University of Virginia Library

THE
WATER CRAFT OF THE BACK-WOODS.

Starting amid the volcanic precipices, eternal snows,
and arid deserts of the Rocky Mountains; the Snake
River winds its sinuous way towards the Pacific; at one
time, rushing headlong through the deep gorges of the
mountains, and at another, spreading itself out in still
lakes, as it sluggishly advances through ever-varying
scenes of picturesque grandeur and of voluptuous
softness.

In all this variety, the picture only changes from the
beautiful to the sublime; while the eye of the civilized
intruder, as it speculates on the future, can see on the
Snake River, the city, the village, and the castle, in situations
more interesting and more romantic than they
have ever yet presented themselves to the world.

The solitary trapper and the wild Indian are now
the sole inhabitants of its beautiful shores; the wigwams
of the aborigine, the temporary lodge of the hunter and

the cunning beaver, rear themselves almost side by side,
and nature reposes like a virgin bride in all her beauty
and loveliness, soon to be stripped of her natural charms
to fulfil new offices with a new existence.

On an abrupt bank of this beautiful stream, overlooking
the surrounding landscape for miles—a spot of all
others to be selected for a site of beauty and defence,
might be seen a few lodges of the Wallawallah Indians.

On the opposite shore stood a fine young warrior,
decked in all the tinsel gewgaws which his savage fancy
had suggested, to catch the love of his mistress. With
stealthy steps he opened the confused undergrowth that
lined the banks, and taking therefrom a delicate paddle,
he fruitlessly searched until the truth flashed upon him,
that some rival had stolen his canoe. Readily would he
have dashed into the bosom of the swollen river, and, as
another Leander, sought another Hero, but his dress was
not to be thus spoiled. Like a chafed lion he walked
along the shore, his bosom alternately torn by rage, love,
and vanity, when, far up the bank he saw a herd of
buffalo slaking their thirst in the running stream. Seizing
his bow and arrow with noiseless step he stole upon
his victim, and the unerring shaft soon brought it to the
earth, struggling with the agonies of death.

It was the work of only an adept to strip off the skin
and spread it on the ground. Upon it were soon laid
the gayly wrought moccasons, leggings, and hunting

shirt the trophies of honorable warfare, and the skins
of birds of beautiful plumage. The corners of the hide
were then brought together, and tied with thongs; the
bundle was set afloat upon the stream, and its owner
dashed on the rear, guiding it to the opposite shore
with its contents unharmed.

Again decking himself, and bearing his wooing tokens
before him, he ran with the swiftness of the deer
to the lodge that contained his mistress, leaving the
simplest of all the water-craft of the back-woods to decay
upon the ground.

The helplessness of age, the appealing eyes and hands
of infancy, the gallantry of the lover, the hostile excursion
of a tribe are natural incentives to the savage
mind to improve upon the mere bundle of inanimate
things that could be safely floated upon the water. To
enlarge this bundle, to build up its sides, would be his
study and delight, and we have accordingly next in the
list of back-woods craft, what is styled by the white man,
—the Buffalo-skin boat. This craft is particularly the
one of the prairie country, where the materials for its
construction are always to be found, and where its builders
are always expert.

A party of Indians find themselves upon the banks
of some swift and deep river—there is no timber larger
than a common walking stick to be seen for miles around;
the Indians are loaded with plunder—for they have
made a successful incursion into the territory of some

neighboring tribe, and cannot trust their effects in the
water, or they are perchance migrating to a favorite
hunting ground, and have with them all their domestic
utensils, their squaws and children. A boat is positively
necessary, and it must be made of the materials
at hand. A fire is kindled, and by it are laid a number
of long slender poles, formed by trimming off the limbs
of the saplings growing on the margin of the stream.
While this is going on, some of the braves start in pursuit
of buffalo; two of the stoutest bulls met with, are
killed and stripped of their skins. These skins are then
sewed together, the poles having been well heated, the
longest is selected and bent into the proper form for a
keel; the ribs are then formed and lashed transversely
to it, making what would appear to be the skeleton of a
large animal. This skeleton is then placed upon the
hairy side of the buffalo skin, when it is drawn around
the frame and secured by holes out in the skin, and
hitched on to the ribs; a little pounded slippery-elm
bark is used to caulk the seams, and small pieces of
wood cut with a thread-like screw, are inserted in the
arrow or bullet holes of the hide.

Thus, in the course of two or three hours, a handsome
and durable boat is completed, capable of carrying
eight or ten men with comfort and safety.

Passing from the prairie we come to the thick forest,
and there we find the most perfect of the water-craft of
the back-woods—the varieties of the canoe. The inhabitant

of the woods never dreams of a boat made of
skins; he looks to the timber for a conveyance. Skilled
in the knowledge of plants, he knows the exact time
when the bark of the tree will most readily unwarp from
its native trunk; and from this simple material he forms
the most beautiful craft that sits upon the water.

The rival clubs that sport their yachts upon the
Thames, or ply them upon the harbor of Mannahatta,
like things of life—formed as their boats are by the high
scientific knowledge and perfect manual skill of the two
great naval nations in the world, are thrown in the
shade by the beautiful and simple bark canoe, made by
the rude hatchet and knife of the red man.

The American forest is filled with trees, whose bark
can be appropriated to the making of canoes; the pecan,
and all the hickories, with the birch, grow there in infinite
profusion.

A tree of one of these species that presents a trunk
clear of limbs for fifteen or twenty feet, is first selected;
the artisan has nothing but a rude hunting knife and
tomahawk for the instruments of his craft; with the latter,
he girdles the bark near the root of the tree—this
done, he ascends to the proper height, and there makes
another girdle; then taking his knife and cutting
through the bark downwards, he separates it entirely
from the trunk.

Ascending the tree again, he inserts his knife-blade
under the bark, and turning it up, soon forces it with

his hand until he can use more powerful levers; once
well started, he will worm his body between the bark
and the trunk, and thus tear it off, throwing it upon the
ground, like an immense scroll. The ross, or outside of
the bark, is scraped off until it is quite smooth, the
scroll is then opened, and the braces inserted in order to
give the proper width to the gunnels of the canoe.
Strong cords are then made from the bark of the linn
tree or hickory, the open ends of the bark scroll are
pressed together and fastened between clamps, the clamps
secured by the cord. If the canoe be intended only for
a temporary use, the clamps are left on.

But if to usefulness there can be added the highest
beauty, then the rude clamps are displaced by the sewing
together of the ends of the bark. A preparation
is then made of deer's tallow and pounded charcoal,
which is used instead of pitch to fill up the meshes of
the seams, and the boat is complete.

This simple process produces the most beautiful
model of a boat that can be imagined; art can neither
embellish the form, or improve upon the simple mechanism
of the back-woods. Every line in it is graceful, and
its sharp bows indeed seem almost designed to cleave the
air as well as water, so perfectly does it embrace every
scientific requisite for overcoming the obstructions of
the element in which it is destined to move. In these
apparently frail machines, the red man, aided but by a
single paddle, will thread the quiet brook and deep running

river, speed over the glassy lake like a swan, and
shoot through the foaming rapids as sportively as the
trout, and when the storm rages, and throws the waves
heavenward, and the lurid clouds seem filled with molten
fire, you will see the Indian, like a spirit of the
storm, at one time standing out in bold relief against
the lightning-riven sky, the next moment—disappearing
in the watery gulf, rivalling the gull in the gracefulness
of his movements, and rejoicing, like the petrel, in the
confusion of the elements.

The articles used in savage life, like all the works
of nature, are simple, and yet perfectly adapted to the
purpose for which they are designed.

The most ingenious and laborious workman, aided
by the most perfect taste, cannot possibly form a vessel
so general in its use, so excellent in its ends, as the
calabash.

The Indian finds it suspended in profusion in every
glade of his forest home, spontaneous in its growth, and
more effectually protected from destruction from animals,
through a bitter taste, than by any artificial barrier
whatever. So with all the rest of his appropriations
from nature's hands. His mind scarcely ever makes an
effort, and consequently seldom improves.

The simple buffalo skin that forms a protection for
the trifles of an Indian lover, when he would bear them
safely across the swollen stream, compared with the
gorgeous barge that conveyed Egypt's queen down the

Nile to meet Antony, seems immeasurably inferior in
skill and contrivance. Yet the galley of Cleopatra, with
all its gay trappings, and its silken sails glittering in
the sun, was as far inferior to a “ship of the line,” as
the Indian's rude bundle to the barge of Cleopatra.

Imagination may go back to some early period, when
the nake Phœnician sported upon a floating log; may
mark his progress, as the inviting waters of the Mediterranean
prompted him to more adventurous journeyings,
and in time see him astonishing his little world, by fearlessly
navigating about the bays, and coasting along the
whole length of his native home.

How many ages after this, was it, that the invading
fleets of classic Greece, proud fleets, indeed, in which
the gods themselves were interested, were pulled ashore,
as now the fisherman secures his little skiff? Admire
the proud battle ship, riding upon the waves, forming a
safe home for thousands, now touching the clouds with
its sky-reaching masts, and descending safely into the
deep. With what power and majesty does it dash the
intruding wave from its prow, and rush on in the very
teeth of the winds!

Admire it as the wonder of human skill, then go
back through the long cycle of years, and see how many
centuries have elapsed in thus perfecting it—then examine
the most elaborate craft of our savage life, and
the antiquity of their youth will be impressed upon
you.