University of Virginia Library

THE
WATER CRAFT OF THE BACKWOODS.

Starting among 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 deep
gorges of mountains, and at another time spreading
itself out in still lakes, as it sluggishly advances
through every 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 romantic than they have yet
pretended themselves to the world. The solitary
trapper, and the wild Indian, are now the sole inhabitants
of its beautiful shores; the wigwams of
the aborigines, 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 with all the
tinsel gewgaws his savage fancy suggested to catch
the love of his mistress. With stealthy step he opened
the confused undergrowth that lined the banks, taking
therefrom a delicate paddle. He searched in
vain, 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 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 agonies
of death. It was only the work of an adept to strip
off the skin, and spread it on the ground. Upon it
were soon laid the gayly-wrought moccasins, leggins,
and hunting-shirt, the trophies of honourable warfare,
and the skins of birds of beautiful plumage. The
corners of the hide were then brought together,
tied with thongs. The bundle was set afloat upon
the stream, and its owner dashed in its rear, guiding
it to the opposite shore with its contents unharmed.
Again decking himself, and bearing his
wooing tokens before him, he leapt with the swiftness
of a deer to the lodge that contained his mistress,
leaving the simplest of all the water-craft of the
backwoods to decay upon the ground.

The helplessness of age, the appealing eyes and
the hands of infancy, the gallantry of the lover, hostile
excursions of a tribe, are natural incentives to
the savage mind to improve upon the mere bundle of
inanimated 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
next in the list of backwoods 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 to be seen for miles around, larger than a
common walking-stick. The Indians are loaded
with plunder, for they have made a successful incursion
into the territory of some neighbouring tribe,
and cannot trust their effects in the water; or they
are perchance emigrating to a favourite 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 is
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 buffalos' skins, when they are
drawn round the frame and secured by holes cut 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 perfect water-craft of
the backwoods—of variety 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 readily
unwrap 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
boats upon the Thames, or ply them in the harbour of
Mannahatta, like things of life—formed as they are by
the highest scientific knowledge and perfect manual
skill of the two greatest 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, 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
under the bark, and turning it up, soon forces it with
his hand until he can use a more powerful lever.
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 smooth; the “scull” is then opened, and braces
inserted 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. A preparation is then made of deer
tallow and pounded charcoal, and used in the place of
pitch to fill up the seams, and the boat is complete;
but if time permit, and the canoe be wanted for ornament,
as well as for use, then the clamps are displaced
by sewing together the ends of the bark.
This simple process produces the most beautiful
model of a boat that can be imagined; art cannot
embellish the form, or improve upon the simple mechanism

of the backwoods. Every line in it is
graceful. Its sharp bow, indeed, seems almost designed
to clear 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 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, and then 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 purposes 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 calibash.
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 naked Phœnician
sported upon a floating log; may mark his progress,
as the inviting waters of the Mediterranean prompted
him to more adventurous journeys; 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, on 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 then descending safely
into the deep. With what power and majesty does
it dash the intruding waves 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.