivals.

Marbois, the historian of Louisiana, from whom we have
above quoted, was chosen by Napoleon to represent France
in the negotiations with the representative of the United
States sent by Jefferson. His account of the cession — the
consultation between Napoleon and his ministers — and of
his remarks and motives, forms one of the most instructive
and interesting chapters of modern history. Napoleon fore-
shadowed his action by the following remark to one of his
counsellors :

" To emancipate nations from the commercial tyranny
of England it is necessary to balance her influence by a
maritime power that may one day become her rival ; that
power is the United States. The English aspire to dispose
of all the riches of the world. I shall be useful to the
whole universe if I can prevent their ruling America as
they rule Asia."

In a subsequent conversation with two of his ministers.

THE MISSISSIPPI 277

on the loth of April, 1803, on the s.ubject of the proposed
cession, he said in speaking of England : " They shall not
have the Mississippi which they covet."

In accordance with this conclusion, on the 30th day of
the same month, the sale was made to the United States.
When informed that his instructions had been carried out
and the treaty consummated, he remarked :

" This accession of territory strengthens forever the power
of the United States, and I have just given to England a
maritime rival that will sooner or later humble her pride."

Under the stimulating influence of American enterprise
the commerce of the valley rapidly developed. In 1812 it
entered upon a new era of progress by the introduction for
the first time upon the waters of the Mississippi of steam
transportation.

The river trade then grew from year to year, until the
total domestic exports of its sole outlet at the sea-board —
the port of New Orleans — had during the fiscal year
1855-56 reached the value of over $80,000,000. Its pres-
tige was then eclipsed by railways, the first line reaching
the Upper Mississippi in 1854, and the second the Lower
Mississippi, at St. Louis in 1857. ^^7* Poor :

" The line first opened in this state from Chicago to the
Mississippi was the Chicago and Rock Island, completed
in February, 1854. The completion of this road extended
the railway system of the country to the Mississippi, up to
this time the great route of commerce of the interior. This
work, in connection with the numerous other lines since
opened, has almost wholly diverted this commerce from
what may be termed its natural to artificial channels, so
that no considerable portion of it now flowed down the
river to New Orleans."

278 THE MISSISSIPPI

The correctness of. this assertion may be seen by refer-
ence to the statistics of the total domestic exports of New
Orleans during the year ending June 30, 1879. They
were ^63,794,000 in value, or ^16,000,000 less than in
1856, when the rivalry with railways began.

But since 1879 the river has entered upon a new and
important era. The successful completion of the jetties by
Capt. Jas. B. Eads inaugurated a new era of river com-
merce and regained for it some of its lost prestige.

Another step of great importance to the welfare of the
Mississippi was taken about this time. The control of its
improvement was transferred by Congress to a board of
skilled engineers known as the Mississippi River Commis-
sion. The various conflicting theories of improvement
which have for years past done much to defeat the grand
consummation desired will now be adjusted in a scientific
and business-like manner.

Again, the rapidly growing popular demand throughout
the United States for more intimate commercial relations
with Mexico and the several sister nations of Central and
South America, which lie opposite the mouth of this great
River System, is stimulating the long-neglected longitude
trade and thereby creating a new demand for new transpor-
tation on the longitudinal water-ways which comprise the
Mississippi and its tributaries.

The Mississippi and tributaries considered as a drainage
system, extend nearly the whole length of the United States
from Canada to the Gulf, and across more than half its
width, or from the summit of the Rocky Mountains to that
of the AUeghanies.

Steamers can now transport freight in unbroken bulk
from St. Anthony's Falls to the Gulf of Mexico, a distance

THE MISSISSIPPI 279

of 2,161 miles, and from Pittsburg to Fort Benton, Mont.,
4,333 miles. Lighter craft can ascend the Missouri to
Great Falls, near where that river leaves the Rocky Moun-
tains.

THE ZAMBESI
HENRY DRUMMOND

ZAMBESI, the most important river on the East Coast
of Africa, and the fourth largest on the continent,
drains during its course of about 1,200 miles an area of
600,000 square miles. Its head-streams, which have not
yet been fully explored, are the Leeambye, or lambaji, ris-
ing in Cazembe's country; the Lungebungo, which de-
scends from the Mossamba Mountains; and the Leeba
River, from the marshy Lake Dilolo (4,740 feet), situated
between 10° and 12° south latitude and 22° and 23° east
longitude. These three rivers, reinforced by the Nhengo,
unite to form the upper Zambesi (Leeambye), which flows
at first southwards and slightly eastwards through the Barotse
valley, then turns prominently to the east near its junction
with the Chobe (Chuando or Linianti), and passes over the
Victoria Falls. Thence, as the middle reach of the Zam-
besi, the river sweeps north-east towards Zumbo and the
Kebrabassa rapids above Tete, and finally forms the lower
Zambesi, which curves southwards until it reaches the In-
dian Ocean at 18° 50' south latitude. Fed chiefly from
the highland country which stretches from Lake Nyassa to
inner Angola, its chief tributaries are the Loangwa and the
Shire, the last an important river draining out of Lake
Nyassa, and which in the dry season contains probably as
great a volume of water as the Zambesi, and is much more
navigable. Except for an interruption of seventy miles at

<

TH£ ZAMBESI 281

the Murchison cataracts, the Shire is open throughout its
entire length to the lake.

On the whole the Zambesi has a gentle current, and
flows through a succession of wide fertile valleys and richly
wooded plains; but, owing to the terrace-like structure of
the continent, the course of the river is interrupted from
point to point by cataracts and rapids. These form serious,
and in some cases insurmountable, hindrances to navi-
gation. Those on the lower Zambesi begin with its delta.
The bar here was long held to be impassable, except to ves-
sels of the shallowest draught, but the difficulty was exag-
gerated partly through ignorance and partly in the interests
of the Portuguese settlement of Quilimane, which, before
the merits of the Kongone entrance were understood, had
been already established on the Qua-qua River, sixty miles
to the north. The Zambesi is now known to have four
mouths, the Milambe to the west, the Kongone, the Leeabo,
and the Timbwe. The best of these, the Kongone, has
altered and the channel improved recently. There are at
least eighteen feet of water on the bar at high water neap
tides ; and steamers drawing iifteen feet, and sailing vessels
drawing three feet less, have no difficulty in entering. The
deep water continues only a short distance, and, after
Mazaro (sixty miles) is reached, where the river has already
dwindled to the breadth of a mile, the channel is open in
the dry season as far as Senna (120 miles from the mouth)
for vessels drawing four and one-half feet. Up to this point
navigation could only be successfully and continuously car-
ried on by vessels of much lighter draught — stern-wheelers
for preference with a draught of little more than eighteen
inches. About ninety miles from Senna the river enters
the Lupata gorge, the impetuous current contracting between

282 THE ZAMBESI

walls to a width of scarcely 200 yards. Passing Tete (240
miles from the mouth with a smooth course) the channel
becomes dangerous at Kebrabassa, ninety miles further on.
From the Kebrabassa rapids upwards, and past the Victoria
Falls, there are occasional stretches of navigable water ex-
tending for considerable distances, while the upper Zambesi
with its confluents and their tributaries forms a really fine
and extensive waterway. Like the Nile, the Zambesi is
visited by annual inundations, during which the whole
country is flooded and many of the minor falls and rapids
are then obliterated.

The chief physical feature of the Zambesi is the Mosi-
oa-tunya (" smoke sounds there ") or Victoria Falls, admitted
to be one of the noblest waterfalls in the world. The cat-
aract is bounded on three sides by ridges 300 or 400 feet
high, and these, along with many islands dotted over the
stream, are covered with sylvan vegetation. The falls, ac-
cording to Livingstone, are caused by a stupendous crack
or rent, with sharp and almost unbroken edges, stretching
right across the river in the hard black basalt which here
forms the bed. The cleft is 360 feet in sheer depth and
close upon a mile in length. Into this chasm, or more than
twice the depth of Niagara, the river rolls with a deafening
roar, sending up vast columns of spray, which are visible
for a distance of twenty miles. Unlike Niagara, the Mosi-
oa-tunya does not terminate in an open gorge, the river im-
mediately below the fall being blocked at eighty yards by
the opposing side of the (supposed) cleft running parallel to
the precipice which forms the waterfall. The only outlet
is a narrow channel cut in this barrier at a point 1,170
yards from the western end of the chasm and some 600
from its eastern, and through this the Zambesi, now only

THE ZAMBESI 283

twenty or thirty yards wide, pours for 120 yards before
emerging into the enormous zigzag trough which conducts
the river past the basalt plateau.

The region drained by the Zambesi may be represented
as a vast broken-edged plateau 3,000 or 4,000 feet high,
composed in the remote interior of metamorphic beds and
fringed with the igneous rocks of the Victoria Falls. At
Shupanga, on the lower Zambesi, thin strata of grey and
yellow sandstone, with an occasional band of limestone,
crop out on the bed of the river in the dry season, and
these persist beyond Tete, where they are associated with
extensive seams of coal. Gold is also known to occur in
several places.

The higher regions of the Zambesi have only been visited
by one or two explorers ; and the lower, though nominally
in possession of the Portuguese since the beginning of the
Sixteenth Century, are also comparatively little known.
The Barotse valley, or valley of the upper Zambesi, is a vast
pastoral plain, 3,300 feet above sea-level, about 189 miles
in length and thirty to thirty-five broad. Though inundated
in the rainy season, it is covered with villages and supports
countless herds of cattle. The Luiwas who inhabit it are
clothed with skins, work neatly in ivory, and live upon
milk, maize, and sweet potatoes. In the neighbourhood of
the falls the tsetse fly abounds; and the Batoka people
who live there, and who are the only arboriculturists in the
country, live upon the products of their gardens. Zumbo,
on the north bank, and Chicova, opposite on the southern
side (500 miles above the delta), were the farthest inland of
the Portuguese East African settlements, and are well placed
for commerce with the natives. Founded by Pereira, a
native of Goa, these settlements were ultimately allowed to

284 THE ZAMBESI

go to ruins; but Zumbo has been recently reoccupied.
The once celebrated gold mines of Parda Pemba are in the
vicinity. The only other Portuguese settlements on the
Zambesi are Tete and Senna. Tete, formerly a large and
important place, now nearly in ruins, still possesses a fort and
several good tiled stone and mud houses. Thither Portu-
guese goods, chiefly wines and provisions, are carried by
means of canoes. The exports, which include ivory, gold
dust, wheat, and ground-nuts, are limited owing to the diffi-
culty of transport ; but this difficulty is not insurmountable,
for Tete has been twice visited by some small steam vessels.
Senna, further down the river, a neglected and unhealthy
village, has suffered much from political mismanagement,
and has ceaseless troubles with the Landeens or Zulus, who
own the southern bank of the river, and collect in force
every year to exact a heavy tribute-money. The industrial
possibilities of the lower Zambesi, and indeed of the whole
river system, are enormous. India-rubber, indigo, archil,
beeswax, and columbo root are plentiful, and oil-seeds and
sugar-cane could be produced in sufficient quantity to sup-
ply the whole of Europe.

The Zambesi region was known to the mediaeval geog-
raphers as the empire of Monomotapa, and the course of
the river, as well as the position of Lakes N'gami and
Nyassa, was filled in with a rude approximation to accuracy
in the earlier maps. These were probably constructed
from Arab information. The first European to visit the
upper Zambesi was Livingstone in his exploration from
Bechuanaland between 1851 and 1853. Two or three years
later he descended the Zambesi to its mouth and in the
course of this journey discovered the Victoria Falls. In
1859, accompanied by Dr. Kirk (now Sir John Kirk), Liv-

THE ZAMBESI 285

ingstone ascended the river as far as the falls, after tracing
the course of its main tributary, the Shire, and discovering
Lake Nyassa. The mouths of the Zambesi were long
claimed exclusively by the Portuguese, but in 1888 the
British Government opened negotiations with Portugal to
have the river declared free to all nations.

THE URUGUAY

ERNEST WILLIAM WHITE

THE River Uruguay, a health-giving stream impreg-
nated with sarsaparilla, and the lesser of the two
aiQuents which swell into the mighty La Plata, possesses
charms for the traveller, denied to the greater, the Parana,
at least in the lower part of its course; the water is clearer,
the range not so vast, the scenery more varied and pictur-
esque, whilst the traces of industry are more patent and the
difficulties and dangers of its navigation add a piquancy
unicnown to the sister waters.

As its shores were to me as yet an unknown region, I
determined to spend a fortnight in becoming familiar with
their beauties, so on the morning of the 25th of December,
in the midst of a glorious summer season, a friend joined
me in taking return tickets from Buenos Ayres to Concor-
dia, Entre Rios, which at the then state of the tide, was
the furthest point upwards that a steamer could reach.

During breakfast we pretty well lose sight of the Argen-
tine coast and have nothing before us but a broad fresh-
water ocean covered with innumerable blue-flowered came-
lotes, consisting chiefly of Pontederia^ which spread their
broad leaves as sails to speed them on their course ; these
nesine fragments descend the Parana but are unknown on
the bosom of the Uruguay. On our right side soon rises a
long low ridge of sand indicating the Banda Oriental coast,
terminating opposite the island of Martin Garcia, in cliffs

THE URUGUAY 287

resembling those of loved Albion. Calm as the Thames at
London bridge is all this mighty estuary ; it is not always so
however, but on this holy day of peace

" The winds with wonder whist
Smoothly the waters kissed ! "

And it is only by sailing over it in the glare of daylight that
any adequate impression of its vastness can be obtained.
Whence comes all this overflowing tide? is a question
readily answered by the rigid scientist, but with whose con-
clusions, the imagination rests not satisfied.

After leaving the outer roads of Buenos Ayres, but little
shipping is met with, and the reflection immediately occurs,
how different the case would be, were this magnificent
water-highway in the hands of the Anglo-Saxon race. On
finding ourselves nearly abreast of Martin Garcia, the Ar-
gentine coast magically arose under a strong mirage, the
trees appearing suspended in the air and completely separ-
ated from the shore line ; whilst a shoal several miles in ex-
tent threatening our port bow, indicated the necessity of
hugging the island, if we would avoid the fate of a fine
bark which lay rotting only a few yards off.

The navigation is extremely perilous especially at low
water and yet but a few buoys are visible, an unaccount-
able omission, at least in times of peace. A boat contain-
ing the comandante sallies from the fort and we, in common
with all other passing vessels, are obliged to lie to, in order
to await its visit.

Martin Garcia, at once the Norfolk island and Gibraltar
of the River Plate, is the key of the common entrance to
both the Parana and Uruguay, as their bifurcation occurs
farther north; and the channel, whose character may be

288 THE URUGUAY

surmised from its name " Hell channel" passes within easy
reach of the guns of this sentinel of the rivers, which has
been strongly fortified by the Argentine government. A
barren looking granitic tract, whence are quarried the ado-
quines (paving stones) for the streets of the metropolis, with
low sandy shores, rising in the interior to the height of two
hundred feet and bristling with permanent fortifications and
earthworks, it presents a standing menace to dispute with
intruders entrance by water into the heart of the republic.
On entering the River Uruguay, which has an embouchure
of about thirteen miles, both banks are visible and very
striking differences they present ; the right or Entre-Riano
shore is well-wooded and clothed with vegetation, whilst
the left or Montevidean lies in all its naked barrenness.
Further on, the Banda Oriental coast alters its character,
being fringed with islands and less sandy ; then jut out into
the river a succession of bold bluffs, almost all with a bloody
history, covered with a scanty verdure emerging from sand,
presenting a close general resemblance to the southern shore
of the Isle of Wight ; and these promontories are usually
dotted with estancias. Casting our eyes across the broad
waters, we notice a change there likewise ; long reefs of
sand exchange verdure for sterility, and it is a remarkable
circumstance throughout our whole progress up the Uru-
guay, that the two shores bear continually opposite or, so to
speak, complimentary characters, not only physically and
politically but botanically ; when one is bold or fertile, the
other is low or sterile. We now pass several wrecks, at-
testing the difficulties which beset our watery path.

Rounding a point, we suddenly come upon what looks
uncommonly like an English fishing-village, with its craft
quietly reposing in a snug bay j the church and cemetery

THE URUGUAY 289

topping our eminence, whilst the residence of the lord of
the manor caps another, and learn that this is Nueva Pal-
mira. The Oriental flag here boards us for the first time
and the Easterns got rid of, the Saturno is again let loose
on her orbit to hug the Montevidean coast, which now de-
scends again to long reaches of low flat sands, with a
broader stream, forming extensive sabulous, and in some
cases well-wooded islands, which stretch leagues upon
leagues along this left bank. A glorious moon, within two
days of the full, succeeded one of the angriest yet finest of
sunsets, and her rays, falling full upon the capacious bosom
of the placid river transformed it into a lake of burnished
silver. At about 9 p. m. we arrive off the mouth of the
Rio Negro (Black River), called thus because the decaying
sarsaparilla roots, with which its banks are lined, impreg-
nate and discolour the waters and at the same time render
them so highly medicinal as to attract great numbers of
bathers to its shores.

As the rising sun's disk was cut in twain by the horizon,
I started upon deck to view the landscape. We were
coursing through numberless islands, with a scenery on
both banks exactly like that of the Suffolk river Orwell,
but with an atmosphere O ! how different ! ours was as
the balm of Eden, theirs, the nipping dry Eoic. The
breadth of the stream is here about half a mile, and the
moderately elevated banks are clothed with vivid green to
the water's edge; then as the river narrows again, we
traverse a beautiful j$!gean, whose innumerable islets are
thickly wooded, principally with Espinillo {Acacia cavenid)^
Tala (Celtis Sellowiana), the willow of Humboldt, Ceibo
{Erythrina cristagalli) and Laurel ; but which, to my utter
astonishment, presented scarcely any trace of animal life ;

290 THE URUGUAY

hardly a dozen butterflies, a chimango or two, and a few
weary-looking butcher-birds were its sole visible representa-
tives. About 6 A. M., whilst passing through low jungle we
sight our first city on the Argentine side, Concepcion del Uru-
guay, the capital of the province of Entre Rios ; and enter-
ing a deep channel scarce a hundred yards broad, flanked
by a double row of poplars, emerge in front of the splendid
Saladero^ of Santa Candida.

Ten miles above Paysandu, the river expands into a broad
belt clear as a mirror, in which the sky, distant foliage and
hills are brilliantly reflected, the air changes and bathed in
tropical fragrance and balminess, the intensely vivid verdure
springs up magically around us.

At the junction of the Queguay, an oriental affluent with
the main stream, which at this point has a breadth of about
half a mile are planted several Saladeros, apparently hard at
work ; but whether the palms are scared by the scent of
blood or refuse to witness the daily holocaust, certain it is
that they here suddenly vanish from the scene. Twenty
miles above this rises a veritable Tarpeia in the shape of a
very lofty, bold, perpendicular-faced mass jutting into the
river from the Uruguay coast, and which, with a refinement
of cruelty and a just appreciation of history, was actually
used by a general in one of the periodic revolutions to which
this unhappy country is so subject, wherefrom to hurl his
prisoners. Two picturesque islands, circular, rising ab-
ruptly out of the water, apparently exactly equal in size
and shape, and hence styled " Las dos hermanas " (the two
sisters), stand as advanced guards to this precipitous promon-
tory, and by their intensely green verdure to the river's
edge and smooth mathematical uniformity, offer a pleasing
' Slaughter-house.

THE URUGUAY 29 I

contrast to the rugged, battered and blackened face of the
cliff.

We hold our breath as with a quick turn and dart through
the seething flood, our clever steersman pilots us through
dangers greater than ever Sylla and Charybdis offered, and
leaves us at leisure to survey the prosperous cattle farms,
which, on both banks, now line our approach to Concordia.

At length about 5 p. m., after a passage of thirty-one
hours and at a distance of 300 miles from Buenos Ayres,
we sight the town of Concordia on the right bank, and at
almost the same moment Salto, on the left, which, rising
tier upon tier, very much resembles Bath ; these two occupy
almost the same relative positions as Buda and Pesth on the
Danube.

From its junction with the Parana, the Uruguay is
navigable at all states of the tide as far as Concordia, but
some miles above that city occur the Falls of Salto-grande
and numerous rapids which render it unnavigable to steam-
ers from below, except in times of extraordinary freshets
between which an interval of years sometimes elapses ;
whilst above these, although still sown with rapids, the river
is navigable but to vessels of smaller draught.

From the marvellous accounts I had listened to, I ex-
pected to behold in these Falls another Niagara, but great
was my disappointment on viewing them for the first time,
for although very picturesque, they struck me as completely
wanting in the grandeur with which my imagination had
clothed them. Extending for about a mile longitudinally,
they consist on the northern limit of a transverse bar of
boulders which cause a perpendicular descent of about
twenty-five feet ; then a succession of rugged rocks, some-
times of very fantastic shape, pile Pelion on Ossa, amongst

292 THE URUGUAY

which the river surges and eddies. The reef spreads com-
pletely across the river, a distance of about a quarter of a
mile, so that in some states of the tide, it is possible to pass
on foot from Entre Rios to the Banda Oriental, at all times
a difficult, nay dangerous, undertaking. An island formed
of massive boulders occupies the centre, on which a few
dwarfed trees struggle for an aquatic existence. Here are
found splendid agates, blocks of rock crystal, amethysts
and other precious stones ; and there lie naked on the blis-
tering rocks, those rusty and silent mementos of Garibaldi's
unsuccessful expedition in 1840 when, to cross the rapids,
he was obliged to throw overboard ten eighteen-pounder
iron guns.

By contemplating the scene, however, it grows in magni-
tude and sublimity.

THE TWEED
SIR THOMAS DICK LAUDER

THE great valley which affords a course for the Tweed,
when taken in conjunction with those minor branch
valleys which give passage to its various tributaries, may be
called the great Scoto-Arcadian district of pastoral poetry
and song. Who could enumerate the many offerings which
have been made to the rural muses in this happy country ?
for where there are poetry and song, happiness must be pre-
supposed, otherwise neither the one nor the other could have
birth.

During those barbarous times, when border raids were in
continual activity, and when no one on either side of the
marches, or debatable land, could lay down his head to sleep
at night, without the chance of having to stand at his de-
fense, or perhaps to mount and ride ere morning, the valleys
of the Tweed and its tributaries must have witnessed many
strange and stirring events and cruel slaughters. To defend
themselves from these predatory incursions the Scottish
monarchs erected strong castles along the lower part of the
course of the Tweed, and the chain of these places of
strength was carried upwards, quite to the source of the
streams by the various land owners. These last were
either Towers or Peels — these different names being given,
rather to distinguish the structures as to their magnitude and
importance, than from any great difference of plan — the
Tower possessing greater accommodations and being much
the larger and more impregnable in strength of the two.

294 THE TWEED

These strongholds, being intended for the general advan-
tage and preservation of all the inhabitants of the valley, were
built alternately on both sides of the river, and in a con-
tinued series, so as to have a view^ one of another ; so that
a fire kindled on the top of any one of them, was immedi-
ately responded to, in the same way, by all the others in
succession ; the smoke giving the signal by day and the
flame by night — ^thus spreading the alarm through a whole
country of seventy miles in extent, in the provincial phrase,
from " Berwick to the Bield," — and to a breadth of not less
than fifty miles carrying alarm into the uppermost parts of
every tributary glen.

Availing ourselves of the quaint language of Dr. Penne-
cuick, we now beg to inform our readers that " The famous
Tweed hath its first spring or fountain nearly a mile to the
east of the place where the shire of Peebles marches and
borders with the stewartry of Annandale — that is Tweed's
Cross, so called from a cross which stood and was erected
there in the time of Popery, as was ordinary, in all the
eminent places of public roads in the kingdom before our
Reformation. Both Annan and Clyde have their first rise
from the same height, about half a mile from one another,
where Clyde runneth west, Annan to the south, and Tweed
to the east." There is some little exaggeration, however,
in the old Doctor here — for there is, in reality, no branch of
Clyde within two miles of Tweed's Cross, or Errickstane
Brae. Tweed's Well is not very far from the great road ;
and the site of Tweed's Cross is 1,632 feet above the level
of the sea. " Tweed runneth for the most part with a soft,
yet trotting stream, towards the north-east, the whole length
of the country, in several meanders, passing first through
the Paroch of Tweeds-moor, the place of its birth, then

a

THE TWEED 295

running eastwards, it watereth the parishes of Glenholm,
Druntielzear, Broughton, Dawick, Stobo, Lyne, Manner,
Peebles, Traquair, Innerleithen, and from thence in its
course to the March at Galehope-burn, where, leaving
Tweeddale, it beginneth to water the forest on both sides,
a little above Elibank."

The Banks of the Tweed abound in simple rural charms
as you proceed downwards from Elibank Tower, and they
partake of that peaceful pastoral character which its green
sided hills bestow upon it.

We now come to that part of the course of the Tweed,
extending from its junction with the united rivers Ettrick
and Yarrow to the mouth of Gala Water. The estate of Ab-
botsford makes up a large part of the whole. The part of
it that borders the Tweed consists of a large and very
beautiful flat haugh, around the margin of which the river
flows gently and clearly over its beds of sparkling pebbles.

The angling from Gala Water foot to Leader foot is all
excellent, both for salmon and trout, when the river is in
proper condition ; and then the beauty and interest of all
the surrounding features of nature and the silent grandeur
of the holy pile of ruin are such that even the unsuccessful
angler must find pleasure in wandering by the river-side,
quite enough to counterbalance the disappointment of empty
baskets.

Sir Walter Scott says : — •

" If thou would'st view fair Mekose aright.
Go visit it by the pale moonlight ;
For the gay beams of lightsome day
Gild but to flout the ruins grey.
When the broken arches are black in night.
And each shafted oriel glimmers white ;

296 THK TWEED

When the cold lights' uncertain shower

Streams on the ruined central tower ;

When buttress and buttress alternately.

Seemed framed of ebon and ivory j

When silver edges the imagery.

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ;

When the distant Tweed is heard to rave

And the howlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave ;

Then go — but go alone the while —

Then view St. David's ruined pile ;

And, home returning, soothly swear

Was never scene so sad and fair."

Before leaving this section of the Tweed, we must not
forget to mention that the Knights Templars had a house
and establishment on the east side of the village' of New-
stead. It was called the Red Abbey, Before concluding
this part of our subject, it appears to us to be very impor-
tant, if not essential, to call our readers' especial attention to
the singular promontory of Old Melrose on the right bank
of the river. It is a high bare head, around which the river
runs in such a way as to convert it into a peninsula. Here
it was that the first religious settlement was made. This
monastery was supposed to have been founded by Columbus
or by Aidan, probably about the end of the Sixth Century.
It would appear that it was built of oak wood, thatched with
reeds, the neck of land being enclosed with a stone wall.
It is supposed to have been burned by the Danes. The
name given to it was decidedly Celtic and quite descriptive
of its situation — Maol-Ros, signifying Bare Promontory —
and from this the more recent Abbey and the whole of the
more modern parish of Melrose have derived their name.

We now come to a very beautiful, nay, perhaps, we

THE TWEED 297

ought to say the most beautiful part of the Tweed, where it
meanders considerably, as it takes its general course in a
bold sweep round the parish of Merton. On its north side
the ground rises to a very considerable height in cultivated
and wooded hills. From several parts of the road that
winds over it, most magnificent views are enjoyed up the
vale of the Tweed including Melrose and the Eildon Hills ;
and then at the same time, these rising grounds and the
southern banks, which are likewise covered with timber,
give the richest effect of river scenery to the immediate
environs of the stream.

We scarcely know a place anyvvhere which is so thor-
oughly embowered in grand timber as Dryburgh Abbey.
The most beautiful fragment of the ruin is that which is
called Saint Mary's Aisle, which formed the south aisle of
the transept ; and let it not be approached save with that
holy awe which is inspired by the recollection of the illus-
trious dead! for here repose the ashes of the immortal Sir
Walter Scott !

Below Dryburgh Lord Polwarth's property of Merton be-
gins and runs for about two miles down the Tweed. As
you approach the place of Mackerston, the immediate bed
of the stream becomes more diversified by rocks, both on
its side and in its channel. The Duke of Roxburgh's fish-
ings stretch for nearly four miles to a point about half a
mile below Kelso.

Nothing can surpass the beauty of the scene when looked
at from Kelso bridge. And then when it is taken from
other points, the bridge itself, the ruined abbey, the build-
ings of the town, with the wooded banks and the broad
river form a combination of objects, harmonizing together,
which are rarely to be met with. Each particular descrip-

298 THE TWEED

tion of scenery requires to be judged of and estimated ac-
cording to its own merits. You cannot, with any good
effect or propriety, compare a wild, mountainous and rocky
highland scene with a rich, lowland district. But this we
will say, that, of all such lowland scenes, we know of none
that can surpass the environs of Kelso; for whilst the mind
is there filled with all those pleasing associations with peace
and plenty, which such scenes are generally more or less
calculated to inspire, there are many parts of it which would
furnish glowing subjects for the artist. Here the Tweed is
joined by the Teviot ; and we shall finish this part of our
subject by those beautiful lines froni Teviot's own poet,
Leyden, in his Scenes of Infancy : —

" Bosomed in woods where mighty rivers run,
Kelso's fair vale expands before the sun ;
Its rising downs in vernal beauty swell.
And, fringed with hazel, winds each flowery dell ;
Green spangled plains to dimpling lawns succeed
And Tempe rises on the banks of Tweed.
Blue o'er the river Kelso's shadow lies.
And copse-clad isles amid the waters rise."

Like a gentleman of large fortune, who has just received
a great accession to it, the Tweed, having been joined by
the Teviot, leaves Kelso with a magnitude and an air of
dignity and importance that it has nowhere hitherto as-
sumed during its course, and which it will be found to
maintain, until it is ultimately swallowed up by that grave
of all rivers — the sea. A few miles brings it to the con-
fines of Berwickshire, and in its way thither it passes
through a rich country.

Just before quitting th? confines of Roxburghshire the

THE TWEED 299

Tweed receives the classic stream of the Eden, which en-
ters it from the left bank. The Eden is remarkable for the
excellence of the trout, which are natives of the stream, but
they require very considerable skill and great nicety of art
to extract them by means of the angle from their native
element.

And now we must congratulate our kind and courteous
reader, as well as ourselves, that the romantic days of border
warfare have been long at an end ; for if it had been other-
wise, our noble companion the Tweed, which has now
brought us to a point where he washes England with his
right hand waves whilst he laves Scotland with his left,
might have brought us into some trouble. As he forms the
boundary between England and Scotland from hence to the
sea, we must in order to preserve him as a strictly Scottish
river, say little about his right bank, except what may be
necessary for mere illustration. But as we see before us
the truly dilapidated ruins of what was once the strong and
important fortress of Wark Castle, we must bestow a few
words upon it.

Wark was the barony and ancient possession of the fam-
ily of Ross, one of whom, William de Ross, was a compet-
itor for the crown of Scotland in the reign of Edward I. of
England. It continued in that family to the end of the
Fourteenth Century, when it appears to have become the
possession of the Greys, who took their title from the place,
being styled the Lords Grey of Wark, in the descendants
of which family it has continued to the present time.

The Scottish banks of the river from the Eden water to
Coldstream are richly cultivated and partidly wooded by
hedgerows and the plantations of several properties. The
view down the course of the stream, which runs down

300 THE TWEED

wooded banks of no great height, and is crossed by the
noble bridge of Coldstream, is extremely beautiful. The
village of Coldstream itself is very pretty w^ith its nice
modern cottages and gardens ; but it is likewise interesting
from some of its old buildings. Coldstream was remark-
able for its convent of Cistercian nuns, of which Mr.
Chambers gives us the following interesting account : —
Previous to the Reformation Coldstream could boast of a
rich priory of Cistercian nuns ; but of the buildings not
one fragment now remains. The nunnery stood upon a
spot a little eastwards from the market-place, where there
are still some peculiarly luxuriant gardens, besides a small
burying-ground, now little used. In a slip of waste
ground, between the garden and the river, many bones and
a stone coffin were dug up some years ago ; the former
supposed to be the most distinguished of the warriors that
fought at Flodden ; for there is a tradition that the abbess
sent vehicles to that fatal field and brought away many of
the better orders of the slain, whom she interred here.
The field, or rather hill, of Flodden, is not more than six
miles from Coldstream, and the tall stone that marks the
place where the king fell, only about half that distance, the
battle having terminated about three miles from the spot
where it commenced.

General Monk made this his quarters till he found a
favourable opportunity for entering England to effect the
Restoration ; and it was here that he raised that regiment
that has ever afterwards had the name of the Coldstream
Guards.

The River Till is an important tributary to the Tweed
from its right bank. The Till runs so extremely slow that
it forms a curious contrast with the Tweed, whose course

THE TWEED 301

here is very rapid, giving rise to the following quaint
verses : —

" Tweed said to Till,
What gars ye rin sae still ?
Till said to Tweed,
Though ye rin wi' speed.
And I rin slow.
Yet where ye drown ae man
I drown twa."

We must now proceed to make our last inroad into Eng-
land — an inroad, however, very different indeed from those
which used to be made by our ancestors, when they rode
at the head of their men-at-arms, for the purpose of harry-
ing the country and driving a spoil. We go now upon a
peaceful visitation of Norham Castle, certainly the most
interesting of all objects of a similar description on the
whole course of the Tweed.

The ancient name of the castle appears to have been
Ubbanford. It stands on a steep bank, partially wooded
and overhanging the river. It seems to have occupied a
very large piece of ground as the ruins are very extensive,
consisting of a strong square keep, considerably shattered,
with a number of banks and fragments of buildings en-
closed within an outer wall of a great circuit ; the whole
forming the most picturesque subject for the artist. It was
here that Edward I. resided when engaged in acting as
umpire in the dispute concerning the Scottish crown.
From its position exactly upon the very line of the border,
no war ever took place between the two countries without
subjecting it to frequent sieges, during which it was
repeatedly taken and retaken. The Greys of Chillingham

302 THE TWEED

Castle were often successively captains of the garrison ;
yet as the castle was situated in the patrimony of St. Cuth-
bert, the property was in the see of Durham till the
Reformation. After that period it passed through various
hands.

The parish of Ladykirk, which now comes under our
notice, upon the left bank of the Tweed, was created at
the Reformation by the junction of Upsetlington and
Horndean. James IV. had built a church which he
dedicated to the Virgin Mary, whence it received its name.

As we proceed downwards, the scenery on the Tweed
may be said to be majestic, from the fine wooded banks
which sweep downwards to its northern shores. The sur-
face of the water is continually animated by the salmon
coble shooting athwart the stream.

A very handsome suspension bridge, executed by
Captain Samuel Brown of the Royal Navy here connects
England with Scotland, and at some distance below, the
Tweed receives the Whitadder as its tributary from the
left bank.

When we begin to find ourselves within the liberties of
Berwick, we discover that we are in a species of no man's
land. We are neither in England nor in Scotland, but in
"our good town of Berwick-upon-Tweed." We have
never passed through it without being filled with veneration
for the many marks that yet remain to show what a
desperate struggle it must have had for its existence for so
many centuries, proving a determined bravery in the in-
habitants almost unexampled in the history of man. It
always brings to our mind some very ancient silver flagon,
made in an era when workmen were inexpert and when the
taste of their forms was more intended for use than for

THE TWEED 303

ornament, but of materials so solid and valuable as to have
made it survive all the blows and injuries, the marks of
which are still to be seen upon it; and which is thus in-
finitely more respected than some modern mazer of the
most exquisite workmanship.

Escaping from Berwick-bridge the Tweed, already
mingled with the tide, finds its way down to its estuary, the
sand and muddy shores of which have no beauty in them.

And now, oh silver Tweed ! we bid thee a kind and last
adieu, having seen thee rendered up to that all-absorbing
ocean, with which all rivers are doomed to be commingled,
and their existence terminated, as is that of frail man, with
the same hope of being thence restored by those well-
springs of life that are formed above the clouds.

NIAGARA
JOHN TYNDALL

IT is one of the disadvantages of reading books about
natural scenery that they fill the mind with pictures,
often exaggerated, often distorted, often blurred, and, even
when well drawn, injurious to the freshness of first impres-
. sions. Such has been the fate of most of us with regard
to the Falls of Niagara. There was little accuracy in the
estimates of the first observers of the cataract. Startled by
an exhibition of power so novel and so grand, emotion
leaped beyond the control of the judgment, and gave cur-
rency to notions which have often led to disappointment.
A record of a voyage, in 1535, by a French mariner
named Jacques Cartier, contains, it is said, the first printed
allusion to Niagara. In 1603 the first map of the district
was constructed by a Frenchman named Champlain. In
1648 the Jesuit Rageneau, in a letter to his superior at
Paris, mentions Niagara as " a cataract of frightful height."
In the winter of 1678 and 1679 the cataract was visited by
Father Hennepin, and described in a book dedicated " to
the King of Great Britain." He gives a drawing of the
waterfall, which shows that serious changes have taken
place since his time. He describes it as "a great and
prodigious cadence of water, to which the universe does
not offer a parallel." The height of the fall, according to
Hennepin, was more than 600 feet. "The waters," he
says, " which fall from this great precipice do foam and

<
<
<

NIAGARA 305

boil in the most astonishing manner, making a noise more
terrible than that of thunder. When the wind blows to
the south its frightful roaring may be heard for more than
fifteen leagues." The Baron la Hontan, who visited
Niagara in 1687, makes the height 800 feet. In 1721
Charlevois, in a letter to Madame de Maintenon, after re-
ferring to the exaggerations of his predecessors, thus states
the result of his own observations : " For my part, after
examining it on all sides, I am inclined to think that we
cannot allow it less than 140 or 150 feet" — a remarkably
close estimate. At that time, viz., a hundred and fifty
years ago, it had the shape of a horseshoe, and reasons will
subsequently be given for holding that this has been always
the form of the cataract, from its origin to its present site.

As regards the noise of the fall, Charlevois declares the
accounts of his predecessors, which, I may say, are repeated
to the present hour, to be altogether extravagant. He is
perfectly right. The thunders of Niagara are formidable
enough to those who really seek them at the base of the
Horseshoe Fall; but on the banks of the river, and par-
ticularly above the fall, its silence, rather than its noise, is
surprising. This arises, in part, from the lack of reso-
nance ; the surrounding country being flat, and therefore
furnishing no echoing surfaces to reinforce the shock of the
water. The resonance from the surrounding rocks causes
the Swiss Reuss at the Devil's Bridge, when full, to thunder
more loudly than the Niagara.

Seen from below, the American Fall is certainly ex-
quisitely beautiful, but it is a mere frill of adornment to its
nobler neighbour the Horseshoe. At times we took to the
river, from the centre of which the Horseshoe Fall appeared
especially magnificent. A streak of cloud across the neck

306 NIAGARA

of Mont Blanc can double its apparent height, so here the
green summit of the cataract shining above the smoke of
spray appeared lifted to an extraordinary elevation. Had
Hennepin and La Hontan seen the fall from this position,
their estimates of the height would have been perfectly
excusable.

From a point a little way below the American Fall, a
ferry crosses the river, in summer, to the Canadian side.
Below the ferry is a suspension bridge for carriages and
foot-passengers, and a mile or two lower down is the rail-
way suspension bridge. Between ferry and bridge the river
Niagara flows unruffled ; but at the suspension bridge the
bed steepens and the river quickens its motion. Lower
down the gorge narrows, and the rapidity and turbulence
increase. At the place called the " Whirlpool Rapids," I
estimated the width of the river at 300 feet, an estimate
confirmed by the dwellers on the spot. When it is re-
membered that the drainage of nearly half a continent is
compressed into this space, the impetuosity of the river's
rush may be imagined.

Two kinds of motion are here obviously active, a motion
of translation and a motion of undulation — the race of the
river through its gorge, and the great waves generated by
its collision with, and rebound from, the obstacles in its
way. In the middle of the river the rush and tossing are
most violent ; at all events, the impetuous force of the in-
dividual waves is here most strikingly displayed. Vast
pyramidal heaps leap incessantly from the river, some of
them with such energy as to jerk their summits into the air,
where they hang momentarily suspended in crowds of
liquid spherules. The sun shone for a few minutes. At
times the wind, coming up the river, searched and sifted

NIAGARA 307

the spray, carrying away the lighter drops and leaving the
heavier ones behind. Wafted in the proper direction, rain-
bows appeared and disappeared fitfully in the lighter mist.
In other directions the common gleam of the sunshine
from the waves and their shattered crests was exquisitely
beautiful. The complexity of the action was still further
illustrated by the fact, that in some cases, as if by the exer-
cise of a local explosive force, the drops were shot radially
from a particular centre, forming around it a kind of halo.

At some distance below the Whirlpool Rapids we have
the celebrated whirlpool itself. Here the river makes a
sudden bend to the north-east, forming nearly a right angle
with its previous direction. The water strikes the concave
bank with great force, and scoops it incessantly away. A
vast basin has been thus formed, in which the sweep of the
river prolongs itself in gyratory currents. Bodies and trees
which have come over the falls are stated to circulate here
for days without finding the outlet. From various points of
the cliffs above this is curiously hidden. The rush of the
river into the whirlpool is obvious enough ; and though you
imagine the outlet must be visible, if one existed, you can-
not find it. Turning, however, round the bend of the prec-
ipice to the north-east, the outlet comes into view.

The Niagara season was over ; the chatter of sight-seers
had ceased, and the scene presented itself as one of holy se-
clusion and beauty. I went down to the river's edge, where
the weird loneliness seemed to increase. The basin is en-
closed by high and almost precipitous banks — covered, at the
time, with russet woods. A kind of mystery attaches itself
to gyrating water, due perhaps to the fact that we are to
some extent ignorant of the direction of its force. It is
said that, at certain points of the whirlpool, pine-trees are

308 NIAGARA

sucked down, to be ejected mysteriously elsewhere. The
water is of the brightest emerald-green. The gorge through
which it escapes is narrow, and the motion of the river swift
though silent. The surface is steeply inclined, but it is
perfectly unbroken. There are no lateral waves, no ripples
with their breaking bubbles to raise a murmur; while the
depth is here too great to allow the inequality of the bed to
ruffle the surface. Nothing can be more beautiful than this
sloping liquid mirror formed by the Niagara in sliding from
the whirlpool.

A connected image of the origin and progress of the cat-
aract is easily obtained. Walking northwards from the vil-
lage of Niagara Falls by the side of the river, we have to
our left the deep and comparatively narrow gorge, through
which the Niagara flows. The bounding cliffs of this gorge
are from 300 to 350 feet high. We reach the whirlpool,
trend to the north-east, and after a little time gradually re-
sume our northward course. Finally, at about seven miles
from the present falls, we come to the edge of a declivity,
which informs us that we have been hitherto walking on
table-land. At some hundreds of feet below us is a com-
paratively level plain, which stretches to Lake Ontario.
The declivity marks the end of the precipitous gorge of
the Niagara. Here the river escapes from its steep mural
boundaries, and in a widened bed pursues its way to the lake
which finally receives its waters.

The fact that in historic times, even within the memory
of man, the fall has sensibly receded, prompts the question.
How far has this recession gone ? At what point did the
ledge which thus continually creeps backwards begin its ret-
rograde course ? To minds disciplined in such researches
the answer has been, and will be — At the precipitous de-

NIAGARA 309

cllvity which crossed the Niagara from Lewiston on the
American to Queenston on the Canadian side. Over this
transverse barrier the united affluents of all the upper lakes
once poured their waters, and here the work of erosion be-
gan. The dam, moreover, was demonstrably of sufficient
height to cause the river above it to submerge Goat Island ;
and this would perfectly account for the finding, by Sir
Charles Lyell, Mr. Hall, and others, in the sand and gravel
of the island, the same fluviatile shells as are now found in the
Niagara River higher up. It would also account for those
deposits along the sides of the river, the discovery of which
enabled Lyell, Hall, and Ramsay to reduce to demonstra-
tion the popular belief that the Niagara once flowed through
a shallow valley.

The vast comparative erosive energy of the Horseshoe
Fall comes strikingly into view when it and the American
Fall are compared together. The American branch of the
river is cut at a right angle by the gorge of the Niagara.
Here the Horseshoe Fall was the real excavator. It cut
the rock, and formed the precipice, over which the Amer-
ican Fall tumbles. But, since its formation, the erosive ac-
tion of the American Fall has been almost nil, while the
Horseshoe has cut its way for 500 yards across the end of
Goat Island, and is now doubling back to excavate its chan-
nel parallel to the length of the island. This point, which
impressed me forcibly, has not, I have just learned, escaped
the acute observation of Professor Ramsay. The river
bends ; the Horseshoe immediately accommodates itself to
the bending, and will follow implicitly the direction of the
deepest water in the upper stream. The flexures of the
gorge are determined by those of the river channel above it.
Were the Niagara centre above the fall sinuous, the gorge

310 NIAGARA

would obediently follow its sinuosities. Once suggested,
no doubt geographers will be able to point out many ex-
amples of this action. The Zambesi is thought to present
a great difficulty to the erosion theory, because of the sinu-
osity of the chasm below the Victoria Falls. But, assum-
ing the basalt to be of tolerably uniform texture, had the
river been examined before the formation of this sinuous
channel, the present zigzag course of the gorge below the
fall could, I am persuaded, have been predicted, while the
sounding of the present river would enable us to predict the
course to be pursued by the erosion in the future.

But not only has the Niagara River cut the gorge ; it has
carried away the chips of its own workshop. The shale,
being probably crumbled, is easily carried away. But at
the base of the fall we find the huge boulders already de-
scribed, and by some means or other these are removed
down the river. The ice which fills the gorge in winter,
and which grapples with the boulders, has been regarded as
the transporting agent. Probably it is so to some extent.
But erosion acts without ceasing on the abutting points of
the boulders, thus withdrawing their support and urging
them gradually down the river. Solution also does its por-
tion of the work. That solid matter is carried down is
proved by the difference of depth between the Niagara
River and Lake Ontario, where the river enters it. The
depth falls from seventy-two feet to twenty feet, in con-
sequence of the deposition of solid matter caused by the di-
minished motion of the river.

In conclusion, we may say a word regarding the proxi-
mate future of Niagara. At the rate of excavation assigned
to it by Sir Charles Lyell, namely, a foot a year, five thou-
sand years or so will carry the Horseshoe Fall far higher

NIAGARA 311

than Goat Island. As the gorge recedes it will drain, as it
has hitherto done, the banks right and left of it, thus leav-
ing a nearly level terrace between Goat Island and the edge
of the gorge. Higher up it will totally drain the American
branch of the river; the channel of which in due time will
become cultivable land. The American Fall will then be
transformed into a dry precipice, forming a simple continu-
ation of the cliiFy boundary of the Niagara gorge. At the
place occupied by the fall at this moment we shall have the
gorge enclosing a right angle, a second whirlpool being the
consequence. To those who visit Niagara a few millen-
niums hence I leave the verification of this prediction. All
that can be said is, that if the causes now in action continue
to act, it will prove itself literally true.

THE NIAGARA RIVER
G. K. GILBERT

THE Niagara River flows from Lake Erie to Lake
Ontario. The shore of Erie is more than 300 feet
higher than the shore of Ontario ; but if you pass from the
higher shore to the lower, you do not descend at a uniform
rate. Starting from Lake Erie and going northwards, you
travel upon a plain — not level, but with only gentle un-
dulations — until you approach the shore of Lake Ontario,
and then suddenly you find yourself on the brink of a high
blufF, or clifF, overlooking the lower lake and separated from
it only by a narrow strip of sloping plain.

Where the Niagara River leaves Lake Erie at BuiFalo
and enters the plain, a low ridge of rock crosses its path,
and in traversing this its water is troubled ; but it soon be-
comes smooth, spreads out broadly and indolently loiters on
the plain. For three-fourths of the distance it cannot be
said to have a valley, it rests upon the surface of the plateau ;
but then its habit suddenly changes. By the short rapid at
Goat Island and by the cataract itself the water of the river
is dropped two hundred feet down into the plain, and thence
to the clifF at Lewiston it races headlong through a deep and
narrow gorge. From Lewiston to Lake Ontario there are
no rapids. The river is again broad, and its channel is
scored so deeply in the littoral plain that the current is
relatively slow, and the level of its water surface varies but
slightly from that of the lake.

THE NIAGARA RIVER 313

The narrow gorge that contains the river from the Falls
to Lewiston is a most peculiar and noteworthy feature. Its
width rarely equals the fourth of a mile, and its depth to the
bottom of the river ranges from two hundred to five hun-
dred feet. Its walls are so steep that opportunities for
clilnbing up and down them are rare, and in these walls one
may see the geologic structure of the plateau.

The contour of the cataract is subject to change. From
time to time blocks of rock break away, falling into the pool
below, and new shapes are then given to the brink over
which the water leaps. Many such falls of rock have taken
place since the white man occupied the banks of the river,
and the breaking away of a very large section is still a recent
event. By such observation we are assured that the extent
of the gorge is increasing at its end, that it is growing longer,
and that the cataract is the cause of its extension.

This determination is the first element in the history of
the river. A change is in progress before our eyes. The
river's history, like human history, is being enacted, and
from that which occurs we can draw inferences concerning
what has occurred, and what will occur. We can look
forward to the time when the gorge now traversing the
fourth part of the width of the plateau will completely di-
vide it, so that the Niagara will drain Lake Erie to the
bottom. We can look back to the time when there was
no gorge, but when the water flowed on the top of the plain
to its edge, and the Falls of Niagara were at Lewiston.

We may think of the river as labouring at a task — the
task of sawing in two the plateau. The task is partly ac-
complished. When it is done the river will assume some
other task. Before it was begun what did the river do ?

How can we answer this question ? The surplus water

314 THE NIAGARA RIVER

discharge from Lake Erie could not have flowed by this
course to Lake Ontario without sawing at the plateau.
Before it began the cutting of the gorge it" did not flow
along this line. It may have flowed somewhere else, but
if so it did not constitute the Niagara River. The com-
men&ment of the cutting of the Niagara gorge is the be-
ginning of the history of the Niagara River.

The river began its existence during the final retreat of
the great ice sheet, or, in other words, during the series of
events that closed the age of ice in America. During the
course of its history the length of the river has suffered
some variation by reason of the successive fall and rise of the
level of Lake Ontario. It was at first a few miles shorter
than now ; then it became suddenly a few miles longer, and
its present length was gradually acquired.

With the change in the position of its mouth there went
a change in the height of its mouth ; and the rate at which
it eroded its channel was aiFected thereby. The influence
on the rate of erosion was felt chiefly along the lower course
of the river between Lewiston and Fort Niagara.

The volume of the river has likewise been inconstant.
In early days, when the lakes levied a large tribute on the
melting glacier, the Niagara may have been a larger river
than now ; but there was a time when the discharge from
the upper lakes avoided the route by Lake Erie, and then
the Niagara was a relatively small stream.

The great life work of the river has been the digging of
the gorge through which it runs from the cataract to Lewis-
ton. The beginning of its life was the beginning of that
task. The length of the gorge is in some sense a measure
of the river's age.

The river sprang from a great geologic revolution, the

THE NIAGARA RIVER 3IS

banishment of the dynasty of cold, and so its lifetime is a
geologic epoch ; but from first to last man has been a wit-
ness to its toil, and so its history is interwoven with the
history of man. The human comrade of the river's youth
was not, alas ! a reporter with a notebook, else our present
labour would be light. He has even told us little of him-
self. We only know that on a gravelly beach of Lake
Iroquois, now the Ridge Road, he rudely gathered stones
to make a hearth and built a fire ; and the next storm
breakers, forcing back the beach, buried and thus preserved,
to gratify yet whet our curiosity, hearth, ashes and charred
sticks.

In these Darwinian days we cannot deem primeval the
man possessed of the Promethean art of fire, and so his
presence on the scene adds zest to the pursuit of the
Niagara problem. Whatever the antiquity of the great
cataract may be found to be, the antiquity of man is greater.

THE MEUSE

ESTHER SINGLETON

THE Meuse, or Maas, has the distinction of belonging
to three countries, — France, Belgium and Holland.
In its long journey of 580 miles to the sea, it passes through
varied and beautiful scenery, including the Forest of Ar-
dennes, so famous in the Charlemagne romances and in the
turbulent period of the Middle Ages; then through the
vine-lands and hop-gardens so often laid waste by battles in
Belgium; and finally through the flat lands of Holland
where it has afforded inspiration to many painters.

Rising in France in the south of the Department Haute
Marne near the Monts Faucilles, it crosses the Department
Vosges, where, between Bazeilles and Noncourt, it disap-
pears and has a subterranean course for three miles and a
half. After crossing the Meuse and Ardennes Depart-
ments, passing by the towns of Neufchateau, Vaucouleurs,
Commercy St. Mihiel and Verdun, it reaches Sedan and
enters Belgium. During the rest of its course, its name
is variously Meuse, Maes, Maas and Merwede. Above
Dinant it receives the Lesse and at Namur, its largest trib-
utary, the Sambre, which almost doubles its volume.
Going north-east, it flows through a narrow valley, enclosed
between wooded hills and cliffs, dotted with picturesque
villas and country houses, and at Liege it is joined by the
Ourthe. The river now enters Dutch territory, and is
henceforth called the Maas. Passing Maestricht, or Maas-

en

THE MEUSE 317

tricht, it flows by Roermond, where it receives the Roer,
and at Venlo a canal begins which connects it with the
Scheldt. At Gorinchem, it receives the Waal, an arm of
the Rhine. Now the Maas soon divides : the Merwede
flowing west, while the southern arm falls into the Bies-
bosch, an estuary of the sea. On reaching Dortrecht, river
and sea navigation begin. Here the Maas again divides.
The Old Maas flows directly west while the northern arm
joins the Lek, a second branch of the Rhine, and continues
its course to Rotterdam, where the Rotte joins it. The
two arms unite here and flow into the North Sea by the
Hook of Holland. Schiedam and Vlardingen are the last
places of importance upon its banks. Including all wind-
ings, the Meuse is 580 miles long and is navigable for
about 460 miles. In the early part of its course the Meuse
traverses a wide valley covered by green meadows and then
flows through narrow gorges, hemmed in by high hills and
cliffs. At Dinant, picturesquely situated on the right
bank, at the base of limestone cliffs crowned by a fortress,
it is said that Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, and his
son, Charles the Bold, having captured the town, caused
800 people to be drowned in the Meuse. The river, how-
ever, quite unconscious of this tragedy, flows on beneath a
pinnacle of rock called the Roche a Bayard, because the
famous steed, Bayard, belonging to the Quatre Fils d'
Aymon, left a hoof-print here as it sprang over the valley
when pursued by Charlemagne. Rocks of fantastic shapes
now rise above the river, which is spanned by bridges. In-
numerable villas and ancestral castles peep through the
thick foliage and command the cliffs. The French border
is reached at Givet ; and at Sedan, memorable for the battle
between the French and Germans (September 1, 1870),

3l8 THE MEUSE

Belgian territory is entered. The hills and valleys in the
vicinity of Sedan were occupied by the Army of the Meuse.

At Namur, also grouped on the cliffs, the Meuse is
crossed by several stone bridges. The citadel on a hill
between the Sambre and Meuse is believed to occupy
the site of the camp of the Aduatuci described by Caesar.
The Meuse, flowing through the town of Liege, forms an
island which is connected with each bank by six bridges.
The principal town lies on the left bank : Outremeuse is a
factory town on the right bank. A fine view is afforded
from the citadel (520 feet above the sea level), erected by
Prince Bishop Maximilian Henry of Bavaria in 1650, on
the site of earlier fortifications. The valleys of the Meuse,
Ourthe and Vesdre are here bounded on the south by the
Ardennes, while the Petersburg with Maestricht and the
broad plains of Limburg are seen on the north. On the
opposite bank of the Meuse is the Chartreuse. The river
here is 460 feet wide and is crossed by several bridges, of
which the Pont des Arches, rebuilt in 1860—3, dates from
the Eighth Century, and is famous in local history.

After the train passes under the Chartreuse, the town of
Jupille is reached, a favourite residence of Pepin of
Heristal, who died here in 714. The tovyn was often
visited by Charlemagne.

The Dutch custom-house is at Eysden, where a beauti-
ful old chateau is seen among its trees ; and on the opposite
bank of the Meuse, the Petersburg rises 330 feet above the
river, with the chateau of Castert on its summit. We are
now in the Dutch province of Limburg, with its capital,
Maestricht, on the left bank of the Maas, the Trajectum
Superius of the Romans {Trajectum ad Afosam), the seat of a
bishopric ; the residence of Frankish Kings ; and, later, the

THE MEUSE 319

Joint possession of Prince Bishops of Liege and the Dukes
of Brabant.

At Gorinchem the river is joined by the Waal and as
both streams are broad, an impressive sheet of water is the
result. For a time, the river is known as the Merwede.
About four miles below Gorinchem, the Biesbosch (reed
forest) begins, a district of forty square miles and consisting
of lOO islands formed by a destructive inundation in 1421,
when seventy-two towns and villages and more than
100,000 persons perished.

This inundation also separated the next town of impor-
tance, Dordrecht, or Dort, as the Dutch call it, from the
mainland. This town, one of the wealthiest towns of the
Netherlands in the JMiddle Ages, presents a most pictur-
esque appearance with its quaint gables, red-tiled roofs, and
the lofty square tower of the Groote Kerk, which has kept
watch over the Maas for six hundred years. How familiar
it looks in the silvery light of early morning or when flooded
with the warm golden glow of the afternoon to those who
are well acquainted with the pictures of Cuyp and Jan van
Goyen ! Could we wander through the town, we should
find much to study. There are numerous old mediaeval
houses in the Wynstraat ; the ancient gate, Groothoofd-
Poort, that had to be rebuilt in 1618; and the finest speci-
mens of carving in Holland, — the choir-stalls of 1538-40
in the Groote Kerk. The harbour is full of boats and tim-
ber rafts that have drifted down the Rhine from the Black
Forest and the tjalks, praams and other Dutch boats, large
and small, with their lee-boards (called zwaards) used to
steady the keelless boats, and bright sails become more nu-
merous.

The Maas now flows through typical Dutch landscapes

320 THE MEUSE

and feeds many canals that lead to Delft and other
cities.

At length we reach Rotterdam which lies on both sides
of the river; the older city lies on the right bank of the
Maas near its confluence with the Rotte. The many docks
and canals — Koningshaven, Nieuwehaven, Haringvliet,
Oudehaven, Wijnhaven, Scheepmakershaven, Leuvehaven,
Zalmhaven, Westerhaven, etc., are filled with ocean-going
vessels and river craft of all sizes and kinds, as well as
nationalities, presenting forests of masts and innumerable fun-
nels. The streets are animated with sailors and merchants,
while the tree-bordered embankment, called the Bompjes,
affords a gay promenade.

On the way to the sea, Schiedam on the Schie, is passed,
and also the more interesting town of Vlaardingen, one of
the oldest towns in Holland, as is evidenced by the market-
place. It is the depot for the " great fishery," and from it
a fleet of 125 boats and 1,500 men are sent forth annually.
Maasluis, the next town, which takes a share in the "great
fishery," is passed, and then the open sea greets the Maas
at the Hook of Holland.

THE RHONE

ANGUS B. REACH

FEW travellers have much fancy for the most rapid of
the great European streams. If they at all make its
personal acquaintance, it is with knapsack on back, and
iron-shod baton in hand — when they stand upon the mother-
glacier, and watch the river-child glide brightly into air — or
perhaps it is near fair Geneva, that, loitering on a wooden
bridge, they mark the second start in life of the strong river,
and, if they be philosophers, lament the clamorous and not
cleanly Arve. Later in the river's career — the pellucid
waters of the snow are again and still more fatally fouled
by the slow-running Saone which comes down by Lyons,
heavy and fat with the rich mud of Burgundy. At the
point of junction there, also, the tourist sometimes goes to
observe the coalition of the streams, and to find out, that
instead of the bigger river cleansing the smaller, the smaller
utterly besmirches and begrimes the greater. So pondering
over the moral, he too often takes little further heed of the
Rhone ; or if he does, it is as a mere beast of burden. He
is bound south, and he knows that the " swift and arrowy
Rhone " will add wings to the speed of steam ; that step-
ping on board the long, long steamboat from the noble
quays of Lyons at summer's dawn, he will step ashore amid
the clamour of the uproarious Avignon porters by the sum-
mer's eve. But the day's flight — through rocks, and vines,
and corn-lands, and by ancient towns and villages, and

322 THE RHONE

through old bridges of stone, and modern bridges of boats,
is to the conventional traveller usually nearly a blank.
How^ dilFerent from the Rhine ; no legends in the hand-
book, no castles, no picturesque students, no jolly Burschen
choruses over pipes and beer. The steamer flies south-
wards. If she be one of the quickest of the Rhone fleet,
and the river be in good order, she could carry you between
sunrise and sunset, from the land where the chestnut and
the walnut most abound, through the zone where the mul-
berry is almost exclusively the tree ; next past the region
where men are clipping, and twisting, and trimming the
olive, at once sacred and classic, and, finally, fairly into the
flats, where tropical rice grows out of fever-haunted swamps
in the African-like jungles of the Camargue. During this
flight, it is to be noted, that you have descended upwards of
600 feet, in fact, that you have been steaming down a modi-
fied water-fall, and have measured in a day, a run from a
climate which may be described as temperate, to one which
is, to all intents and purposes, torrid.

And in this run must we not have passed some rather
curious objects, some rather striking points of scenery ?
May not there have been nooks, and ravines, and old towers
within that sterile, yet viney land, burnt by the hot kiss of
the sun, which are worthy of a traveller's afternoon ? There
are many such. The masonry of Rome still stands by the
strea'm, and ancient rock-perched ruins there are, telling
grim tales of the old religious wars of France ; tales going
back to the Albigenses and Count Raymond of Toulouse,
and in later days dealing with the feuds which Ivry put an
end to, but which were renewed when the peasants of the
wild hills of the Cevennes, in their white camisas, Langue
d' Oc for shirts, worn over their clothes as uniforms, held

o

X

THE RHONE 323

out the long and obstinate contest of the dragonnades, and
frequently beat even Marichale Villars, with the best of the
cavaliers of the Grand Monarque. But there are still other
points of interest connected with the Rhone itself — parts
and pendicles of the river. First, look at the current. Did
you ever see a blacker, fiercer, more unmercifully minded
looking stream ? Take care how you get into it. There
is drowning in its aspect. A sudden sweep down that foam-
ing current, and all would be over. No swimming in these
deadly whirling eddies. Once they embrace you in their
watery arms, down you go, never stopping, even to die, to
the sea, whither the Rhone is ever, ever rushing, ploughing
its way through shingles, roaring round opposing rocks,
sometimes carrying by assault a new channel through a
green pasture, at others, when its sudden floods are out,
rushing with a furious vengeance, at what at sunset was a
fertile island, rich with the ripe corn, which to-morrow will
be a torrent, and a few morrows afterwards — sand.

In spite of its fury of current, in spite of its sud-
den shiftings of sand and shingle banks, its sudden floods,
its sudden fogs, the Rhone has been navigated from time
inmemorial.

Toiling hard and slowly up the stream an equipage goes
crawling along, composed of half a dozen huge barges
hauled by those struggling, splashing, panting horses on the
bank. Before the introduction of stream, there were
upwards of fifty of these barge squadrons. They floated
down from Lyons to Beaucaire, opposite Aries, in two
days, but difficult and dreary was the passage back. A
month in summer, six weeks in winter were consumed in
the tedious struggle with the ever-opposing stream.

But our boat is sweeping towards a rocky promontory.

324 THE RHONE

The contracted stream shoots rapidly through the defile ;
and, at the narrowest point, a chain bridge appears, con-
necting two small villages clustered beneath vine-covered
steps. The crag above that on the right hand is castled
most picturesquely ; that on the left is crowned with a
more genial diadem. The first village is Tournon, the
second Tain. The latter is poor, shabby, dirty : the
houses are rickety and slovenly. All the slope of the clifF
is split up into squares, triangles, etc., and bounded by
stone walls : and these are full of vines — the aristocracy of
the grape — in short. Hermitage.

Descending the Rhone a little further, we find ourselves
opposite Valence. About a mile from the river — the
intervening space is corn-country, the fields dotted with
mulberries — rises a bold and high peak of rocks, and on
their summit, a nobly perched lyric of a castle.

Clamber up ! The hill is steep, and tough to ascend,
and the heath is slippery. Nevertheless, persevere, and
be rewarded at length by entering the ruins, where you will
perceive a half-crumbled cavernous looking recess in a
thick wall. It seems to have been a fireplace. Approach
cautiously ! That fireplace has no back, and fuel flung in
there will roll out at a hole behind, and find itself upwards
of eight hundred feet high in the yielding air.

The castle once belonged to a Protestant lord, the
Seigneur de Crussol, and when, after a successful foray
across the river, amongst the Catholic population, he
managed to secure a score or two of prisoners, high
festival was held, and the unhappy captives, amid the
brimming glasses and convivial jokes of the company, were
flung into the chimney of Crussol, and found by the
trembling peasantry indefinite masses of horror next morning.

THE RHONE 325

These were wild old savage days ; but let us go back for
a few moments to days far more ancient though hardly
more barbarous. Hannibal, coming from Spain, also
crossed the Rhone ; and, looking at that wild rushing river,
so deep and broad, and perpetual in its current, we have
often thought that the great Carthaginian performed a more
brilliant exploit in getting his moorish cavalry, his war-
elephants, and his undisciplined Spanish brigades, across the
water, than across the mountains. No one knows the spot
he selected for his ferriage. Imagine the leader with his
troops encamped, and chafing at the broad river which lay
between them and those distant "snow-capped hills, beyond
which was Italy. In three days, we are told, the feat was
achieved. Apocryphal accounts tell us how the horses,
mad with the terror of fire, swam wildly across the stream,
and how the elephants trumpeted upon the rafts.

A wide champagne country, fertile to magnificent
luxuriance — the rushing Rhone dotted with wooded islands ;
a city clustering on a hill and a castle crowning it, and we
approach Avignon. Here the traveller usually leaves the
river (if he be antiquarian and historic) and examines the
noble churches, towers, bastions and dungeons with which
the Avignon Popes beautified the city ; or, if he be senti-
mental and romantic, he prepares his feelings, works them
— ^hard work it usually is — into a proper frame, and pro-
ceeds to Vaucluse. A pretty spot it is in itself, with its
grottoed rocks and limpid waters ; and certainly the name
of Petrarch may fairly enough add a certain degree of in-
terest to the scene.

The last point of interest is the delta of the river; the
several mouths through which, after its rapid course from
the lake of Geneva, the Rhone at length pours itself into

326 THE RHONE

the sea. The Carmargue, as this strange swampy district
is called, is seldom or ever trodden by English foot. It
has no attractions for the ordinary sightseer, but it has
many for the lover of aspects of nature, of a strange and
unwonted character, and of which few are to be seen in
Europe. Proceeding from Arle, along a muddy, clayey
road, through a perfect flat intersected by numerous drain-
ing ditches, you gradually find yourself arriving in a region
where the earth appears to be losing its consistence and
melting into mud beneath your feet. Forests of swamp-
growing trees, willows, and marsh-mallows stretch
around ; and as you emerge from them you come upon a
boundless plain, an enormous stagnant flat — mud and water
and water and mud for scores and scores of square miles, .
but intersected as far as the eye can reach, by a network of
clay walls, upon which you can make your way, gazing in
wonder upon the perfect sublimity of the apparent desola-
tion. But there is no desolation in the case. These
swamps are rice-fields. If you paid your visit during the
summer, the grain will be growing out of the tepid water ;
if during the autumn, you will see withered beds of the
straw left for manure, slowly rotting in the soil. At long
distances crawling figures appear. These are the labourers
employed by the Company which grows the rice, and
whose stations for draining out the surplus water, which
would otherwise perhaps overwhelm the whole district,
may be fixed by their lofty siphon tubes breaking the dead
flatness of the several lines of view. And yet there is a
dreary death-like beauty about all this silent land. Shelley
has sung such ; Tennyson has done it more elaborately and
better, and we find traces of the sentiment in " Eothen."
The vast and the drear have a sublime of their own, and

THE RHONE 327

in this dismal waste of laid-out world we feel it. Even
ugliness is made respectable by extent, and we leave the
swamps with an impression of lorn, melancholy grandeur
looming in our minds.

THE YUKON

WILLIAM OGILVIE

TO within a few years ago a great unexplored solitude
extended to the eastward between the valleys of the
Upper Yukon, or Lewes, and the Mackenzie, and from the
sixtieth parallel of latitude northward to the shores of the
" frozen ocean." This extensive region is known as the
Yukon country, a name rendered appropriate by the fact
that it is drained by the Yukon River and its tributaries,
which form one of the great river systems of the world.

Walled in by high mountains, and in consequence unap-
proachable from every side, it is not strange that the Yukon
district should so long have remained in almost undisturbed
seclusion. Had it not been for the fact that the rich
metalliferous belt of the Coast and Gold Ranges passes
through the district from one end to the other, the proba-
bility is that it would still have remained unexplored for
many years to come.

Only four gates of approach to the district exist, and,
strangely enough, these are situated at the. four corners.
From the north-west, access is gained to the country by
following the Yukon from its mouth in Behring Sea ; from
the north-east, by crossing from the Mackenzie to the
Porcupine, and following down the latter stream to its con-
fluence with the Yukon ; from the south-east, by ascending
the Liard from Fort Simpson and crossing the water-shed
to the head-waters of the Pelly ; and finally, from the south-

THE YUKON 329

west, by entering where the coast range is pierced by the
Chilkoot and Chilkat Passes.

As a matter of fact, all these routes are beset with diffi-
culties, and when it is remembered that there are only four
roads into a region three times greater in extent than the total
area of the New England States, it is not to be wondered
at that the total population of the region should consist of
a few scattered Indian families and a hundred or so of
hardy miners.

Occasional contributions to our knowledge of the dis-
trict have been made from time to time for at least half a
century, mainly by officers of the Hudson's Bay Company,
miners and employes of the abandoned Telegraph Expedi-
tion ; and skeleton maps of the interior have been con-
structed in accordance with the topographical data, so far
as known.

Among recent expeditions that of Lieutenant Schwatka,
of the United States Army, in the summer of 1883, may
be mentioned. Entering the country by the Chilkoot Pass,
Lieutenant Schwatka floated down the Yukon on a raft
from the source of the Lewes River to Nuklikahyet, con-
tinuing his journey from this point to the sea by boat.
The object of this expedition was to examine the country
from a military point of view, and to collect all available
information with regard to the Indian tribes. We are in-
debted to it also for a great deal of general information
with regard to the country. Schwatka, who seems to have
gone through the country with his eyes open, used the ex-
plorer's baptismal privilege freely, and scattered monuments
of Schwatkanian nomenclature broadcast throughout the
land, re-christening many places that had already been
named, and doing so too in apparent indifference to the

330 THE YUKON

fact that many thus set aside had an established priority of
many years.

The part of the journey between Victoria and Chilkoot
Inlet has been so much written of, talked of and pictured
during the last few years that I will repeat only one of the
many statements made concerning it — that though it is in
ocean waters and can be traversed by the largest ships, it is
so sheltered by countless islands from the gales and waves
of the vast Pacific, nearly the whole of the length, that its
waters are always as smooth as those of a large river. In
marked contrast to this is the west coast of the United States,
where harbours are like angel's visits.

Chatham Strait and Lynn Channel lie almost in a straight
line, and during the summer there is always a strong wind
blowing up from the sea. At the head of Lynn Channel
are Chilkat and Chilkoot Inlets. The distance down these
channels to the open sea is about three hundred and eighty
miles, and along the whole extent of this the mountains on
each side of the water confine the incoming currents of air
and deflect inclined currents in the direction of the axis of
the channel. Coming from the sea, these air currents are
heavily charged with moisture, which is precipitated when
they strike the mountains, and the fall of rain and snow is
consequently very heavy.

The rapids extending for a couple of miles below the
Canon, are not at all bad. What constitutes the real danger
is a piece of calm water forming a short, sharp bend in the
river, which hides the last or " White Horse " rapids from
sight until they are reached. These rapids are about three-
eighths of a mile long. They are the most dangerous on
the river, and are never run through in boats except by
accident. Parties always examine the Canon and rapids

THE YUKON 33 1

below before going through, and coming to the calm water
suppose they have seen them all, as all noise from the
lower rapid is drowned in that of the ones above. On this
account several parties have run through the "White
Horse," being ignorant of its existence until they were in
it. These rapids are confined by low basaltic banks, which,
at the foot, suddenly close in and make the channel about
thirty yards wide. It is here the danger lies, as there is a
sudden drop, and the water rushes through at a tremendous
rate, leaping and seething like a cataract. The miners have
constructed a portage road on the west side, and put down
rollways in some places on which to shove their boats over.
They have also made some windlasses with which to haul
their boats uphill, notably one at the foot of the Canon.
This roadway and the windlasses must have cost them
many hours of hard labour.

Lake Labarge was reached on the evening of the 26th
of July, and our camp pitched on its southern shore. The
lake is thirty-one miles in length, broad at both ends and
narrow in the middle, lying north and south, like a long
slender foot-print made by some gigantic Titan in long-
bygone days.

As the prevailing wind blows almost constantly down
the lake, the miners complain much of the detention from
the roughness of the water, and for the three days I was on
the lake, I certainly cannot complain of any lack of atten-
tion from blustering Australis.

The survey was carried along the western shore, which
is irregular in shape, being indented by large, shallow bays,
especially at the upper and lower ends.

Just above where the lake narrows in the middle, there
is a large island, which is shown on Schwatka's map as a

33^ THE YUKON

peninsula, and called by him Richtofen Rocks. How he
came to think it a peninsula I cannot understand, as it is
well out in the lake ; the nearest point of it to the western
shore is upwards of half a mile distant, and the extreme
width of the lake here, as determined from triangulation, is
not more than five miles, which includes the depth of the
deepest bays on the western side. It is therefore difficult
to understand that he did not see it as an island. The
upper half of this island is gravelly, and does not rise very
high above the lake ; the lower end is rocky and high, the
rock of a bright red colour and probably granite.

At the lower end of the lake there is a deep wide valley
extending northwards, which has evidently at one time been
the outlet of the lake. In this the mixed timber, poplar,
and spruce, is of a size which betokens a fair soil ; the
herbage, too, is more than usually rich for this region.
This valley, which Dr. Dawson has named " Ogilvie Val-
ley," is extensive, and if ever required as an aid to the
sustenance of our people, will figure largely in the district's
agricultural assets.

We left this, the last lake of the great chain, behind us
on Saturday, the 30th of July, and proceeded with a mod-
erate current of about four miles an hour. The river just
here is crooked and runs past high, steep banks surmounted
by scrub pine and stunted poplar which shut in the narrow
valley. There are, however, many flats of moderate ex-
tent, along the river and at its confluence with other
streams, where the soil is fair.

The waters of the Big Salmon are sluggish and slow.
The valley, as seen from the mouth, is wide, and gives one
the impression of being occupied by a much more im-
portant stream. Looking up it, in the distance could be

THE YUKON 333

seen many high peaks covered with snow, and, as this was
in the beginning of August, it is likely they are always
covered so — which would make their probable altitude above
the river, five thousand feet or more.

Two days' run, or about thirty-six miles, the river con-
stantly winding low, sandy points, and dotted with small,
well-timbered islands, brought us to the Little Salmon
(Daly of Schwatka), a small and unimportant stream enter-
ing upon the east. One of the most remarkable objects
along the river, located just below the Little Salmon, is a
huge hemisphere of rock, called the " Eagle's Nest," rising
abruptly from a gravel slope on the east bank, to a height
of about five hundred feet. It is of a light grey colour, but
what the character of the rock is I could not determine, as
I saw it only from the river, which is about a quarter of a
mile distant.

We passed the mouth of the Nordenskiold on the 9th of
August. The river here makes a loop of eight miles round
a hill on the east bank named by Schwatka, Tantalus Butte.
The distance across from point to point is only half a mile.

Early the next day we heard the booming of the Rink
Rapids in the distance, and it was not long before they were
in sight. These rapids are known to miners as Five
Finger Rapids, from the fact that five large, bold masses of
rock stand in mid-channel. This obstruction backs up the
water so as to raise it about a foot, causing a swell below
for a few yards.

Six miles below Rink Rapids are what are known as
" Little Rapids." This is simply a barrier of rocks which
extends from the westerly side of the river about half-way
across. Over this barrier there is a ripple which would
ofFer no great obstacle to the descent in a good canoe.

334 THE YUKON

About five miles above Pelly River there is another lake-
like expanse filled with islands. The river here is nearly a
mile wide, and so numerous and close are the islands that it
is impossible to tell where the shores of the river are. The
current, too, is swift, leading one to suppose the water shal-
low ; but I think that even here a channel deep enough for
such boats as will navigate this part of the river, could
easily be found. Schwatka named this group " Ingersoll
Islands."

About a mile below the junction with the Lewes, and
on the south side, stands all that remains of the only perma-
nent trading-post ever built by white men in the district.
This post was established by Robert Campbell, for the
Hudson's Bay Company, in the summer of 1848. It was
built upon the point of land between the two rivers, but
this location proving untenable, on account of flooding by
ice-jams in the spring, it was, in the season of 1852, moved
across the river to where the ruins now stand. It appears
that the houses composing the post were not finished when
the Indians from the coast on Chilkat and Chilkoot Inlets,
came down the river to put a stop to the competitive trade
which Mr. Campbell had inaugurated and which they found
to seriously interfere with their profits. Their method of
trade appears to have been then pretty much as it is now —
very one-sided. What they found convenient to take by
force, they took ; and what they found convenient to pay
for, they paid for — at their own price.

Rumours had reached the post that the coast Indians
contemplated a raid, and, in consequence, the friendly
Indians in the vicinity remained about nearly all summer.
Unfortunately, they went away for a short time, and, dur-
ing their absence, the coast Indians arrived and pillaged the

THE YUKON 335

place, and set fire to it, leaving nothing but the remains of
two chimneys, which are still standing. This raid and
capture took place on Sunday, the ist of August, 1852.
Mr. Campbell was ordered to leave the country within
twenty-four hours, and accordingly he dropped down the
river. On his way he met some of the local Indians, and
returned with them, but the robbers had made their escape.
Mr. Campbell went on down the river until he met the
outfit for his post on its way up from Fort Yukon. He
turned it back. He then ascended the Pelly, crossed to the
Liard, and reached Fort Simpson, on the Mackenzie, late
in October.

Nothing more was ever done in the vicinity of Fort Sel-
kirk by the Hudson's Bay Company after these events, and
in 1869 the company was ordered by Capt. Chas. W. Ray-
mond, who represented the United States Government,
to evacuate the post at Fort Yukon, which he had ascer-
tained to be west of the 141st meridian. The post was
occupied by the company, however, for some time after the
receipt of the order, until Rampart House, which was in-
tended to be on British territory, and to take the trade
previously done at Fort Yukon, was built. Under present
conditions the company cannot very well compete with the
Alaska Fur Company, whose agents do the only trade in
the district, and they appear to have abandoned — for the
present at least — all attempts to do any trade nearer to it
than Rampart House, to which point, notwithstanding
the distance and difficulties in the way, many of the Indians
on the Pelly- Yukon make a trip every two or three years
to procure goods in exchange for their furs.

On the 19th I resumed my journey northwards. Oppo-
site Fort Selkirk, the Felly-Yukon River is about one-third

336 THE YUKON

of a mile broad ; and it maintains this width down to White
River, a distance of ninety-six miles. Islands are numer-
ous, so much so that there are few parts of the river where
one or more are not in sight ; many of them are of consid-
erable size, and nearly all are well timbered.

Between Stewart and White Rivers the river spreads out
to a mile and upwards in width, and is a maze of islands and
bars. Stewart River, which was reached on the following
day, enters from the east in the middle of a wide valley,
with low hills on both sides, rising on the north side in
clearly marked steps or terraces to distant hills of consider-
able height. The river, a short distance up, is two hundred
yards in width, the current slack, the water shallow and
clear, but dark-coloured ; while at the mouth, I was for-
tunate enough to meet a miner, named McDonald, who
had spent the whole of the summer of 1887 on the river
and its branches, prospecting and exploring. He gave me
a good deal of information, which I have incorporated in
my map of the district. This man had ascended two of
the main branches of the river. At the head of one of
them he found a large lake, which he named Mayhew
Lake. On the other branch he found falls, which he es-
timated to be from one to two hundred feet in height.
McDonald went on past the falls to the head of this branch,
and found terraced gravel hills to the west and north ; he
crossed them to the north and found a river flowing north-
wards. On this he embarked on a raft, and floated down it
for a day or two, thinking it would turn to the west and
join the Stewart, but finding it still continuing north, and
acquiring too much volume to be any of the branches he
had seen while passing up the Stewart, he returned to his
point of departure, and after prospecting among the hills

THE YUKON 337

around the head of the river he started westwards, crossing
a high range of mountains composed principally of shales
with many thin seams of what is called quartz, ranging
from one to six inches in thickness. On the west side of
this range he found the head-waters of Beaver River, which
he descended on a raft, taking five days to do so.

It is probable the river flowing northwards, on which he
made a journey and returned, is a branch of Peel River.
The timber on the gravel terraces of the water-shed, he
described as small and open. He was alone in this un-
known wilderness all summer, not seeing even any of the
natives. There are few men, I think, so constituted as to
be capable of isolating themselves in such a manner.

On the 1st of September, we passed the site of the
temporary trading-post shown on the maps as Fort Re-
liance. Several days of continuous rain now interrupted
our work so that Forty Mile River (Cone Hill River of
Schwatka) was not reached till the 7th of September.

THE JORDAN

ANDREW ROBERT FAUSSET

THE Jordan is two hundred miles long from its source
at Antilebanon to the head of the Dead Sea. It is
not navigable, nor has it ever had a large town on its banks.
The cities Bethsham and Jericho on the west, and
Gerasa, Pella, and Gadara to the east of Jordan produced
intercourse between the two sides of the river. Yet it is
remarkable as the river of the great plain {ha Arabah, now
el Ghor) of the Holy Land, flowing through the whole
from north to south. Lot, from the hills on the north-west
of Sodom, seeing the plain well watered by it, as Egypt is
by the Nile, chose that district as his home, in spite of the
notorious wickedness of the people.

Its sources are three. The northernmost near Hasbeya
between Hermon and Lebanon ; the stream is called Has-
bany. The second is best known, near Banias, /. e.,
Caesarea Philippi, a large pool beneath a high cliff, fed by
gushing streamlets, rising at the mouth of a deep cave ;
thence the Jordan flows, a considerable stream. The
third is at Dan, or Tel el Kady (Daphne) ; from the north-
west corner of a green eminence a spring bursts forth into a
clear wide pool, which sends a broad stream into the val-
ley. The three streams unite at Tel Dafneh, and flow
sluggishly through marshland into Lake Meron. Captain
Newbold adds a fourth, wady el Kid on the south-east of the
slope, flowing from the springs Esh Shar. Indeed

i ■

»

P!^f,.l,?lLV

"™9!?S

■.'■ .

!'■ ■ ' ' ■' : -

'

t ■ ' - : ,

,i

^

■ ■■'!|

4,

4' > ■■■jA"'%.

£

' °ti

1 ■■- Jv'"-'^*^ (

■;•. J

. ^

^V "■■ *■' ■ .; '

■■ 'fl

■fe, ,_\,. ^Wij-.

^r

1

^Eb^''' "''''^^i^s^i

HH .

■;i'3^^^

i^

i

i

^^^^^H

f

j|^^fS8p^^99|r

Hj^H^

.jM. MMi^m

^^i

3

Bi'' '^^

m

Hh'

'jML

^, . ^JSSB

. #'<' ^^ai

m- ^m

i^l^^B'

i'Wm

y!g^^fe'*^^j^S|HiHa|

mSe^' t^i'j.iuMKBli

H|^H^^Hk;^

y

^^a

.-' ': ■- ' ""' ■^.■>-v'.

Hii^wJ

:y^%

m

■ ' ' ',. ^■..:"■ "

■(I- .' -, v., -

Q

O

THE JORDAN 339

Antilebanon abounds in gushing streams which all make
their way into the swamp between Banias and Huleh and
become part of the Jordan. The traditional site of Jacob's
crossing Jordan at his first leaving Beersheba for Padan
Aram is a mile and a half from Merom, and six from the
Sea of Galilee : in those six its descent with roaring
cataracts over the basaltic rocks is 1,050 feet. This, the
part known to Naaman in his invasions, is the least attract-
ive part of its course ; and was unfavourably contrasted
with Abana and Pharpar of his native land. From the Sea
of Galilee, it winds 200 miles in the sixty miles of actual
distance to the Dead Sea. Its tortuous course is the secret
of the great depression (the Dead Sea being 663 feet below
the lake of Galilee) in this distance.

Three banks may be noted in the Ghor or Jordan valley,
the upper or first slope (the abrupt edge of a wide table
land reaching to the Hauran Mountains on the east and the
high hills on the west side), the lower or middle terrace
embracing the strip of land with vegetation, and the true
banks of the river bed, with a jungle of agnus castus,
tamarisks, and willows and reed and cane at the edge, the
stream being ordinarily thirty yards wide. At the flood,
the river cannot be forded, being ten or twelve feet deep
east of Jericho ; but in summer it can, the water being
low. To cross it in the flood by swimming was an extra-
ordinary feat performed by the Gadites who joined David ;
this was impossible for Israel under Joshua with wives and
children. The Lord of the whole earth made the descend-
ing waters stand in a heap very far from their place of
crossing, viz : by the town of Adam, that is beside Zarthan
or Zaretan, the moment that the feet of the priests bearing
the ark dipped into the water. The priests then stood in

340 THE JORDAN

the midst of the dry river bed till all Israel crossed over.
Joshua erected a monument of twelve large stones in the
river bed where the priests had stood, near the east bank of
the river. This would remain at least for a time as a
memorial to the existing generation besides the monument
erected at Gilgal.

By this lower ford, David passed to fight Syria, and after-
wards in his flight from Absalom to Mahanaim, east of
Jordan.. Thither Judah escorted him and we crossed in a
ferry boat. Here Elijah and Elisha divided the waters with
the prophets' mantle. At the upper fords Naaman washed
off his leprosy. Here too the Syrians fled, when panic-
struck by the Lord.

John the Baptist " first " baptized at the lower ford near
Jericho, whither all Jerusalem and Judea resorted, being
near; where too, our Lord took refuge from Jerusalem,
and where many converts joined Him, and from whence
He went to Bethany to raise Lazarus. John's next bap-
tisms were at Bethabara ; thither out of Galilee the Lord
Jesus and Andrew repaired after the baptisms in the
south, and were baptized. His third place of baptism was
near JEnon and Salim, still farther to the north, where the
water was still deep though it was summer, after the pass-
over, for there was no ford there ; he had to go thither, the
water being too shallow at the ordinary fords. John moved
gradually northwards towards Herod's province, where ulti-
mately he was beheaded; Jesus, coming from the north
southwards, met John half-way.

The overflow of Jordan dislodged the lion from its lair
on the wooded banks. Between Merom and Lake Tiberias
the banks are so thickly wooded as often to shut out the
view of the water.

THE JORDAN 34I

Four-fifths of Israel, nine tribes and a half, dwelt west,
and one-fifth, two and a half, dwelt east of Jordan. The
great altar built by the latter was the witness of the oneness
of the two sections. Of the six cities of refuge three were
east, three west of Jordan at equal distances.

Jordan enters Gennesareth two miles below the ancient
city Julias, or Bethsaida, of Gaulonitis on the east bank. It
is seventy feet wide at its mouth, a sluggish, turbid stream.
The lake of Tiberias is 653 feet below the Mediterranean
level. The Dead Sea is 1,316 feet below the Mediterra-
nean, the springs of Hasbeya are 1,700 above the Mediter-
ranean, so that the valley falls more than 3,000 feet in
reaching the north end of the Dead Sea. The bottom de-
scends 1,308 feet lower, in all 2,600 below the Mediter-
ranean. The Jordan, well called "the Descender," de-
scends eleven feet every mile. Its sinuosity is less in its
upper course. Besides the Jabbok it receives the Hier-
omax (^Tarmui) below Gennesareth. From Jerusalem to
Jordan is only a distance of twenty miles ; in that distance
the descent is 3,500 feet, one of the greatest chasms in
the earth; Jerusalem is 2,581 feet above the Mediter-
ranean.

Bitumen wells are not far from the Hasbeya in the north.
Hot springs abound about Tiberias ; and other tokens of vol-
canic action, tufa, etc., occur near the Yarmuk's mouth and
elsewhere. Only on the east border of Lake Huleh, the
land is now well cultivated, and yields largely wheat, maize,
rice, etc. Horses, cattle, and sheep, and black buffaloes
(the " bulls of Bashan ") pasture around. West of Gennes-
areth are seen corn, palms, vines, figs, melons, and pome-
granates. Cultivation is rare along the lower Jordan, but
pink oleanders, arbutus, rose hollyhocks, the purple thistle.

342 THE JORDAN

marigold, and anemone abound. Tracks of tigers and wild
boars, flocks of wild ducks, cranes, and pigeons have been
seen by various explorers. There are no bridges earlier than
the Roman. The Saracens added or restored some. The
Roman bridge of ten arches, was on the route from Tiberias
to Gadara. In coincidence with Scripture, the American
survey sets down three fords : that at Tarichaea, the second
at the Jabbok's confluence with the Jordan, and that at
Jericho. The Jordan seldom now overflows its banks ; but
Lieutenant Lynch noticed sedge and driftwood high up in
the overhanging trees on the banks, showing it still at times
overflows the plains. The flood never reaches beyond the
lower line of the Ghor, which is covered with vegetation.
The plain of the Jordan between the Sea of Galilee and the
Dead Sea is generally eight miles broad, but at the north
end of the Dead Sea the hills recede so that the width is
twelve miles, of which the west part is named " the plains
of Jericho." The upper terrace immediately under the
hills is covered with vegetation ; under that is the Arabah
or desert plain, barren in its southern part except where
springs fertilize it, but fertile in its northern part and culti-
vated by irrigation. Grove remarks of the Jordan : " So
rapid that its course is one continued cataract, so crooked that
in its whole lower and main course it has hardly a half mile
straight, so broken with rapids that no boat can swim any
distance continuously, so deep below the adjacent country
that it is invisible and can only be with difliculty approached ;
refusing all communication with the ocean, and ending in a
lake where navigation is impossible, unless for irrigation,
it is in fact what its Arabic name signifies, nothing but a
' great watering place,' Sheriat el Khebir."

THE CONCORD
HENRY D. THOREAU

THE Musketaquid, or Grass-ground River, though
probably as old as the Nile or Euphrates, did not be-
gin to have a place in civilized history, until the fame of its
grassy meadows and its fish attracted settlers out of Eng-
land in 1635, when it received the other but kindred name
of Concord from the first plantation on its banks, which ap-
pears to have been commenced in a spirit of peace and har-
mony. It will be Grass-ground River as long as grass
grows and water runs here ; it will be Concord River only
while men lead peaceable lives on its banks. To an extinct
race it was grass-ground, where they hunted and fished, and
is still perennial grass-ground to Concord farmers, who own
the great meadows, and get the hay from year to year.
" One branch of it," according to the historian of Con-
cord, for I love to quote so good authority, " rises in the
south part of Hopkinton, and another from a pond and a
large cedar-swamp in Westborough," and flowing between
Hopkinton and Southborough, through Framingham, and
between Sudbury and Wayland, where it is sometimes
called Sudbury River, it enters Concord at the south part
of the town, and after receiving the North or Assabeth
River, which has its source a little farther to the north and
west, goes out at the north-east angle, and flowing between
Bedford and Carlisle, and through Billerica, empties into the
Merrimack at Lowell. Between Sudbury and Wayland the

344 THE CONCORD

meadows acquire their greatest breadth, and when covered
with water, they form a handsome chain of shallow vernal
lakes, resorted to by numerous gulls and ducks. Just above
Sherman's Bridge, between these towns, is the largest ex-
panse, and when the wind blows freshly in a raw March
day, heaving up the surface into dark and sober billows or
regular swells, skirted as it is in the distance with alder-
swamps and smoke-like maples, it looks like a smaller Lake
Huron, and is very pleasant and exciting for a landsman to
row or sail over. The farmhouses along the Sudbury
shore, which rises gently to a considerable height, command
fine water prospects at this season. The shore is more flat
on the Wayland side and this town is the greatest loser by
the flood. Its farmers tell me that thousands of acres are
flooded now, since the dams have been erected, where they
remember to have seen the white honeysuckle or clover
growing once, and they could go dry with shoes only in
summer. Now there is nothing but blue-joint and sedge
and cut-grass there, standing in water all the year round.
For a long time, they made the most of the driest season to
get their hay, working sometimes till nine o'clock at night,
sedulously paring with their scythes in the twilight round
the hummocks left by the ice; but now it is not worth the
getting when they can come at it and they look sadly round
to their wood-lots and upland as a last resource.

It is worth the while to make a voyage up this stream,
if you go no farther than Sudbury, only to see how much
country there is in the rear of us ; great hills, and a hun-
dred brooks, and farmhouses, and barns, and haystacks,
you never saw before, and men everywhere. Sudbury,
that is Southborough men, and Wayland, and Nine-Acre-
Corner men, and Bound Rock, where four towns bound on

Q
O
Z

o
o

H

THE CONCORD 345

a rock in the river, Lincoln, Wayland, Sudbury, Concord.
Many waves are there agitated by the wind, keeping nature
fresh, the spray blowing in your face, reeds and rushes
waving j ducks by the hundred, all uneasy in the surf, in
the raw wind, just ready to rise, and now going ofF with a
clatter and a whistling like riggers straight from Labrador,
flying against the stiff" gale with reefed wings, or else circling
round first, with all their paddles briskly moving, just over
the surf, to reconnoitre you before they leave these parts ;
gulls wheeling overhead, muskrats swimming for dear life,
wet and cold, with no fire to warm them by that you know
of; their laboured homes rising here and there like hay-
stacks } and countless mice and moles and winged titmice
along the sunny, windy shore; cranberries tossed on the
waves and heaving up on the beach, their little red skiff^s
beating about among the alders ; — such natural tumult as
proves the last day is not yet at hand. And there stands all
around the alders, and birches, and oaks, and maples, full
of glee and sap, holding in their buds, until the waters sub-
side. You shall perhaps run aground on Cranberry Island,
only some spires of last year's pipe-grass above water, to
show where the danger is, and get as good a freezing there
as anywhere on the North-west Coast. I never voyaged so
far in all my life. You shall see men you never heard of
before, whose names you don't know, going away down
through the meadows with long ducking-guns, with water-
tight boots wading through the fowl-meadow grass, on
bleak, wintry, distant shores, with guns at half-cock, and
they shall see teal, blue-winged, green-winged, shelldrakes,
whistlers, black ducks, ospreys, and many other wild and
noble sights before night, such as they who sit in parlours
never dream of. You shall see rude and sturdy, experienced

3+6 THE CONCORD

men, keeping their castles, or teaming up their summer's
wood, or chopping alone in the woods, men fuller of talk
and rare adventure in the sun and wind and rain, than a
chestnut is of meat; who were out not only in '75 and
18 1 2, but have been out every day of their lives; greater
men than Homer, or Chaucer, or Shakespeare, only they
never got time to say so ; they never took to the way of
writing. Look at their fields, and imagine what they might
write, if ever they should put pen to paper. Or what have
they not written on the face of the earth already, clearing,
and burning, and scratching, and harrowing, and ploughing,
and subsoiling, in and in, and out and out, and over and
over, again and again, erasing what they had already written
for want of parchment.

As yesterday and the historical ages are past, as the work
of to-day is present, so some flitting perspectives, and demi-
experiences of the life that is in nature are in time veritably
future, or rather outside to time, perennial, young, divine,
in the wind and rain which never die.

The respectable folks, —

Where dwell they ?

They whisper in the oaks.

And they sigh in the hay ;

Summer and winter, night and day.

Out on the meadow, there dwell they.

They never die.

Nor snivel, nor cry.

Nor ask our pity

With a wet eye.

A sound estate they never mend.

To every asker readily lend ;

THE CONCORD 347

To the ocean wealth.

To the meadow health.

To Time his length.

To the rocks strength.

To the stars light.

To the weary night.

To the busy day.

To the idle play ;

And so their good cheer never ends.

For all are their debtors, and all their friends.

Concord River is remarkable for the gentleness of its
current, which is scarcely perceptible, and some have re-
ferred to its influence the proverbial moderation of the in-
habitants of Concord, as exhibited in the Revolution, and
on later occasions. It has been proposed, that the town
should adopt for its coat of arms a field verdant, with the
Concord circling nine times around. I have read that a
descent of an eighth of an inch in a mile is sufficient to
produce a flow. Our river has, probably, very near the
smallest allowance. The story is current, at any rate,
though I believe that strict history will bear it out, that the
only bridge ever carried away on the main branch, within
the limits of the town, was driven up stream by the wind.
But wherever it makes a sudden bend it is shallower and
swifter, and asserts its title to be called a river. Compared
with the other tributaries of the Merrimack, it appears to
have been properly named Musketaquid, or Meadow River,
by the Indians. For the most part, it creeps through broad
meadows, adorned with scattered oaks, where the cranberry
is found in abundance, covering the ground like a moss-bed.
A row of sunken dwarf willows borders the stream on one
or both sides, while at a greater distance the meadow is

348 THE CONCORD

skirted with maples, alders, and other fluviatile trees, overrun
with the grape-vine, which bears fruit in its season, purple,
red, white, and other grapes. Still farther from the stream,
on the edge of the firm land, are seen the gray and white
dwellings of the inhabitants.

The sluggish artery of the Concord meadows steals thus
unobserved through the town, without a murmur or a pulse
beat, its general course from south-west to north-east, and
its length about fifty miles ; a huge volume of matter,
ceaselessly rolling through the plains and valleys of the
substantial earth with the moccasined tread of an Indian
Warrior, making haste from the high places of the earth to
its ancient reservoir. The murmurs of many a famous
river on the other side of the globe reach even to us here,
as to more distant dwellers on its banks; many a poet's
stream floating the helms and shields of heroes on its bosom.
The Xanthus or Scamander is not a mere dry channel and
bed of a mountain torrent, but fed by the overflowing
springs of fame ; —

" And thou Simois, that as an arrowe, clere
Tlirough Troy rennest, aie downward to the sea " ; —

and I trust that I may be allowed to associate our muddy
but much abused Concord River with the most famous in
history.

" Sure there are poets which did never dream
Upon Parnassus, nor did taste the stream
Of Helicon ; we therefore may suppose
Those made not poets, but the poets those."

The Mississippi, the Ganges, and the Nile, those journey-

THE CONCORD 349

ing atoms from the Rocky Mountains, the Himmaleh,
and Mountains of the Moon, have a kind of personal im-
portance in the annals of the world. The heavens are not
yet drained over their sources, but the Mountains of the
Moon still send their annual tribute to the Pasha without
fail, as they did to the Pharaohs, though he, must collect the
rest of his revenue at the point of the sword. Rivers must
have been the guides which conducted the footsteps of the
first travellers. They are the constant lure, when they
flow by our doors, to distant enterprise and adventure, and,
by a natural impulse, the dwellers on their banks will at
length accompany their currents to the lowlands of the
globe, or explore at their invitation the interior of conti-
nents. They are the natural highways of all nations, not
only levelling the ground and removing obstacles from the
path of the traveller, quenching his thirst and bearing him
on their bosoms, but conducting him through the most in-
teresting scenery, the most populous portions of the globe,
and where the animal and vegetable kingdoms attain their
greatest perfection.

I had often stood on the banks of the Concord, watching
the lapse of the current, an emblem of all progress, follow-
ing the same law with the system, with time, and all that
is made ; the weeds at the bottom gently bending down the
stream, shaken by the watery wind, still planted where
their seeds had sunk, but erelong to die and go down like-
wise ; the shining pebbles, not yet anxious to better their
condition, the chips and weeds, and occasional logs and
stems of trees that floated past, fulfilling their fate, were
objects of singular interest to me, and at last I resolved to
launch myself on its bosom and float whither it would bear
me.

THE TAGUS
ARTHUR SHADWELL MARTIN

THE Tagus rises in that maze of mountains between
Cuenca and Tereul on the frontier of New Castile
and Aragon. It is the largest river of the Iberian peninsula,
having a length of 566 miles. It is of little commercial
advantage, however, as a means of traffic and communica-
tion, because in Spain its shallows, rapids and cataracts
render it unnavigable through much of its course ; and only
from Villavelha, eighteen miles within the Portuguese fron-
tier does it become navigable for the remaining 115 miles
to its mouth. It flows from its source first north-west-
wards for about thirty miles to its junction with the Gallo,
where it turns to the south-west to Toledo, whence it flows
westwards to the frontier of Portugal at Abrantes. There
it again curves south-westwards and falls into the Atlantic
ten miles below Lisbon.

The waves of the Tagus, according to ancient historians,
rolled with gold ; it is even said that the sceptre of the
kings of Portugal is made of the gold dust found in the de-
posit of this river. However, the Tagus is not now en-
dowed with this auriferous virtue ; and its banks in no-
wise deserve the brilliant descriptions indulged in by ancient
and modern poets. They are generally escarpments and
rocky gorges. The traveller, who follows the course of
the stream through a country often bare, arid and unculti-
vated, or burnt up by the sultry rays of the sun, sees little

<

THE TAGUS 35 1

but an impetuous water course, narrow and impeded with
dangerous rocks, forming dangerous cataracts and rapids.
The rocky cliffs that hem it in have little vegetation be-
yond a few evergreen oaks ; and with a few rare excep-
tions, notably the valleys of Aranjuez and Talavera, which
have been embellished with human art and culture there
are few parts of Spain so poor and savage in character. In
winter, the Tagus has a considerable rise, and covers the
few plains to be found along its banks ; but in summer,
like most of the other Spanish rivers it dwindles to almost
nothing ; so that even below Santarem, from Alcantara to
the confluence of the Zezere, navigation is interrupted by
numerous cataracts.

" Of the various phases of its most poetical and pictur-
esque course — first green and arrowy amid the yellow corn-
fields of New Castile ; then freshening the sweet Tempe of
Aranjuez, clothing the garden with verdure, and filling the
nightingale-tenanted glens with groves; then boiling and
rushing around the granite ravines of rock-built Toledo,
hurrying to escape from the cold shadows of its deep prison,
and dashing joyously into light and liberty, to wander far
away into silent plains and on to Talavera, where its waters
were dyed with brave blood, and gladly reflected the flash
of the victorious bayonets of England, — triumphantly it
rolls thence, under the shattered arches of Almaraz, down
to desolate Estremadura, in a stream as tranquil as the
azure sky by which it is curtained, yet powerful enough to
force the mountains of Alcantara. There the bridge of
Trajan is worth going a hundred miles to see 5 it stems the
now fierce condensed stream, and ties the rocky gorges to-
gether; grand, simple, and solid, tinted by the tender
colours of seventeen centuries, it looms like the grey

352 THE TAGUS

skeleton of Roman power, with all the sentiment of loneli-
ness, magnitude, and the interest of the past and present.

" How stern, solemn, and striking is this Tagus of Spain !
No commerce has ever made it its highway — no English
steamer has ever civilized its waters like those of France
and Germany. Its rocks have witnessed battles, not peace ;
have reflected castles and dungeons, not quays or ware-
houses : few cities have risen on its banks, as on those of
the Thames and Rhine ; it is truly a river of Spain — that
isolated and solitary land. Its waters are without boats, its
banks without life ; man has never laid his hand upon its
billows, nor enslaved their free and independent gambols."

Travellers and tourists never take in the river as a whole,
but content themselves with keeping to the railroad, and
visiting the more famous towns on the banks, — such as
Toledo, Talavera, Aranjuez, Abrantes and Lisbon.

At Toledo, the Tagus ages ago forced its way through
a romantic, rocky pass, 2,400 feet above the level of the
sea. The walls of the gorge are 200 feet high. This
ancient city stands on the north bank of the river which
washes its walls on three sides and forms the great pro-
tection of the stronghold. Rushing around it, on the east,
south and west, between rocky cliffs, it leaves only one
approach on the land side, which is defended by an inner
and an outer wall. Its magnificent cathedral still repays
a visit notwithstanding the vandalism of its foes. The
river, after passmg Toledo, runs through a deep and
long valley, walled up on either hand by lofty mountains.
Those on the right bank are always capped with snow,
and ranging nearly parallel with the course of the stream,
divide the valley of the Tagus from Old Castile and the
Salamanca country ; the highest parts are known by the

THE TAGUS 353

names of the Sierra de Gredos, Sierra de Bejar, and Sierra
de Gata. In these sierras the Alberche, the Tietar, and
the Alagon, take their rise, and, ploughing the valley in a
slanting direction, fall into the Tagus.

Talavera de la Reyna is a delapidated ancient town
surrounded with interesting old walls, and abounding in
antique picturesque fragments. It is situated on the Tagus,
seventy-five miles south-west of Madrid, in the centre of a
fruit-growing district. It is famous for the great battle
fought there in 1809 in which the French suffered a great
defeat by Wellington.

Aranjuez is on the left bank of the river, twenty-eight
miles south-west of Madrid, in a beautifully wooded valley.
Here, for once, the stream runs smoothly between smiling
banks.

Abrantes is finely situated on the river seventy miles
above Lisbon. Its surrounding hills are covered with
vineyards and olive groves ; it is strongly fortified, and was
an important position during the Peninsula war. Marshal
Junot took this city as the title of his Dukedom.

Lisbon is built partly on the right bank of the Tagus and
partly on hills behind. It extends for five miles along the
estuary, which here forms a safe and spacious harbour.

The principal affluents of this neglected river are the
Jarama, Guaddarama, Alberche, Al^on and Zezere from
the north, and the Guadiela and Rio del Monte from the
south.

THE INDUS
EDWARD BALFOUR

THE source of the Indus is in latitude 31° 20' north,
and longitude 80° 30' east, at an estimated height
of 17,000 feet, to the north-west of Lakes Manasarowara
and Rawan H'rad in the southern slopes of the Gangri or
Kailas Mountains, a short way to the eastwards of Gartop
(Garo). The Garo river is the Sing-ge-chu or Indus.
From the lofty mountains round Lake Manasarowara,
spring the Indus, the Sutlej, the Gogra, and the
Brahmaputra. A few miles from Leh, about a mile above
Nimo, the Indus is joined by the Zanskar river. The
valley where the two rivers unite is very rocky and pre-
cipitous, and bends a long way to the south. From this
point the course of the Indus, in front of Leh and to the
south-east for many miles, runs through a wide valley, but
the range of the mountains to the north sends down many
rugged spurs. A little lower, the Indus is a tranquil but
somewhat rapid stream, divided into several branches by
gravelly islands, generally swampy, and covered with low
Hippophae scrub. The size of the river there is very
much less than below the junction of the river of Zanskar.
The bed of the Indus at Pitak, below Leh, has an elevation
of about 10,500 feet above the level of the sea, but the
town is at least 1,300 feet higher. From the suddbn melt-
ing of accumulations of ice, and from temporary obstacles,
occasioned by glaciers and avalanches in its upper course,

THE INDUS 355

this river is subject to irregularities, and especially to
debacles or cataclysms, one of which, in June, 1841, pro-
duced terrific devastation along its course, down even to
Attock.

At the confluence of Sinh-ka-bab with the Shayok, the
principal river which joins it on the north from the Kara-
Korum Mountains, the river takes the name of Aba-Sin,
Father of Rivers, or Indus proper, and flows then between
lofty rocks, which confine its furious waters, receiving the
tribute of various streams ; and at Acho, expanding into a
broader surface, it reaches Derbend, the north-west angle
of the Panjab, where (about 815 miles from its source) it is
100 yards wide in August, its fullest season. From
Derbend it traverses a plain, in a broad channel of no great
depth in Attock, in latitude 33° 54' north, longitude 72° 18'
east, having about 200 yards above this place received the
river of Kabul, almost equal in breadth and volume, and
attains a width of 286 yards, with a rapid boiling current,
running (in August) at the rate of six miles an hour. The
breadth of the Indus at Attock depends not only upon the
season but the state of the river upwards, and varies from
100 to 260 yards. The whole length of its mountain
course, from its source to Attock, is about 1,035 miles, and
the whole fall is 16,000 feet, or 15.4 per mile. From
Attock to the sea the length is 942 miles, making its
whole length, from the Kailas Mountains to the Indian
Ocean, 1,977 nii^cs. Its maximum discharge, above the
confluence of the Panjab or Five Rivers, occurs in July and
August, when it is swollen by the seasonal rains, and it
then reaches 135,000 cubic feet, falling to its minimum of
15,000 in December.

In the Tibetan of Sadakh it is commonly designated

356 THE INDUS

Tsang-po, or the river, and is the Lampo-ho of the Chinese
Pilgrim, Hiwen Thsang, who travelled in the middle of the
Seventh Century.

Below the junction of the Panjab rivers down to Schwan,
the Indus takes the name of Sar, Siro, or Sira ; from below
Hyderabad to the sea it is called Lar, and the intermediate
portion is called Wicholo (Bich, Hindi), or Central, repre-
senting the district lying immediately around Hyderabad,
just as, on the Nile, the Wustani, or Midlands of the
Arabs, represents the tract between Upper and Lower
Egypt. Sir A. Burnes mentions that Sar and Lar are two
Baluch words for north and south. The Indus or Sind has
been called by that name from time immemorial to the
present day, by the races on its banks. The ancients knew
that this was the native appellation. Pliny (lib. 6, vi),
says, " Indus incolis Sindus appellatus." The Chinese call
the river Sin-tow.

From Attock the course of the Indus to the sea, 940
miles, is south and south-west, sometimes along a rocky
channel, between high and perpendicular cliffs, or forcing
its way, tumbling and roaring, amidst huge boulders, the
immense body of water being pent within a narrow chan-
nel, causing occasional whirlpools, dangerous to navigation,
to Kalabagh, in latitude 32° 57' north, longitude 71° 36'
east, situated in a gorge of the great Salt Range, through
which the river rushes forth into the plain. In this part of
its course it has acquired the name of Nil-ab, or Blue
Water, from' the colour imparted to it by the blue limestone
hills through which it flows. There are some remains of
a town on the bank of the river, named Nil-ab (where
Timur crossed the Indus) supposed to be the Naulibus or
Naulibe of Ptolemy. At Kalabagh the Indus enters a level

THE INDUS 357

country, having for a short time the Khursuri Hills, which
rise abruptly on the right. It now becomes muddy, and as
far as Mittunkote, about 350 miles, the banks being low,
the river, when it rises, inundates the country sometimes as
far as the eye can reach. Hence the channels are contin-
ually changing, and the soil of the country being soft — a
mud basin, as Lieutenant Wood terms it, — the banks and
bed of the river are undergoing constant alterations.
These variations, added to the shoals, and the terrific blasts
occasionally encountered in this part of the river, are great
impediments to navigation. The population on its banks
are almost amphibious; they launch upon its surface,
sustained by the inflated skins or mussaks, dried gourds, and
empty jars used for catching the celebrated pulla fish, the
Hilsa of Bengal. At Mittunkote the Indus is often 2,000
yards broad, and near this place, in latitude 28° 55' north,
longitude 70° 28' east, it is joined, without violence, by the
Panjnad, a large navigable stream, the collected waters of the
Sutlej, Beas, Ravi, Chenab, and Jhelum. Its true chan-
nel, then a mile and a quarter wide, flows thence through
Sind, sometimes severed into distinct streams, and discharges
its different branches by various mouths into the Indian
Ocean, after a course of 1,977 ni'l^s. The Indus, when
joined by the Panjnad, never shallows, in the dry season, to
less than fifteen feet, and seldom preserves so great a breadth
as half a mile. Keeled boats are not suited to its naviga-
tion, as they are liable to be upset. The Zoruk, or native
boat, is flat-bottomed. Other boats are the Dundi, Dund,
Kotal, and Jumpti. Gold is found in some parts of the
sands of the Indus.

The shore of its delta, about 125 miles in extent, is low
and flat, and at high tide, to a considerable distance inland.

358 THE INDUS

overflowed; and generally a succession of dreary, bare
swamps.

In the mouths of the Indus, the tides rise about nine feet
at full moon, and flow and ebb with great violence, partic-
ularly near the sea, when they flood and abandon the banks
with incredible velocity. At seventy-five miles from the-
ocean they cease to be perceptible.

Between the Seer and Kori mouths, at the south-east of
the delta, it is overspread with low mangrove jungle, run-
ning far into the sea, and from the Seer is a bare, unin-
habited marsh. The main stream of the Indus has dis-
charged its waters at many points between Cape Monze,
immediately west of Kurachee and gulf of Cutch, if not even
that of Cambay. Pitti, Hajamri, and Kediwari, now sea-
channels and tidal creeks, shut ofF from the river, except
during the monsoon, are all former mouths of the Indus.
The Buggaur or Gharra is still a considerable stream dur-
ing the inundation ; it takes off from the; Indus close to
Tatta.

\\ ^vW

\ \

^^

x\0 '
«. S\ \ \ V X

X \ X
Xx\ ^

X^N ..

^\

^x

^^xl
x^f

x\^^"

^■m