A mile from the river's mouth, and just beyond the limits of Charleston, is one of the finest sandstone-quarries in the world. The United States government monopolizes most of its product in the construction of the magnificent lock and shifting dams in course of erection on the Kanawha to facilitate the transportation of coal from the immense deposits now being mined to the great markets of the Ohio River. A little farther on, the brown front of a timber dam and cribbed lock looks down upon a wild swirl and rush of water; for through a cut gap in its centre Elk flows unobstructed,—a penniless mob having made the opening one night that their canoes might pass free and capitalists be encouraged to remove such worthless stuff as money from the growing industries of the river. Prior to this act of vandalism the water was backed by the dam for a distance of fourteen miles, to Jarrett's Ford, making a halting-place for rafts and logs, barges and floats, coming down from the vast forests above when rains and snow-thaws raised the river and its tributaries; but now a long stretch of boom catches what it can of Elk's commerce and is a chartered parasite upon it.
Here at the old dam the mountains close in tightly upon the narrow valley. Log cabins and a few simple frame houses nestle upon diminutive farms; the wild beauty of shoal and eddy, bouldered channel and lake-like stretches of pool, rocky walls and timber-clad peaks, begins to charm the stranger and draw him on and on through scenery as attractive as grand toss of mountains and delve of river can make it.
By dint of poling, pushing, rowing, and pulling, the boats were worked over rapids and pools for almost a score of miles, to where the last rays of the sun slid over a mountain-point and hit Colonel Bangem's hat as it spun in the air by way of welcome, while the prows clove the water of a lovely eddy lying in front of his camp. The meeting was that of old friends, with the addition of a blush from Bess Bangem and its bright reflection from the Professor's face.
Tim Price took the colonel to one side mysteriously, and whispered, "I took keer uv the Perfessor my own self: he guv me a power uv trouble, though. Shell I hitch him now, er let him run loose?"
"We'll turn him loose now, Tim; but if he takes to turning somersets, catch him, loosen his collar, take off his boots, and throw him into the river," was the colonel's sober reply.
Scientists nowadays set up Energy as the ancestor of everything, measure the value of its descendants by the quantity they possess of the family trait, and spend their time in showing how to utilize it for the good of mankind in general. Professor Yarren was an apostle of Energy: it absorbed him, filled him. From the weight of the sun to boiled potatoes, from the spring of a tiger to the jump of a flea, from the might of chemical disembodiment to opening an oyster, he calculated, advised, and dilated upon it. He himself, was the epitome of Energy: in his size he economized space, in his diet he ate for power, not quantity. To him eating and sleeping were Energy's warehousemen; idleness was dry-rot, moth, and mildew; laughing, talking, whistling, singing, somersets, and fishing, never-to-be-neglected and in-constant-use safety-valves. He regarded himself as an assimilator of everything that went into him, be it food, sight, sound, or scent, and his perfection as such in exact ratio to the product he derived from them. So when next morning he said "Come on" to the Doctor, and Colonel Bangem, Mrs. Colonel Bangem, Bess Bangem, and Martha, the mountain-maid, who were all standing in front of the camp rigged for a day's fishing, he meant that one of Energy's safety-valves was ready to blow off, and that further delay might be dangerous to him.
In the Doctor, Energy was stored in bond as it were, subject to duties, and only to be issued on certificate that it was wanted for use and everything ready for it: therefore at the Professor's "Come on" he calmly sat down on a log, filled his pipe, leisurely lighted it, and good-humoredly remarked, "I am confident that one-half of what we call life is spent in undoing what we have done, in lamenting the lack of what we have forgotten, or going back after it: therefore I make it a rule when everything seems ready for a start—especially when going fishing—to sit five minutes in calm communion with my pipe, thinking matters over. It insures against much discomfort from treacherous memories and neglect."
As the Doctor whiffed at his pipe, he inventoried guns, tackle, lunch, hammocks, air-cushions, gigs, frog-spears, and all other necessaries for a day's sport on the river. The result was as he had prophesied,—many things had been omitted. "Now," said he, when the five minutes were up, "we might venture down the bank, which, rest assured, each member of this party will have to climb up again after something left behind."
A motley little fleet awaited the party at the water's edge,—square-ended, flat-bottomed punts, sharp-bowed bateaux, long, graceful, dug-out canoes, and a commodious push-boat, with cabin and awning, whose motive power was poles. Elk River craft are as abundant as the log cabins on its banks, and their pilots are as numerous as the inhabitants. Neither sex nor size is a disqualification, for, excepting the trifling matter of being web-toed, all are provided from birth with water-going properties, and, be it seed-time or harvest, the river has the first claim upon them for all its varied sports and occupations. A shot at mallard, black-head, butter-duck, loon, wild goose, or blue-winged teal, as they follow the river's winds northward in the spring-time, will stop the ploughs furrowing its fertile bottoms as far as its echoes roll around mountain-juts, and cause the hands that held the lines to grasp old-fashioned rifles for a chance at the winged passers. When, later, woodcock seek its margins, gray snipe, kill-deer, mud-hens, and plovers its narrow fens, the scythe will rest in the half-mown field while its wielder "takes a crack at 'em." And when autumn brings thousands of gray squirrels, flocks of wild pigeon and water-fowl, to feed on its mast, no household obligation or out-door profit will keep the natives from shooting, morning, noon, and night.
Some day in the near future a railroad will be built "up Elk," and then, while commerce and civilization will get a lift, the loveliest of rivers will be scarred; her trout-streams, carp-runs, bass-pools, salmon-swirls, deer-licks, bear-dens, partridge-nestles, and pheasant-covers will be overrun by sports-men, her magnificent mountains will be scratched bald-headed by lumbermen, her laughing tributaries will be saddened with saw-dust, and her queer, quaint, original boat-pullers and "seng-diggers" will wear shoes in summer-time and coats in winter, weather-board their log cabins, put glass in the windows and partitions across the one room inside. Woods-meetings will creep into churches, square sousing in the river will degenerate to the gentle baptismal sprinkle; no picnics or barbecues will delight the inhabitants with flying horses and fights, open fireplaces and sparking-benches will give way to stoves and chairs, riding double on horseback, with fair arms not afraid to hold tight against all dangers real or fancied, will be a joy of the past, "bean-stringin's," "apple-parin's," "punkin-clippin's," "sass-bilin's," "sugar-camps," "cabin-raisin's," "log-rollin's," "bluin's," "tar-and-feathering," and "hangin's," will be out-civilized, and the whole country will be spoiled.