Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

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 encounter; but when it comes to a city, we keep to ourselves, and never speak unless we have trodden on a man’s toes. In these waters, we were no longer strange birds, and nobody 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 condition 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 imperceptible 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 Compiègne to Pont Sainte Maxence. I was abroad a little after six the next morning. The air was 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 thin and querulous like that of sparrows on a winter’s morning. 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 Précy 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 confound 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. Washerwomen in blue dresses, fishers in blue blouses, diversified 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 Théophile 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 historian 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 Tappan 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, 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 Piermont, 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 distinguish 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 fourteen 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 Manhattans, 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 Mohegans.

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 narrow 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 11, 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 dispatched 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 declared 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 _yonk-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 André 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 Washington 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, _Ossin_ (a stone) and _ing_ (a place) is reached. The name is derived from the rocky 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 Cortlandt 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 Peekskill 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 Iona; and now we see the Sugar Loaf, not one hill, as first appears, but a series of hills. At the foot of Sugar Loaf stood Beverly House, where Arnold lived at the time of his treason.

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

West Point, with its academy 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 mountains; 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 New Beacon or Grand Sachem Mountain (1,685 feet) 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 Matteawan and sometimes referred to the whole range of Highlands 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 Newburg 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 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 of diminishing, as might be expected in spring, still increased, 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 concussion 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 imprisoned 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 continued 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 awakening trumpet might be supposed to do. The stream in 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 flourished, 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 recesses. 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 lowlands 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 themselves in gigantic heights for an instant in the air, and seeming 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 beyond 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.”

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 perfidious 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 pilgrimage.”

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 with 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 Allia, 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 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 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 contribution it must bring to the main stream in time of floods. 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 _débris_ 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 northern 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 Montepulciano, 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 warping, which is the method adopted in Lincolnshire for reclaiming 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 deposit 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 136½ 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 Sibylline 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 contribution 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 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 associations 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 amœnitate 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 perhaps 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 neighbouring 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 considerable 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 different periods it had destroyed buildings, undermined the foundation of others, and defied every effort 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 considered 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 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 insignificant in size, but famous in the annals of Rome, or possessing an interest for the classical scholar and the archæologist. 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 “_flebilis Allia_” of Ovid, a still smaller stream, though dignified by the historians 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 Fidenæ. 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 Marrana 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 Tusculum and Frascati are situated, turned northwards in obedience 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 proposed. It was looked upon as a treasure to be doled out in 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 Nymphæum, 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 Alban 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 Tiber a little above Correse. Also the little stream, the Aqua Albana, which is discharged by the emissary of the Alban 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 mediæval tradition. Steamers now run practically 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 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 beautiful 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 Redwood 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 passengers, and their manœuvre, as they swept round on the wide water, pleased me much.

“Of the lakes that like so many rich pearls are strung 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 number 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 remains 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 unqualified praise for the scenery. Thus speaking of the sites selected by the saints of old for their retreats, Cæsar 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 Clonmacnoise! From the hill of Bentullagh 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, presented such a picture of tottering ruins and encompassing desolation as I am sure few places in Europe could parallel.”

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 Carrick on Shannon. The chief loughs traversed are Derg and Ree; and the only towns of any importance are Killaloe, Portumna and Athlone.

About eight miles above Limerick are the Rapids or Falls of Doonass, where the Shannon pours an immense body of water, which above the rapids is forty feet deep and 300 yards wide, through and above a congregation of huge rocks and stones that extend nearly half a mile, and offers not only an unusual scene, but a spectacle approaching much nearer to the sublime than any moderate-sized stream can offer even in the highest cascade.

Castleconnell is beautifully situated on the east bank. It has a popular Spa, and is a famous centre for salmon fishing. The castle, from which the town is named, stands on an isolated rock in the middle of the town. It was anciently the seat of the O’Briens. When Ginkell, William the Third’s General, took the castle, he caused it to be dismantled. Castleconnell is famous for its salmon fishing and eel weirs. The Castleconnell fishing rods are famed all over the world.

Eight miles above Castleconnell near the entrance to Lough Derg is Killaloe.

The navigation from Limerick to Killaloe is carried on by canal so as to avoid the rapids of Killaloe and Castleconnell. Killaloe is a charmingly placed village, but it is probably best known as the place above all others in Ireland dear to the heart of the angler. The fine old cathedral, on the site of a much older church, dates from the Twelfth Century. The Choir is used as the parish church. Commencing at Killaloe is Lough Derg, an expansion of the Shannon to the proportions of a lake. The Duke and Duchess of Cornwall and York made a trip up Lough Derg to Banagher in the summer of 1897, and the 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 expands 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 surface, overshadowed by blue hills, is broken here and there by woody islands famous in history and song. Killaloe 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 cannot but observe the excellent taste in scenery displayed by the monks of ancient days, in selecting 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 learning. 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 monasteries, are here in abundance. The ancient city of Clonmacnoise has disappeared altogether. This is a place of the greatest possible interest to antiquarians, and even ordinary travellers will find much pleasure in the beauty of the picturesque ruins.

At Banagher is the fortified bridge of seven arches, protected 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, as a matter of fact.

Above Lough Derg, the country is fertile, but not especially 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 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.