AMONG Hagerstown's well known business men is Mr. Walter E. Pattison, a former Pittsburgher. We sent him a grape-vine telegram of our advent in town and on coming down from breakfast in the morning he hailed us with a motorcar and an invitation for a drive through Greater Hagerstown. We accepted with alacrity, remembering the tedious hours of the previous day, and made no objection when the chauffeur cut up didoes with the Maryland speed limit.
Mr. Pattison accompanied us to Williamsport in the afternoon to see "Sometub" and to join a little reunion with Col. George W. McCardell, the veteran editor of the WilliamsportLeader. Editor McCardell had been looking for me for eleven years and we were somewhat in doubt as to the outcome of the interview. The reason for his desire to lay hands on me was, as nearly as I can remember, the following paragraph which was printed over my name in the PittsburghGazettein the summer of 1905:
The Williamsport Leader is more than a journalistic enterprise—it is a well founded institution. It is the oracle of rockribbed Democracy, the unflinching champion of pure Jeffersonism and unfaltering Andyjacksonism.... The editor will take two pairs of Maryland frying-size chickens on subscription, but of his Virginia subscribers he requires three pairs in advance because, he says, the Maryland pullets are better and more tender.
The Williamsport Leader is more than a journalistic enterprise—it is a well founded institution. It is the oracle of rockribbed Democracy, the unflinching champion of pure Jeffersonism and unfaltering Andyjacksonism.... The editor will take two pairs of Maryland frying-size chickens on subscription, but of his Virginia subscribers he requires three pairs in advance because, he says, the Maryland pullets are better and more tender.
I resolved to meet the editor and finish the argument. Mr. Pattison led the way to a new and prosperously attractive sanctum. It was publication day—Friday—andCol. McCardell, after a strenuous week, stood with folded arms beside an imposing stone with type still wet from the day's "run." My wife, who embodies the traditions of five generations of the editor's brand of politics but who stood ready to defend the quality of Virginia chicken against the world, was the first to enter the den of the journalistic lion. It was a clever ruse on Mr. Pattison's part, for first of all Col. McCardell is a chivalrous southern gentleman. Why, of course, Virginia fried chicken is the finest in the land. And Virginia women compose the very flower of American womanhood. Their presence here is welcomed like the May-time sunshine. The Potomac ripples softly when they cross the river and in the trees on the Maryland shore the summer zephyrs sing sweet benisons to the fair daughters of the Old Dominion.
And when I entered the feud of eleven years had vanished. I could only blush and bow my acknowledgements.
With fond good-byes to Col. McCardell and Mr. Pattison we departed in the mid-afternoon bound for Mercerville by twilight in the hope that we would have the following day to spend on Antietam battlefield. But we had not reckoned with the elements. Four miles below Williamsport a terrific storm burst upon us. So sudden was the tempest that we were obliged to tie to the towpath bank to prevent the furious gales of wind from capsizing the boat. For a few minutes it seemed that our canopy would be torn to tatters. Our lines gave way and I climbed out to steady the heaving craft. Then it rained in such torrents that it momentarily took away my breath. Vivid flashes of lightning and deafening thunder followed in instant succession. The wind wrenched big sycamores from their roots and they crashed across the miry towpath like jackstraws thrown by an angry giant. The storm lasted more than an hour but a steady patter of rain followed. Our supplies stored under the deck and protected by the poncho were dry, but our clothes were dripping and the temperature had turned chill and raw. Darkness was coming on and we prepared to tie up for the night. How bright and warm looked the blue flame from the canned alcohol while we boiled our coffee!
It was a gloomy outlook, but southern hospitality which proved the silver lining to every dark cloud on our cruise, once more intervened. A farmer rode down the towpath and invited us to go to his house for the night. Our good Samaritan was Mr. J. H. Wine, whose home nestles snugly under the mountain beside the canal. We accepted with haste that we hoped would indicate our extreme gratitude and soon had our dripping duds spread out on the backs of chairs before the range in the spacious kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Wine tendered usthe guest room and we sought slumber early. Only the outdoor enthusiast would have been worthy of the frugal breakfast in the morning. We thanked our good hosts and prepared to depart. The question of remuneration for favors invariably was spurned by the hospitable people on the canal.
The sun came out gloriously and we hoped to reach Mercerville by noon. We did, but there the motor balked again and we spent two hours trying to fix it. We gave up the thought of visiting Antietam and about the time the shadows began to lengthen, started solemnly toward Shepherdstown, five honest miles down the canal. We paddled and towed alternately, making even slower progress than in the wake of No. 18. Darkness came on and we were still on the lonely path. About 9 o'clock we reached a lock and were told that Shepherdstown was still a mile beyond. A storm was gathering and the lockmaster invited us to tie up and spend the night in his house notwithstanding that it would place several members of his large family at an inconvenience. We agreed to leave the boat, but insisted on going to Shepherdstown where we could find a hotel and a garage mechanic.
AGAINST the protests of the lockmaster and his wife we lighted our lantern and started down the lonely towpath. Black clouds obscured the sky and we stumbled along at times having difficulty in keeping on the path. Flashes of lightning and rumbling thunder betokened a storm that would rival the one on the previous night. Our lantern's flickering light only intensified the darkness but the lightning frequently assisted us when its glare illuminated the entire landscape.
In our race with the storm we were the first under the wire. Fleeing across the bridge over the Potomac we breathlessly climbed the hill and along a dark street to the center of the town whither we had been directed to the hotel. Suddenly we rounded a corner into an electric-lighted thoroughfare and stood before the entrance of the Rumsey House. Our clothes were wrinkled and we were splashed with mud from head to foot. We still carried our lighted lantern and the crowd at the hotel gazed at us with expressions twixt curiosity and amazement. The proprietor was moved to commiseration.
"Come in here, you-all, right away," he said.
THE hallowed notes of church chimes awakened us on our first morning in Shepherdstown and before the day was an hour older we felt grateful to the motor for compelling our stop-over in this quaint community. Geographically Shepherdstown is in West Virginia, but politically, socially and traditionally it leans toward the Old Dominion. It lies in Jefferson county at the foot of the beautiful Shenandoah valley and is essentially southern. Its whole atmosphere and the sympathy of its people belong distinctly to Piedmont Virginia. It is the Alsace-Lorraine of America.
Next to Alexandria, Shepherdstown is perhaps the oldest important settlement in the Potomac valley. It is one of the few old towns in the country that has not been defaced by too much present day progress. Shepherdstown has always been a substantial prosperous place and does not affect the gewgaws of the new rich municipality. In some respects it resembles Concord, Massachusetts. Its streets have many features in common with the thoroughfares of the old-time New England towns. In many of the residences are preserved some of the most striking characteristics of chaste colonial architecture.
It was a restful place to spend Sunday and in the evening we joined the villagers in a stroll through the shady streets and out on the bluff overlooking the Potomac. Here on the edge of the cliffs on a natural base of limestone rock is an imposing shaft lately erected to the memory of James Rumsey, Shepherdstown pioneer and inventor of the steamboat. Rumsey, you know, was the Langley of steam navigation. While Prof. Langley originated the idea of the heavier than air system of aeronautic transportation, his aeroplane, upon which experiments were made on this same Potomac river, was not perfected to the point of standing the practical test. Two bicycle mechanics in Dayton, Ohio, were destined to make a crowning achievement where the scientist had failed. Posterity will demand that the Wright brothers share their fame with Langley.
photographAntietam Battlefield at Dunker Church (right) and Cornfield (left) Across Hagerstown Pike
Antietam Battlefield at Dunker Church (right) and Cornfield (left) Across Hagerstown Pike
Although Robert Fulton is popularly credited with the invention of the steamboat, he only perfected the work which was started by Rumsey in the waters of the Potomac at Shepherdstown in September, 1784. In thepresence of George Washington a boat which ascended the stream by mechanical appliances was exhibited by Rumsey 23 years before Fulton's Clermont made its memorable voyage on the Hudson.
The house in which Rumsey lived is one of the historic landmarks of Shepherdstown. The inventor went to Europe and built a new boat which made a successful trip on the Thames in December, 1792. A few weeks later sudden death in the very prime of life cut short Rumsey's career.
In the Civil War Shepherdstown endured the agony but shared little of the glory of battle. It is about eight miles north of Harper's Ferry and less than four miles west of Antietam. Skirmishes took place here early in the war and in September, 1862, it saw Stonewall Jackson's famous foot cavalry sprint through this corner of Jefferson county in his encircling movement for the capture of Harper's Ferry. A week later echoes of the guns engaged in the bloody work at Antietam reverberated against the hills around Shepherdstown and on the afternoon of that 17th day of September hundreds of mutilated men were carried into the village and committed to the care of the townspeople.
The wounded were Confederate soldiers and from the majority of homes in Shepherdstown had gone fathers, sons, brothers to fight under Lee or Jackson. Marie Blunt, one of the heroic women who assisted caring for the wounded, in describing that melancholy day, said:
"We went about our work with pale faces and trembling hands, yet trying to appear composed for the sake of our patients, who were much excited. We could hear the incessant explosions of artillery, the shrieking whistling of the shells, and the sharper, deadlier, more thrilling roll of musketry: while every now and then the echo of some charging cheer would come, borne by the wind, and as the human voice pierced that demoniacal clangor we would catch our breath and listen, and try not to sob, and turn back to forlorn hospitals, to the suffering at our feet and before our eyes, while imagination fainted at the thought of those other scenes hidden from us beyond the Potomac.
"On our side of the river there were noise, confusion, dust; throngs of stragglers; horsemen galloping about; wagons blocking each other, and teamsters wrangling; and a continued din of shouting, swearing and rumbling, in the midst of which men were dying, fresh wounded arriving, surgeons amputating limbs and dressing wounds, women going in and out with bandages, lint, medicines, food. An everpresent sense of anguish, dread, pity, and, I fear, hatred—these are my recollections of Antietam."
LEAVING our invalid motor in care of a garage mechanic we boarded a Norfolk & Western train Monday morning to visit Antietam battlefield. It is a ride of less than 10 minutes from Shepherdstown to the station of Antietam which is adjacent to the village of Sharpsburg. The half a century that has passed since the war has witnessed but slight change here. Nearly all the houses are of the antebellum type. The woods have been cleared at various places over the field, but otherwise the landscape has changed but little when compared with wartime photographs and sketches of the battle.
A walk through the town and the national cemetery brought us to the Hagerstown pike which parallels the battle lines on the northern half of the field. Threatening weather called for haste and I was obliged to forego the pleasure of a ramble to familiar scenes around the picturesque Burnside bridge which I had photographed 11 years before. We were interested in two parts of the field—the line of Anderson's Confederate division and the position occupied by Hooker on the Union right. In locating the former we soon found ourselves in Piper's lane and walked down to the gray stone barn which stands as solid today as on that Wednesday afternoon when Hill and Sumner struggled for the mastery of this blood-drenched farmstead.
Less than a mile beyond is the little whitewashed Dunker church which marks the key to Stonewall Jackson's position. It stands in the woods at the west side of the Hagerstown pike at the intersection of the Smoketown road. On the east side of the pike was the famous cornfield where the Union soldiers under Hooker and Mansfield engaged in deadly combat with Jackson's men. In an area covering a few acres the losses on both sides in less than four hours' fighting on the morning of September 17th probably exceeded 5,000 killed and wounded.
All the important positions occupied by the troops on both sides have been marked by tablets erected by the Federal government and many memorials have been placed by the various states. One of the most interesting monuments is that of the State of Maryland to her sons—Union and Confederate—who perished at Antietam. It stands on a knoll a short distance east of the pike opposite the Dunker church.
At 11 o'clock on Tuesday morning, July 25, our motor having been pronounced "cured," we slipped "Sometub's" moorings and after adieus to hospitable friends in Shepherdstown, started on the second half of our journey. A mile and a half below the town we passed the ford over which Lee's army retreated from Antietam and saw the cliff where the Corn Exchange regiment came to grief in its pursuit of the Confederates.A little farther on we noted what we supposed was the site of Camp McAuley where the One Hundred and Fifty-fifth Pennsylvania regiment from Pittsburgh spent many a chilly bivouac in the autumn of 1862.
The scenery on the canal between Shepherdstown and Harper's Ferry is not rivaled anywhere in the country for its variety, abounding in pastoral beauty, historic interest and sublime grandeur. Our motor, being on its good behavior, the trip was uneventful. Across the river among the trees we descried the little hamlet of Falling Waters where occurred one of the first conflicts of the Civil War. We glided over Antietam creek through a picturesque aqueduct and continued for miles on through the trees at the base of the lofty cliffs of Maryland Heights.
After several stops to catch the pictures that presented themselves at every turn, we reached the lock opposite Harper's Ferry about 4 o'clock in the afternoon. We threw "Sometub's" line to a picket fence beside the canal and hastened across to the town to call at the postoffice to receive an accumulation of 10 days' mail that had been forwarded from point to point all the way from Hancock.
This is a late day to describe Harper's Ferry. Thomas Jefferson more than 100 years ago wrote a description of the place and stole the thunder from his successors for all time to come. In October, 1859, old John Brown in a different manner gave fresh fame to the locality, and on a gallows over the hills at Charles Town paid the penalty with his life. Harper's Ferry got into the headlines soon after Fort Sumter was fired upon and kept in the limelight till the very close of the war. Since that time the Baltimore and Ohio railroad has appropriated the old town, mountains, rivers, scenery, historic associations and all and has overlooked no opportunity to exploit its beauty and its traditions.
We had expected to have a veritable field day here with our camera, but when we came from the postoffice clouds rolled down from the mountains like great avalanches of snowy feathers, the village grew misty and rain began to fall. With no immediate prospect of clear weather we decided to continue our voyage. It would be heresy, however, not to present a picture of Harper's Ferry, and we are indebted to Mr. J. Hampton Baumgartner, of the Baltimore and Ohio railroad, for the one presented here. The railroad has acted the pious antiquarian in preserving this historic shrine and the fame of the sacred spot is perpetuated largely through the services of this corporation. Railroads more frequently are ruthless vandals in their treatment of historic landmarks, but not so with the Baltimore and Ohio. This portion of the railroad is itself a talisman of history worthy of every patriotic American's interest and study.
photographHarper's Ferry, from Maryland Heights
Harper's Ferry, from Maryland Heights
Rain was falling in torrents when we unleashed "Sometub" from the picket fence and started through the lock. By the time the one-armed locktender had opened the gates and we chugged out under the Baltimore and Ohio bridge at the entrance of the Maryland Heights tunnel the storm had grown to the proportions of a cloudburst. We found ourselves in a canyon of concrete with a sharp curve ahead. It was a perilous place to meet a canal boat and we continued on through the blinding storm. At the end of the canyon we moored to the towpath bank for a time, but with darkness approaching and the rain continuing unabated, we resolved to resume the voyage.
At dusk we reached Brunswick. Everything above board on the boat, including ourselves was drenched. Scrambling out on the towpath I waded through the mud to inquire of the locktender for a place to tie up. Despite the rain, we had decided to spend the night on "Sometub." We had become so attached to the little craft by this time that it seemed like ingratitude to go to a comfortable hotel and leave it out there in the storm and the night.
But this was not to be.
THERE must have been something about the appearance of our outfit or ourselves, or both, on the arrival of the bedraggled "Sometub" at Brunswick calculated to awaken the deepest sympathy of the kind-hearted folk who watched us approach through the chilly rain. When I asked the lockmaster for a suitable place to tie up for the night he pointed to a dilapidated dock on the berm bank adjacent to an ancient and densely populated pig pen.
"It would be very fine, except for the neighbors," I told him. "Pigs have a habit of getting up too early in the morning to suit us." This was not quite the reason for our objection to mooring beside a pig pen, but I aimed to be diplomatic. Perhaps they might be his pigs. "Crackey!" exclaimed the lockmaster, "You-all don't intend to spend the night in that boat, do you?"
"Yes," I answered. "We have the most comfortable cabin you ever saw."
Before the lockmaster could answer another man, who hastened over from the railroad yards, at once assumed the role of superintendent of the harbor, collector of the port, quarantine officer or whatever you would choose to call him. He spoke with the air of a person clothed with absolute authority.
"Yes, yes; tie up over there and I'll——" he began.
"I have just told the lockmaster that I'll not tie up over there," I interposed. But our new friend disregarded me entirely and continued:
"——I'll have an automobile here in five minutes to take you and the missus up to the hotel. Your boat will be safe till morning. Come from Pittsburgh, eh? How in Sam Hill did you get into the canal? I used to work in Pittsburgh, but that was a good while ago. Pretty big place now, I suppose—"
He was true to his word. An automobile oozed through the mud and the chauffeur announced that he was ready to take "the lady and gentleman to the hotel." In the presence of such an example of prompt service we reconsidered our resolution to spend the night in the boat and taking our baggage, we went to the hotel in our khakis. The people in the lobby must have thought that unkempt members of a band of gypsies had invaded the place when we rushed through to our room.However, the opinions of bystanders as to the appearance of our traveling duds gave us little concern. We put on dry clothes and in a few minutes it was announced that the dining room had been opened for our especial benefit. The young wife of the proprietor cooked and served a bountiful repast. She must have felt repaid for the effort by the manner in which we dispatched all the good things she had prepared.
The rain lasted through the night but Wednesday, July 26th, dawned with clear skies. We prepared to depart early, but first stocked "Sometub" with provisions and fuel, Brunswick being the last large town on the canal on the way to Washington. Before us for a distance of nearly 50 miles lay a stretch of sparsely settled country. From Brunswick to Point of Rocks the Baltimore and Ohio railroad runs close beside the towpath and in the early morning, "Sometub" was greeted several times by passengers on the observation cars of the Royal Blue express trains which dashed by at a mile-a-minute speed. We wondered if the people who were fluttering handkerchiefs and waving hats envied us. It was while riding on the observation car several years ago on this same route that we had planned our voyage. In its realization we regretted that more vacation tourists could not share the pleasure of our trip over the mountains—by water. We did not stop to consider that the majority of summer travelers desire speed, luxury and the least discomfort and would balk at the petty annoyances we endured through an obstinate motor and the omniesence of Jupiter Pluvius.
Under the shadow of old Catoctin mountain we passed the Point of Rocks, famous in the Civil War as the place where Lee's army crossed for the invasion of Maryland in the Antietam campaign. A few miles beyond the course of the river turns from southeast to southwest and we sheered off sharply from the railroad. We crossed on the famous stone aqueduct over the Monocacy river. The character of the scenery changed quite as preceptibly as the direction of the stream. Through the drooping branches of the trees we saw on the north the rugged outlines of old Sugar Loaf peak and across the Potomac the undulating ridge of the southern spur of Catoctin, and when heights faded in the blue haze of a midsummer day, we bade farewell to the mountains. Henceforth our way ran through the lowlands down to the sea, the hills and river bluffs reaching an altitude of only a few hundred feet.
At Edwards Ferry we saw the wooded face of Ball's Bluff which gave name to a Civil War conflict which was second only to Bull Run in causing discomfiture to the people of the North. In this little fight the country lost a notable figure in the person of General Edward D. Baker, first United States senator from Oregon.
For miles along this portion of our route we ran without seeing a human habitation. A dense strip of woodland concealed the river from view and bluffs or marshy thickets interposed between the canal and the country to the north. Occasionally through the trees we caught a fleeting glimpse of beautiful meadows and cornfields of the Maryland farmlands, but these vistas were rare.
At White's Ferry, where on September 5th, 1862, Stonewall Jackson's army forded the Potomac, and while singing "My Maryland," marched gallantly on toward Frederick, we stopped under the highway bridge that spans the canal to replenish our supply of gasoline. Leaning over the rail of the bridge stood a native whose face was obscured by the shadow of a straw hat of immense brim. Over his shoulder was a fishing-pole of a length of thirty feet or more. He ignored our salutation when we approached, but after we had drifted under the bridge he crossed to the rail on the other side and inquired:
"Stranger, whar did you put that tub in this ditch?"
"Cumberland."
"By crackey!" And he sauntered down the road.
The history of this "ditch" is a commercial romance closely linked with the political developments of the last one hundred and fifty years. During the period immediately preceding the Revolutionary War Washington devoted his chief attention toward the opening of the west to colonization and for a cheap transportation route foresaw that navigation on the waters of the upper Potomac would offer a direct outlet for the products of the agricultural regions of the western country to the Atlantic seaboard. The alarm from Lexington in 1775, of course, put an end to all immediate plans for the internal improvement among the colonies, but after Burgoyne had been cut off at Saratoga and Cornwallis had been bagged at Yorktown, Gen Washington again turned his attention to the transportation problem. Before peace was restored he left the camp of the patriot army at Newburg and inspected the future route of the Erie canal through the Mohawk valley.
Washington shrewdly divined that a canal between Lake Erie near Niagara, connecting it with the Mohawk and the Hudson would open up a route that would be a dangerous competitor to the southern colonies in their trade with the west. Soon after he was relieved from his military duties he made a tour of exploration with a view of locating a route connecting the Potomac with the Ohio and the Great Lakes. His journal sets forth clearly his wonderful farsightedness and broad comprehension of the situation. Here is Washington's reportof his transportation line from Detroit to Alexandria, Va.: (The spelling is Washington's).
To Cuyahoga River125 MilesUp same to Portage60 MilesPortage to Bever Ck8 MilesDown Bever Ck to the Ohio85 MilesUp the Ohio to Fort Pitt25 MilesMouth of Yohiogany15 MilesFalls to Ditto50 MilesPortage1 MileThree Forks or Turkey foot8 MilesFt. Cumberland or Wills Creek30 MilesAlexandria200 MilesTotal607 Miles
Bear in mind that the "mouth of the Yohiogany" is now McKeesport, that the "falls to ditto" indicates Ohio Pyle and that "Three Forks" means the present locality of Confluence, and compare the distances with present day surveys. They will not vary a mile on the entire stretch. Ask the eminent engineers of the Lake Erie & Ohio River Canal if they can add much to Washington's ideas. Their answer will give you added reasons for celebrating on the 22nd of next February.
In February, 1785, the laws were passed by the legislatures of Maryland and Virginia authorizing the formation of a company for the improvement of the Potomac river and books for the subscription of stock were opened at once. The total shares were 403 and the capital of the new Potomac Company was 40,300 pounds. Washington was elected its president and James Rumsey, the inventor, whose monument we saw at Shepherdstown, was general manager. In the summer of 1785 the work of blasting rock and other obstructions was begun between Great Falls and Harper's Ferry.
The work was prosecuted with vigor, but during the winter of 1786-87 there came a hint of labor troubles. Common laborers were paid 32 shillings (about $8.00) a month "with the usual ration except spirits, and with such reasonable allowance of spirits as the manager may from time to time think proper." The question of spirits seems to have been the chief cause of the trouble, for it is recorded that the company contracted for the supply of rum at "two shillings per gallon." It must have been the same kind of stuff that is peddled across the river to "dry" Virginians today.
In 1787 Washington withdrew from active work in the company to accept the presidency of the Republic. His retirement sealed the fate of the corporation. Its affairs languished for years and in 1823 was declared defunct.
In the same year—1823 a date since famous for the promulgation of the Monroe doctrine—the navigation project was again revived in the Maryland legislature. It was estimated that the proposed work of cutting a canal from tide-water (Washington, D. C.) up the Potomac, across the mountains to a branch of the Ohio, and down the same, at $1,500,000, of which Virginia, Maryland and the District of Columbia were each to subscribe one-third. The Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Company was incorporated by the Maryland legislature in 1825 with a capital stock of $6,000,000, Congress having previously made an appropriation of $30,000 for preliminary surveys. The route selected for the canal alarmed the citizens of Baltimore. They saw that it would divert trade from their city. About this time Philip E. Thomas, a Baltimore banker, and George Brown, an enterprising resident of that city, took earnest counsel between themselves to save the traffic for their town. On the 19th of February, 1827, they held a meeting with their townsmen which was destined to become memorable in the whole history of transportation.
photographTom Thumb—B. & O. 1830
Tom Thumb—B. & O. 1830
Up in Quincy, Mass., and in Maunch Chaunk, Pa., for a year or two wagons had been operated on rails, and Mr. Thomas inquired of his confreres why a "rail road" would not be practicable from Baltimore to the Ohio. The whole world knows the answer: On February 28, 1828, a charter was granted to the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Company, Mr. Thomas resigned the presidency of the Machanics' Bank in Baltimore to become the head of the first American railway system.
THEN began a memorable commercial race between canal and railroad. Their prospective routes were parallel and both sought the same destination—the Ohio river at Pittsburgh. Early in 1826 both companies were in the field surveying for their respective highways. On the fourth of July succeeding celebrations were planned by the rival corporations. In Washington on that day President John Quincy Adams, the members of his cabinet, foreign ambassadors, survivors of the Revolutionary War and a great throng of citizens proceeded up the Potomac to Great Falls where the first spadeful of earth in the construction of the canal was turned by the President of the United States.
Over in Baltimore at the same hour the venerable Charles Carroll of Carrollton, the only surviving signer of the Declaration of Independence lifted a spadeful of earth in placing the foundation stone to commemorate the commencement of the building of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. The railroad was completed to the Maryland shore opposite Harper's Ferry in 1834 and was opened to operation December 1, the work on the canal at that time having proceeded more rapidly, despite injunctions, financial embarrassments and a multitude of obstacles that interfered with the work. The canal finally was completed to Cumberland February 17, 1851.
In the meantime the railroad had struggled to success in spite of similar obstacles. The Baltimore and Ohio was opened to the public May 22, 1830, and was received with approbation of the public. At this time the line extended from Baltimore to Ellicott's Mills, a distance of 12 miles. It was advertised that "brigades of cars left Baltimore at 6 and 10 a. m. and 3 and 4 p. m." These "brigades" of cars first were hauled by horses and mules and later a brother of President Thomas invented a car which moved by sails. The superintendent of motive power, nevertheless, was enterprising and steam was soon applied. As early as 1831 the company offered a prize of $4,000 for the best locomotive offered for trial on the road. It is a curious fact that a watchmaker of York, Pa., built the first practicable models.
One of these, the "Atlantic," on August 25, 1835, drew the first train into Washington amid the applause of President Andrew Jackson and a distinguished assemblage. This "grasshopper" locomotive was in use a generation later when it hauled the vanguard of Union soldiers to save the national capital in 1861. It developed a speed of 30 miles an hour which was regarded as suicidal in the early days of railroading. Although superannuated, the "Atlantic" is still in a good state of preservation and can be operated under its own power.
The canal and railroad are no longer competitors. The bonds of the former company are held by the railroad. The canal is in operation during the season of navigation and more than 100 boats are engaged in providing low-priced transportation for coal from Cumberland to the seaboard. On the railroad "brigades of cars" are seen at intervals of a few minutes dashing along behind locomotives that weight more than twenty times that of the little old "Atlantic."
photograph"Atlantic" Engine—B. & O. 1832
"Atlantic" Engine—B. & O. 1832
THROUGH the sultry afternoon of Wednesday, July 25th, "Sometub" ran for hours under the willows that fringe the Maryland meadows in Montgomery county. Across the river the Virginia shore presented an endless panorama of wooded hills that grew less rugged in their outlines as we proceeded down the stream. At sunset we were running through a marshy region and decided to keep on rather than invite malaria by spending the night on the border of a swamp. We were happy when, in the receding twilight, we espied the hills of Seneca creek and knew by consulting our topographical maps that we would have a more healthy mooring place. At Seneca a widewater covers about ten acres and under a big sycamore tree beside the little lake we tied "Sometub," preparing dinner on our "canned heat" range and serving it on our poncho which was spread on the soft, green turf.
The dying embers of a campfire were visible across an arm of the lake and after dinner we went to pay a neighborly call. Beside the fire was a tiny "pup" tent supported by two canoe paddles. On our approach three young men greeted us. A week before, they told us, they had started out from their homes in Washington on a fishing trip up the river. In the Potomac the bass were not biting but the mosquitoes were and betwixt hope and desperation they had turned into the canal. Now they were having fairly good luck and were comfortable.
Our new friends punctilously returned the call. One of the youths was the son of a naval officer and expressed much interest in "Sometub," and its unique cabin arrangement. We sat in the lantern light till midnight swapping motorboat experiences for fish stories. In this we had the better of the deal.
Thursday dawned clear and hot. Our neighbors, the fishermen, were out before sunrise and had breakfasted on their catch of perch, catfish and "sunnies" before we were stirring. Old Sol drank up the dew within a few minutes after his appearance over the Virginia hills and we made an excursion into a blackberry thicket where we picked a dish of luscious fruit for breakfast. It was our last berry feast of the season. After reciprocating photographs of our respective "camps," we headed for Seneca lock and were lowered through it by members of a troop of Washington BoyScouts who volunteered their assistance to the lockmaster.
At noon we reached Great Falls. Here are 13 locks in a series of two, seven chambers in the first and six in the second. The actual time in making the descent was considerably less than two hours. We stopped at the first lock, and upon payment of a small fee to the lockmaster, were admitted to the private park surrounding the Great Falls of the Potomac. Crossing a swinging bridge to an island in the river we obtained a magnificent view of the cataract. The stream was at flood stage and the scene rivaled the rapids of the lower Niagara.
In the late summer and autumn of 1861 the Union and Confederate pickets frequently exchanged compliments at short range from behind the rocks and boulders along this stretch of the Potomac. If you have any friends among the survivors of the Pennsylvania Reserves, ask them to tell you of their experiences during the open season for snipers in those exciting days.
In the middle of the afternoon we passed Cabin John bridge and moored "Sometub" at the lock at the foot of Glen Echo park. In the shade of the trees everything looked cool and refreshing and we decided to spend the evening with friends in Washington, but a few minutes after we stepped off the boat we realized that it was the hottest day of the summer. The lockmaster's wife invited us to go into her house and assigned us "spare rooms" to change our clothes. Going to Washington by trolley, we found the heat in the city almost intolerable after our fortnight in the open air of the mountains. After dinner in town against the protests of friends we returned to the boat and were lulled to slumber by the music in the dancing pavilion of the park.
JUPITER PLUVIUS had been on hand at the beginning of the voyage and now at its close he was in evidence again. Rain interrupted us at breakfast and continued through the forenoon. Disregarding the showers we started on the last lap of our cruise and at 11 o'clock reached Lock No. 1, or, according to our count, No. 75 from Cumberland. We surrendered our waybill with the request that the canal company would return it to us to keep as a souvenir. After a pleasant chat to the lockmaster during which time we took refuge from a particularly annoying shower, "Sometub" was lowered to the Georgetown level. A few minutes later the lofty towers supporting the arials of the naval radio station at Arlington were visible and rounding a majestic curve to the eastward, we beheld the fantastic skyline of the National Capital.
photograph of girl sitting by window"BACK HOME"
"BACK HOME"
Threading our way between a fleet of canal boats, tugs, skiffs and nondescript craft we reached the coal wharf in Georgetown and ran "Sometub" into the mud at the ancient lock which connects the canal with Rock creek, its outlet into the waters of the Potomac. The waterfront at Georgetown is no prepossessing place and the attitude of the bystanders was not calculated to lead the boatman to leave his property unguarded. Asking the obliging lockmaster to "keep an eye" on "Sometub" I went up a side street to the office of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Company to report our arrival and to meet in person Mr. A. Sahli, the secretary, with whom I had had an interesting telephone conversation last winter when in Washington arranging for the voyage.
Mr. Sahli had been most obliging and we felt grateful for his advice. He told me that a short distance below the lock at the railroad yards I could take the boat from the water and ship it back to Pittsburgh. It seemed that every possible convenience was provided for the skipper directing a "portable cruise."
I cannot describe my feelings when I returned to the wharf. We refused to realize that our voyage was at an end. It seemed that to take down the canopy, pack our stores and utensils and lift "Sometub" from the water would leave us absolutely homeless. It was still raining. For a long time we sat in the boat debating what to do. It was Friday and we had three days remaining on our hands. The little boat never looked more friendly, cozy and hospitable than just now. We had been companions on a most interesting journey and to leave it to pursue our own pleasure was like parting with a faithful partner in adversity.
We compromised by exploring new waters. Giving the signal to the lockmaster, we were lowered into Rock creek and started up that winding stream toward Rock Creek park where we hoped to find a quiet place to tie up. We ran under the arched bridge of Pennsylvania avenue and under the trees to a point at the foot of the hill below DuPont circle but here shoal water checked our progress. Reluctantly we turned back and ran out to the dam where the creek empties into the Potomac. Here our cruise came near terminating in a tragedy. We were within 30 yards of the dam before we saw that water to a depth of a foot or more was pouring over its crest into the swirling river 15 feet below. The motor refused to reverse. We were caught in the current and drifted broadside toward the dam.
Then we learned that a spruce canoe paddle is the most reliable of all motors for a small boat in moments of emergency. It was impossible to stem the current, but we succeeded in edging off from the middle of the stream and when almost at the edge of the dam caughtsome wisps of willows and held "Sometub" until a line was thrown ashore.
After extricating ourselves from this predicament we ran back to the entrance of the canal and met a great, whole-souled man in the person of Mr. Michael O'Leary, night watchman in a machine shop on the river front and the owner of a houseboat in Rock Creek. True to all the virtues of his nationality, Mr. O'Leary possesses a generous heart and bountiful hospitality. Shure, it would be all right to tie up to his boat and he would be plased to keep an eye on the wee tub.
Honesty was written all over his face and we left "Sometub" in his care, going downtown to spend another evening with friends but returned at night to our cabin. Saturday morning we were confronted by the inevitable necessity of "taking down" the superstructure of the boat and packing our baggage. Mr. O'Leary was on hand with a group of longshoremen who lifted "Sometub" from the water and carried it to a freight car as if it were a toy. We felt homeless now indeed. Only the refreshing good humor of Michael O'Leary mellowed our regret that our voyage was at an end.
"Sometub" in its freight car berth started that night on its return to Pittsburgh for many subsequent weekend excursions on the Allegheny, but we tarried a day longer. On Sunday morning we crossed over to Virginia and went to old Christ Church in Alexandria. There in that historic temple of worship, with its sacred memories of George Washington, we rounded our fortnight's journey. From first to last we had followed in the footsteps of the greatest American.
drawing of scroll and quill pen