A Search for America / by Frederick Philip Grove, e-Ed.2000 -- BOOK III, CHAPTER II.
BOOK THREE -- THE DEPTHS

CHAPTER II.

I LOSE SIGHT OF MANKIND.

HAD REACHED the Ohio River, with the state of Ohio to the right and West Virginia to the left. The river ran shallow between great, rolling hills. Farms dotted the rich bottom-land of the floodplain. The huge scaffoldings of oil-wells began to obtrude. The nights began to be cooler; rainy spells were apt to be cold spells now and to last for days. My capital had melted to two or three dollars.
It was somewhere in Ohio, with the town of Wheeling not far off across the river. Never did I go out on the road; I followed the river exclusively. Sometimes great paddle-steamers lay stranded in mid-current; big timber-rafts were anchored or drifted past with their crews. To see men who followed such occupations seemed to bridge the chasm between myself, the nomad who lived off the land, and the settled portion of mankind for whom I still had nothing but aversion. I looked at those men on the rafts with longing and curiosity.
Progress along the river was sometimes difficult sometimes dangerous. I had to climb over the rocks on the throw-side; to wade through the mud of the flats on the inside of curves. By this time I had discarded my shoes, which I carried in my bundle, together with gaiters, stockings, and coat. I began to notice the wear and tear on my clothes, and it worried me. I began to feel that the time was bound to come when I should have to fit myself again into the great machinery of civilization; I dreaded its approach.
One morning I awoke to a sunless sky. A raw wind was blowing, lashing the river into short, angry waves which ran against the current. I was on the inner side of

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a long, flat curve, the bank being filled in with fine, alluvial deposits of the river. Every step which I took made a hole in this soft mud which instantly filled with water as I withdrew my foot.

I was coughing when I started out.
I knew I was near some industrial centre -- Wheeling, I suppose -- and I wanted to get past it that day. It was hard to walk with fair speed. But I hurried on. I remember how I worked myself into a sweat while I plodded along in the shelter of some vast, low ridge of gravel running out into the angry river. When I rounded it, the raw, bleak blast of the wind felt grateful for a moment; I sat down on a block of stone.
By noon I felt there was something wrong with me. I counted the beats of my pulse and found it careering along at fever-rate. A dread seized me that I might break down and be found by men who might want to take care of me. It did not matter to me what happened; I could have dragged myself into some cave to stay there and to die; but I did not want charity. The district in which I was seemed densely populated; the farther I went, the more so it was. There seemed to be no other way; I had to get through, past those towns which lay ahead. But the more I exerted myself, the harder it became to keep moving, and the oftener I had to sit down and to rest. At last I saw a bridge which crossed the river ahead. To the right, on my side of the water, there was a large mill, some iron-works, as I conclude from the outline of the picture in my memory.
A fine drizzling rain began to fall, lashed and driven home by the wind. I began to sneeze and to cough in ever more violent attacks. My head was a whirl; but I plodded on.
It was late; I began to see that at best I could not get far beyond the town. Still, I rested and dragged myself forward again. To the last I had only one thought: to escape observation.
By the time that I saw the bridge looming overhead,

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lights were burning on both sides of the river. From behind, where the mill towered, the clangour and roar of big industry sounded down. I was sitting on a rock again; the rain was coming down in blotchy streaks which I no longer saw but felt through my thin clothes. I had no thought any longer; I did not even realize my misery, which was merely physical. When I tried to rise and to proceed, my knees gave out under me; I fell to the ground.

I groped for a spot that might be smooth. I found a mound of sand and lay down. Thus I remained for an hour or so, soaked to the skin by the rain. Then I proceeded to make myself as comfortable as I could. I worked my body into the moist sand, making a mould of it which hugged half my body and half the legs which I had drawn up. Without rising I untied my bundle, took my coat out, wrapped my provisions again in the waterproof, stowed the bundle away in the angle between body and thighs, pulled the coat over my shoulders, and lay back again. My head was lying towards the river; my back, turned to the wind. The rain was increasing in force and in quantity; but gradually I became aware that by some freak of chance I had blindly picked on a spot that was, as far as the rain went, largely sheltered by the great span of the bridge overhead.
Long, long lay I awake there, watching the lights move about on the high bank where the mill stood. Green lights and red lights they were, and occasionally the white glare of a shunting engine.
I was glad that the bank was so high; it lessened the danger of being detected. I was grateful for the shelter which the bridge afforded. And I was not without a feeling of comfort, for I was warming the sand that formed the mould in which I lay; I never stirred, instinctively conserving all the heat of my body.
I fell asleep. And I lay awake again; I was awake all through the fitful dawn. I was conscious -- over and above, or maybe below that clangour and roar of the mill -- of a strange sound, as if water were tearing and rushing

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along at an unusual speed; and when I had adjusted my ear, so it would pick out these sounds and neglect the louder ones which proceeded from the mill, I heard, lifted above the subdued swish, set off against it, the short, playful lapping of eager little wavelets, very close at hand, yes, coming nearer as I listened.

I lay thus for hours.
Great white clouds were sailing in a blue sky. The wind was gusty; I was wet all through. But so long as I did not stir, I did not feel cold. Only when I moved the least little bit, just my feet, or my leg, for the smallest fraction of an inch, a cold wave seemed to run into my body in unexpected places. Slowly I realized that I was lying in water; the water came up from below; but I did not care. Although it came to be torture not to move, I forced myself to a strict rigidity; I concentrated my attention and a passionate effort on this one thing: not to move. I must have fallen asleep again over that.
Then I felt a touch in my back; it was repeated; it was a rough touch; I lifted myself in sudden anger.
There, towering above me, stood a huge, hulking man with one or two things -- the cap, maybe, or a badge -- suggesting the policeman.
He was kicking me with his foot, not violently, but insistently. He said, "Move on, there! Or I'll have to run you in. No vagrants wanted."
I gathered myself together and staggered to my feet -- swaying like a man in his liquor. I did not say a word, picked my bundle up, and stumbled away with a supreme effort, reeling.
The river had changed overnight. It had risen several feet and increased tremendously in width. Its floods were yellow and gurgled along, carrying a strange assortment of drift.
Once I got over the first shock of moving it was not bad. I felt that I was still feverish; but I was rested; and for the moment the problem was to establish a routine of movements which might proceed automatically. That

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was a problem not so easy of solution on ground which was soft, with an infinitude of various-sized pebbles and stones embedded in it. But I got away from the town.

The morning was showery, the wind blew in squalls; the air was not warm; but whenever the sun came out, it shone with great power. I plodded on for several hours. Then I began to feel that it was imperative for me to partake of some food.
At last I came to a point where the river bent to the south. That made my, the northern, bank the throwside of the current. Consequently it was steep and rocky, all movable sediments having been washed away by previous floods.
In one place rocky ledges jutted out over the river, like platforms arranged in a succession of steps, the lowest one being just a few inches above the water, the higher ones receding more and more. One of these upper platforms consisted of a rock-ledge six inches thick and protruding over the lower one for a distance of two or three feet, thus leaving a roofed-over space some three feet high. The yellow river shot by with great speed.
I stopped for the day; I had all I needed and all I could expect: a smooth, dry, rocky floor, shelter from the wind, a roof to ward off the rain, and a natural nook in the rocky shore which caught and held the heat of the sun. It was quite a find.
I unwrapped my bundle. It was moist inside, but not wet. The matches would not strike right away, but they were not completely spoiled. The oatmeal needed drying, too; but things looked pretty cheerful. A sharp pain in my side, however, warned me that I had a touch of pleurisy. I took my water-soaked clothes off and shrugged my bare body into my raincoat. Then I caught water from the river and let it stand for the mud to settle while I prepared a fire. My clothes I spread over the ledges to dry them; and whenever a shower came, I stowed them away under the platform to protect them from further wettings. Then I went into the willow-brush higher up on the bank

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to lay in a store of firewood; and by two or three in the afternoon I felt quite comfortable.

But the showers began to be more frequent and threatening again. They were thunder-showers now, bringing swift and violent outbursts under which the rocks quaked and shivered. I lay under my ledge, having spread a bed of willow-boughs, and using my clothes as covers.
The world seemed to belong to me.
Sheet-lightning and sudden thunderstorms kept up all night; and even the following day, when the river had risen so as to cover the lowest rock-ledge, the weather looked still so threatening that I resolved not to quit my camp. The pain in my side was gone; once more I felt the exuberance of youthful spirits.
This day was memorable for me because I learned to watch the drift of the river for things that might be useful. I went half a mile upstream; and whenever I saw something coming which caught my eye, I swam out.
One of the first things which I brought to shore was a large teakettle. True, after I had washed out the mud it contained, I found it leaked a little; but that hardly mattered, the leak was not big enough to let the kettle run empty in less than half an hour. This teakettle which I carried henceforth for eight or ten weeks became one of my most highly prized possessions; it solved a problem which I had long, been pondering. Beyond the realm of the river, on the higher bottom-lands of the ancient flood-plains, stretched vast Fields of corn. I did not reflect on the moral aspect of the matter -- I simply levied my toll henceforth, picking a few ears here and a few ears there. It was fodder corn, of the flint variety; and it soon needed anywhere from one to six hours boiling to soften it enough for profitable digestion in a human stomach; but it did away with the irksome buying of oatmeal which threatened to exhaust my funds.
Few people have an idea of the value and the variety of the river-drift after heavy rains. The next thing that attracted my attention on this day was a round, shiny,

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yellow object that bobbed up and down, looking for all the world like the bald skull of a human being. I was half afraid of going near it when I swam out. It proved to be a pumpkin; I brought it in.

Along towards evening I made my biggest find: a box containing a perfectly well-preserved ham of a well-known packer's brand. This ham taught me the first of a series of lessons which I was slow to profit by. You must not forget that this was not altogether a pleasure outing. It goes without saying that I tried to palm it off as such to myself as well as to the rare people who spoke to me -- clam-fisher here and there, or the attendant of a lock. I never took food any longer more than twice a day; and often it was not very satisfying. In fact, I do not think that I am going beyond the limits of the truth if I state that I had accustomed myself to a perpetual feeling of hunger. This evening I carved, with a pocket-knife, a pretty little corner off this ham; I boiled it, together with a quarter of the pumpkin, in a tin-can. I boiled it till it was deliciously tender. And then, not having partaken of meat for the last six weeks or so, I devoured it like a cannibal. Half an hour later I was violently ill; I found I could not retain the food I had eaten.
Another trifle had gone wrong in connection with this ham. When I brought it in, the current had swept me too far downstream, and I attempted a landing at my ledges. The speed of the current was considerable there, fifteen miles to the hour, I should say. And in my attempt to reach out for the ledge while I was being carried by I had grazed a submerged rock with my knee. When I was ashore again, I found that the point of the rock had cut a bad gash across it, two and a half inches long and as deep as the bone underneath allowed.
Next morning my leg was sore and stiff, and since I did not feel overly fit -- a consequence of my indigestion -- I resolved to stay in camp for another day.
The whole previous day it had been raining off and on, in violent, fitful showers; often I had been forced to retire

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under my rock-ledge for shelter. The river had still continued to rise. But this third day at the camp proved to be one of those glorious days of the fall when time seems to stop and to stand still.

Downstream lay a wooded island, dividing the river into two broad arms. The huge domes of the trees on this island seemed, in the sunlight of the early morning, to be fashioned of dark-green gold. The arms of the river to both sides looked like gates into a beyond which called and beckoned: Come, oh come! I fretted at being held.
There is a distinct gradation in the things the river picks up when it rises. I have seen a creek take all the breakfast paraphernalia from a roofed-over porch on which a coloured household had been sitting when the rainstorm started. The rise of the waters in the steep little creek was so sudden that, when they rushed away to secure other things about their yard, chairs, table and dishes had been swept off that porch before they had thought of their being in danger. Large logs, meanwhile, which they had felled for their winter's fuel, got caught in the brush surrounding the farm and settled down with only a slight dislocation when the flood ran out without going beyond a certain level. But from the opposite bank, helpless to interfere, I had watched the sugarbowl, from among their dishes, set out on its merry jaunt to the Gulf of Mexico, going at an amazing rate.
On this third day of the rising river hewn timbers, large logs and similar heavy freight began to travel downstream.
And they gave rise to, nursed, and finally launched a new idea. Why not make a raft and embark and let the river carry me on its patient back?
Nor did it take me long to suit my actions to the thought. I was on the throw-side of the current; heavy things swept very close along that last, submerged ledge, sometimes touching it and rebounding. The ham had been abundantly tied with a fairly stout cord. The little box furnished boards with nails which were short, but

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sufficient, I thought, to hold the two or three logs together, which I needed to carry me.

I lay down at the edge of the lowest platform, pocketknife in hand to use as a grappling-hook. I made my first catch, a log which came floating down crossways to the current. I buried my knife into its one end with such force that, when it gave under the impact, I nearly followed it, head first. I had to strain every muscle in order not to let go of both knife and log; but then it swung around, into the current, its pull eased off, and I guided it into the sheltered pool below the ledges where I tied it with my cord to a projection of the rock. Soon I had three logs which promised well. Then I saw a board floating by; and I remember distinctly what a feeling of anticipation of pain it gave me to see large nails sticking out of them; I could not help imagining vividly how it would feel to step on them with bare feet. But I wanted some of those boards for the top of my raft. To swim out after them was out of the question, on account of my sore and swollen knee. Yet I set out, limping upstream to where the bank sloped down more gently and evenly. And then I saw something which sent me rushing into the water: a wide board or plank or whatever it might be. I could nearly reach it before I had to relinquish my toe-hold on the river-bottom. I was swept off my feet for a second or so. But I had the precious thing, and I threw myself back, holding on to it, pulling with all my strength, striking out with one foot. My whole body floated under that plank or whatever it was. My toe hit something there; I gave a yell of pain: but I did not let go; and the next second I came to with a terrific jolt and a crash: we had brought up against the ledge of rock. Already the force of the current was swinging me out into the river; but with a twist of my body I threw myself on that lowest, submerged ledge and found myself lifting the whole thing bodily out of the water: a long, wide kitchen-table. God knew where the river might have picked up such loot; I laughed and danced about on the ledge, pulling the thing up and

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setting it on my platform. I went all around it and examined it carefully. The top was warped, but that was nothing; one of the legs had nearly been broken off by the impact on the ledge, and it stood sadly awry, but what did that matter? Here was what I needed: this table was going to ride astraddle over my logs; it was going to be the top of my raft.

I looked myself over. I had acquired quite a new crop of bruises and scratches; but what was that? I was going to ride along henceforth; I did not need to walk any longer.
I went upstream to get my raincoat which I had thrown off when I dashed into the water. I was exulting over my find, and I was half tempted to set out at once.
That night I ate carefully, cutting the thinnest possible slice off my ham, and chewing it carefully and long. But the mere taste of meat nauseated me.
The story of my trip on the raft stands out with great clearness in my memory. There were fun and disaster, comedy and quasi-tragedy enough in those two weeks to fill a book by themselves. But all that has little bearing upon the present story; I must skip. I shall, after a few brief hints, explain only how my raft came to harm.
For a day or two it kept increasing in size; I soon caught more logs and set the table over them crosswise. That did not increase the area of my deck -- sixty by thirty inches -- but, since there was a greater buoyancy underneath, it lifted it higher above the water. That I found desirable after I, with my whole outfit, had once or twice been swept off by the wingwaves of passing tugs. Another improvement I introduced when I had lost that one leg which was already badly loosened by my first collision with the ledge at the camp. The remaining legs would catch at snags and sandbars in shallow water. If I happened to be standing, I was shot overboard by the sudden jolt. One evening, while camping on a huge sandbar pushed out by a tributary of the river, I removed them and, swinging them aloft and bringing them down on the

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sharp edge of an upended rock-slab, I broke them off short, leaving mere stubs to slip over the logs and to hold them together.

I weathered another three or four days of rain -- a slashing, driving rain it was -- with the table-top set up slantways as a roof, covered on the outside with my raincoat.
At first I always landed for the night. Then, tentatively, I began to sleep on the raft, drawing my legs up and lying on my side, with a layer of willow-boughs for a mattress, the whole craft being tied to some overhanging tree. That eventually led to the loss of the raft.
One evening I discovered, just before it was time to land and to do my cooking, the trumpet-shaped mouth of a creek which emptied into the river. The river being still high, though falling, this creek-mouth resembled a drowned valley. There was no current; the water stood perfectly still and clear. I at once poled into it and found it delightfully sheltered and calm. At the mouth, this estuary measured some sixty to seventy-five feet across, with high banks rough with the underwashed roots of great willows, the peach-leaved kind; inland it narrowed down, in the form of an isosceles triangle, the perpendicular of which measured about a hundred feet. There, at the apex, a miniature valley or chasm opened, ten feet wide, with shallow, limpid, ice-cool water trickling down.
I resolved to tie up and to spend the night on the raft. All went to perfection, and by eight or so I was asleep.
Then, about midnight, a great commotion arose. I awoke and sat up. It was a dark night, but the stars stood out brightly. All around I heard the wild swishing and sucking of tearing water. I noticed that I was adrift; the thin cord had been torn. I also noticed that, for a few seconds, I was being shot, at great speed, out to the open river. I saw lights ahead -- a chain of big river -- scows went upstream, the steam-tug labouring painfully against the current. I saw it all in a flash. I expected the wingwave and grabbed for my things so as to hold on to them. Already, in front, a black wall rose out of the water, rush-

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ing on, towards me. The next second my raft was uptilted and thrown over, upside down; and it and I were racing along at tremendous speed, back to the land, and into the creek, and on and on. At last, after having scraped and knocked along and against a hundred obstacles, I was violently deposited against the upper side of a rock, for the water was running out again. There I sat, stunned into insensibility by the rough handling I had experienced. All this had taken considerably less time than it takes to tell it. When I could think again, I saw clearly what had happened and blessed myself for a fool.

All large river-craft, especially that going upstream, is, since it throws the water back with its paddles, preceded by a powerful suck; in front and abreast of it, the water, being churned into swifter motion behind, starts to race downstream to fill up the valley created there. Then the big wingwave comes in which all these waters mass together. When this wingwave struck my trumpet-shaped creek-mouth, a certain mass of water, measured by the height and length of the wave and by the width of the trumpet at the river-line, entered it with a given momentum. Since the mouth narrowed down towards its apex, the big wave was compressed from both sides, and, since the mass of the water could not escape, the wave rose in height and its motion became swifter and swifter, till it reached the chasm of the creek. Its width being only a sixth or so of the trumpet where it had first caught the wave, it is a simple problem in mathematics to calculate the height and speed of this "bore", as geographers call it.
It was a cold night, clear and cold; and, of course, I was drenched to the skin and dripping. I found that I was still holding on to my coats; but where the rest of my things might be, I had no idea. There was nothing to do but to make the best of it and to wait for daylight. Painfully I climbed the bank of the creek and emerged in a cornfield; at last I came to a place where the huge stalks had been cut and put up in shocks. I crawled into one of these and was grateful for the warmth it retained.

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Next morning with the first of the sun, I limped back down to the creek and found that my raft had been shattered into its component parts, all of which lay high and dry where I could not move them. I found my kettle, badly battered, but still serviceable. I found my bag of oatmeal, none the better for a night's soaking, but still to be dried and hoarded against a day of need. I found my tea-tin in perfect condition; and, after much searching, I found my watch -- a bequest of my grandfather's on the maternal side -- smashed and useless henceforth; but it, too, I picked up, of course. I did not find the remainder of my precious ham.
There was nothing to it -- I dried everything and took to my feet again; the idyll on the river was ended.
I had had a warning, too; the cornFields were being harvested. When that source of food gave out, what was I to do? The loss of my raft was rather a disaster -- a shipwreck in little.
My progress was slow and painful -- but I kept going.
The nights were getting colder; everywhere the corn was being husked; the leaves on the trees took on a dry rustle. One morning, when I awoke, I found the sparse vegetation on the river-sands white with frost. I did not mind the slight suffering caused by the chilly nights the days were still pleasant enough, as a rule. But there was a threat in this coming of winter: what was I to do?

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