Drama on the Erie Canal

As I work on the first draft of my Erie Canal book, Muddy Waters, I have been looking for circumstances and events to bring tension to the story. There are plenty of opportunities for drama, but they are created by humans rather than by nature. The canal was shallow, the current was sluggish or nonexistent, and boats were always close to the banks, so realism eliminates icebergs and hurricanes on the high seas.

Realism does, but humor doesn’t. Many songs of the day made fun of the sedentary waterway, and the then popular “The Raging Canal” was one of them.  Mark Twain added his own voice by paroding “The Raging Canal” in Roughing It. He was no poet but was the consummate humorist, as you can tell from “The Aged Pilot Man.”

“The Aged Pilot Man”

On the Erie Canal, it was,

     All on a summer’s day,

I sailed forth with my parents

     Far away to Albany.

From out the clouds at noon that day

     There came a dreadful storm,

That piled the billows high about,

     And filled us with alarm.

A man came rushing from a house,

     Saying, “Snub up your boat, I pray

Snub up your boat, snub up, alas,

     Snub up while yet you may.”

Our captain cast one glance astern,

     Then forward glancéd he,

And said, “My wife and little ones

     I never more shall see.”

Said Dollinger the pilot man,

     In noble words but few,—

“Fear not, but lean on Dollinger,

     And he will fetch you through.”

The boat drove on, the frightened mules

     Tore through the rain and wind,

And bravely still, in danger’s post,

     The whip-boy strode behind.

“Come ‘board, come ‘board,” the captain cried,

     “Nor tempt so wild a storm;”

But still the raging mules advanced,

     And still the boy strode on.

Then said the captain to us all,

     “Alas, ‘tis plain to me,

The greater danger is not there,

     But here upon the sea.

“So let us strive, while life remains,

     To save all souls on board,

And then if die at last we must,

     Let . . . I cannot speak the word!”

Said Dollinger the pilot man,

     Tow’ring above the crew,

“Fear not, but trust in Dollinger,

     And he will fetch you through.”

“Low bridge! low bridge! all heads went down,

     The laborimg bark sped on;

A mill we passed, we passed a church,

     Hamlets, and fields of corn;

And all the world come out to see,

     And chased along the shore.

Crying, “Alas, alas, the sheeted rain,

     The wind, the tempest’s roar!

Alas, the gallant ship and crew,

     Can nothing help them more?”

And from our deck sad eyes looked out

     Across the stormy scene;

The tossing wake of billows aft,

     The bending forests green,

The chickens sheltered under carts,

     In lee of barn the cows,

The skurrying swine with staw in mouth,

     The wind spray from our bows!

She balances!

She wavers!

Now let her go about!

     If she misses stays and broaches to,

We’re all”—[then with a shout]

“huray! huray!

Avast! belay!

Take in more sail!

Lord, what a gale!

Ho, boy, haul taut on the hind mule’s tail!”

“Ho! lighten ship! Ho! man the pump!

     Ho, hostler, heave the lead!

And count ye all, both great and small,

     As numbered with the dead!

For mariner for forty years

     On Erie, boy and man,

I never yet saw such a storm,

     Or one ‘t with it began!”

So overboard a keg of nails

     And anvils three we threw,

Likewise four bales of gunny-sacks,

     Two hundred pounds of glue,

Two sacks of corn, four ditto wheat,

     A box of books, a cow,

A violin, Lord Byron’s works,

     A rip-saw and a sow.

A curve! a curve! the dangers grow!

“Labbord!—stabbord!—s-t-e-a-d-y!—so!—

Hard-a-port, Dol!—hellum-a-lee!

Haw the head mule!—the aft one gee!

Luft!—bring her to the wind!”

“A quarter-three!—‘tis shoaling fast!

     Three feet large—t-h-r-e-e feet!—

Three feet scant!” I cried in fright

     “Oh, is there no retreat?”

Said Dollinger the pilot man,

     As on the vessel flew,

“Fear not, but trust in Dollinger,

     And he will fetch you through.”

A panic struck the bravest hearts,

     The boldest cheek turned pale;

For plain to all, this shoaling said

A leak had burst the ditch’s bed!

And, straight as bolt from crossbow sped,

Our ship swept on with shoaling lead,

     Before the fearful gale!

“Sever the tow line! Cripple the mules!”

     Too late! . . . There comes a shock!

Another length, and the fated craft

     Would have swum in the saving lock!

Then gathered together the shipwrecked crew

     And took one last embrace,

While sorrowful tears from despairing eyes

     Rain down each hopeless face;

And some did think of their little ones

     Whom they never more might see,

And others of waiting wives at home,

     And mothers that grieved would be.

But of all the children of misery there

     On that poor sinking frame,

But one spoke words of hope and faith,

     And I worshipped as they came;

Said Dollinger the pilot man,—

     (O brave heart, strong and true!)—

“Fear not, but trust in Dollinger,

     For he will fetch you through.”

Lo! scarce the words have passed his lips

     The dauntless prophet say’th,

When every soul about him seeth

     A wonder crown his faith!

For straight a farmer brought a plank,—

     (Mysteriously inspired)—

And laying it unto the ship,

     In silent awe retired.

Then every sufferer stood amazed

     That pilot man before;

A moment stood. Then wondering turned,

     And speechless walked ashore.

__________

NOTE: It took me forever to get the poem’s formatting correct. I hope it shows up that way on your computer.