FIVE DAYS IN THE DISMAL SWAMP.
There is one portion of the journey of the Toby Tyler which can hardly fail to interest the readers of Young People, although they might not care much for a record of the entire voyage. The trip through the Dismal Swamp occupied nearly five days, not because the little steamer could not have passed over the thirty miles of canal sooner, but because all on board were disposed to linger where the scenery was so novel and fascinating.
We will not try to give here a lesson in geography, nor to tell the exact size, location, and characteristics of these three hundred miles of submerged forest. This letter will simply contain an account of what the passengers of the Toby Tyler saw after leaving Norfolk, sailing five miles up the Elizabeth River, and entering what is known as the Dismal Swamp Canal.
Each one had expected to see a veritable swamp, where the trees would appear to be growing in the water, and where it would be impossible to walk, even a few paces, save at the risk of sinking deep in the mud. But dismal as the swamp is, it is not quite as bad as had been imagined. To be sure, there are miles and miles of territory where one would find it impossible to walk, owing both to the water and tangle of brake and vine; but along the banks of the canal the land is not only quite as firm as elsewhere, but there are several villages, where were found children who had read of the coming of the Toby Tyler, and were watching for the little steamer.
At those points where the marshy portions of the great swamp extend fully out to the canal, hedges of cane and flags have been trained, so that one sees only the masses of verdure which seem to have been cut apart by the narrow ribbon of water on which floated great barges and steamers, past which it seemed impossible the Toby could go, from sheer lack of space.
And the water in the canal looked so very strange, because, instead of being clear, it is exactly the color of strong tea, owing to the juniper-trees, which grow in the swamp in such profusion as to discolor it. But it tastes like the purest of spring water despite its queer look, and the ships of war sailing from the Portsmouth Navy-yard carry it for drinking purposes, because it will keep sweet and fresh six or eight months.
The charm and beauty of the swamp are not to be seen as one sails through its brown water-way; if one wishes to see it in all its dismal waste, he should do as did the voyagers on the Toby, and that is, explore some of the small rivers that cross the canal by means of a boat. The one belonging to the Toby is fourteen feet long, and can sail where the water is not more than five or six inches deep; it may also interest some of your readers to know that it is named Mr. Stubbs. In this little craft the writer and the artist almost forced their way up what is known as Old River, pushing aside branches of trees and clinging vines that seemed doing their best to prevent any one from entering the retreat they guarded.
Fifty yards in from the canal it was as if one had gotten miles away from all traces of civilization; not a sound was to be heard save the hooting of an owl or the twitter of the small birds; on a log just ahead an assembly of terrapin were holding a convention, probably to protest against being considered such a delicacy in the way of food; while just beyond, under the roots of an overturned tree, could be seen the head of a small bear, that was trying to make up his mind whether it would be better to run away, or stay and find out what the intruders wanted. He concluded to leave, however, and the terrapin followed his example by rolling off the log with a great splash, thus leaving the two explorers alone in a river that seemed all trees and but little water. It was indeed a swamp, or rather a submerged forest, this river, and it was only with the greatest difficulty the little boat could be forced along. After the banks of the canal were left astern it was no longer possible to distinguish the course of this river, for it stretched out in one broad body of water, which so mingled with the swamp that no one could say it had banks, or even a channel.
Perhaps a mile was passed over by alternate rowing and pulling, and then further progress was impeded by huge trees that had fallen into the water, completely blocking the way. Ahead, astern, and on either hand could be seen the dark, shallow water, thickly studded with trees from which hung the gray trailing moss so plentiful here. No sound broke the silence, no sign of life could be seen, no traces of man anywhere. It was certainly as wild a place as can be imagined, and the two exploring it thought they had seen the most dismal portion of this wonderful swamp.
In this, however, they found they were mistaken, when, on the following day, the Toby was anchored in the main canal, and in Mr. Stubbs the party rowed up a smaller canal into the lake of the swamp—Lake Drummond. Imagine this vast swamp (for up this last canal there was no question as to the swampy nature of the place), in the heart of which is a large body of water separated from that around it by an army of tree trunks bleached to a light gray by the sun and weather. Back of this ashen-colored border the juniper and pine trees lift their heads so high that the sun only illumines the water at noonday, while at other times the shadows cast by the trees on the brown water lend to all objects a purplish hue that is at least startling when first seen. It is a strange, weird-looking place, where one involuntarily whispers, as if he feared to waken nature from its solemn repose.
To describe this body of water in the midst of the vast swamp is impossible, so strange is the sensation the visitor has when seeing it for the first time. It was early in the morning when the passengers from the Toby arrived at the lake, and it was late in the afternoon before any of them remembered that they must return to the little steamer. Then it was almost a race to get back to the yacht in order that the village of South Mills could be reached before dark.
In this attempt, however, the voyagers were unsuccessful, owing to an exciting hunt which a party of gentlemen were having after a deer. They succeeded in their murderous design, for they killed him as he attempted to swim across the canal just under the bow of the Toby.
Late that night, when the little steamer was made fast to the pier at the village that marks the southern end of the canal, the voyagers on the yacht had venison steaks for supper that were cut from the deer they had seen killed, and all hands retired, almost sad that the journey through the swamp was ended, but anticipating very much from the trip down the Pasquotank River to Albemarle Sound.
James Otis.
Howard B.—You could have no more appropriate name for your dancing club than the one you have selected, "Lads and Lasses." All sorts of pretty and tasteful trifles may be used for favors, such as little bells, rosettes, flags, stars, butterflies, sashes, pictures, and flowers. At present tiny Japanese fans, umbrellas, cups, and vases are fashionable. Flowers are always appropriate as favors. The German affords scope for individual taste, and the favors may be very simple or very costly, as circumstances may regulate the affair. But while in some cases gold or silver jewelry has been given in the way of favors, it will be better for a club of young people to confine themselves to trinkets which, while of small money value, may still be pretty enough to be kept as souvenirs of a happy evening.
Dear Postmistress,—We have had a little discussion as to the proper method of hanging our pictures, and as we can not agree, will you kindly settle the question. We have hung them about on a level with our eyes, and are satisfied that that arrangement is good. The trouble is to know the proper angle of inclination. We had the tops of the frames about four inches from the wall; but a friend came in the other evening, and deliberately told us that that was all wrong. He then made rolls of stiff paper and, with them behind the pictures, forced the top of each frame about eighteen inches from the wall. Some of the family like the effect, and some declare it hideous. Which plan is considered the correct one by those who ought to know?
Trenton.
In hanging pictures it is well to have the middle of the picture in line with the eye. Let all small pictures be as flat as possible against the wall, and for larger ones let the angle of inclination depend upon size, making it invariably as small as you can. Only for a very large picture would an angle of eighteen inches be admissible. I would advise you to take away the stiff rolls of paper, and trust to your own sense of the beautiful and becoming rather than, in this instance, to your friend's judgment.