Global Voyager

Maya Jasanoff. Dawn Watch. Joseph Conrad in a Global World. Penguin Press. 2017.

Jasanoff’s biography is both an appraisal of Conrad’s career as an author and the influences on his life and work of the rapid global expansion of commerce and imperial ambition in the second half of the nineteenth century. She describes his childhood in partitioned and occupied Poland, where his father was a idealistic revolutionary, exiled for much of his life. Conrad was inspired to go to sea at age sixteen after reading, among other works, the seafaring novels of James Fenimore Cooper, which I did not realize the author of Leatherstocking Tales had written. He eventually made his way to England, at that time the country most open to expatriates and the greatest maritime power.

 Rising through the ranks of the merchant navy to become a licensed master, he voyaged across the globe, but mostly to Australia and Southeast Asia, mostly on sailing ships or the lesser steamers, rarely having the opportunity to serve on the better classes of fast passenger ships. When he began to write and publish his own stories, they were set in the locales familiar to him, aboard ships at sea or in the ports and backwater towns and villages of the great Asian archipelago. He focused on sailors and on the various exiles, dreamers of wealth or those escaping the past, who found their way into the remote places where they encountered indigenous rulers and other adventurers in constant conflict, much of it driven by the outside forces of expanding trade and European imperialism. His one trip on the Congo provided the framework for his most famous and controversial work, The Heart of Darkness. There he saw firsthand how the unbridled force of European greed brought out the savage potential of nearly everyone who became involved in the enterprise.

 Conrad did not like to be thought of as a writer of sea stories, although he certainly wrote vivid and hair raising tales of the struggles of ships and crews, Typhoon being one of my personal favorites. He thought of himself as writing about the struggles of human beings, mostly, but not exclusively, men, caught up in the web of impersonal forces, both natural and societal that he saw driving the history of his times: oppression and the revolutionary impulse, personal ambition and political intrigue and the “material interests,” which he associated most powerfully with the United States.

 Jasanoff does an excellent job of drawing out the threads that connect Conrad to our own day, arguing that more than any other author of his time, he saw and made his readers see the historical forces at work that we would now call “globalization.” Much has changed, as she is careful to describe from personal experience, both in material circumstances and our perspectives, but the seeds were present and can be perceived clearly in Conrad’s work. She herself, to gain first hand experience, made a river journey down the Congo, following the route of Conrad and his fictional Captain Marlowe, but she saw none of the darkness that they did, only poor but very enterprising people, making their way in a complex world, where bushmeat sellers from villages of bamboo houses buy toothpaste and batteries and watch satellite television showing European football matches. Some things she says, do not change much: the camaraderie of a long sea voyage (for her, on a giant container ship, following the long established route from Hong Kong to England) and the ravishing beauty of the dawn over a smooth sea.

 Jasanoff sees Conrad as deeply pessimistic about human beings, carried along by winds and currents of history. Although we can master the literal forces of nature by our machines, we unleash consequences we cannot control, and the forces within ourselves are even less manageable. But, she says, Conrad does show us those times when however precariously, we can make choices that alter the course of ours and others’ lives. I find Conrad himself a clear case in point: in choosing to go to sea, the Polish boy, Konrad Korzeniowski became Joseph Conrad, master mariner and one of the greatest English novelists.

River Journeys: Sporting and Fantastic

Notes on The Broads and Rivers of Norfolk and Suffolk by Harry Brittain. 1887

The Book of Dust. Volume 1. La Belle Sauvage by Philip Pullman. 2017

I listened to a fine LibriVox recording of the first book, and I read an early copy (plucked from an embargoed stock at a bookstore) of the second.

 What do a nineteenth-century sportsman’s account of a pleasure trip and a twenty-first century fantasy about an eleven year old boy have in common? Well, both take place on or near English waterways, and both protagonists love boats and know how to handle them in difficult conditions. Brittain and his sporting gentlemen friends have a large sailing yacht, the Buttercup, while Pullman’s Malcolm has only his canoe, La Belle Sauvage.

Brittain sailed, and just as often, pulled his boat with a rope along the towpath, through the maze of rivers, canals, cuts and shallow lakes (broads) that were the waterways of East Anglia, some of which make up the Broads National Park today. Aided by his friend Jack and one experienced hand, they managed the difficult job of maneuvering an eight ton vessel through locks, low bridges, narrow channels and shoals, often against frustratingly contrary winds, and all the traffic on what was in the 1880s still a busy commercial river. As sporting men, they were most interested in the fishing and fowling that were significant parts of life on the Broads, but they also made detours, often overland, to visit historic sites, notable houses, inns, churches, etc. and to learn about the curious laws and charters that governed the rights and privileges of the people of the region for centuries. One thing I cannot imagine still being permitted was the use of complicated traps built into the banks of some of the broads, to collect hundreds of ducks for market.

During the voyage, visitors came and went on Buttercup, often arriving by train at some prearranged meeting point. The railroads also allowed them to make trips to and from the region’s major towns to acquire replacement parts for the boat and other supplies. A constant difficulty was to arrive at a designated rendezvous when contrary wind, a closed lock or drawbridge or a much tougher than expected run along a shallow, narrow canal held the Buttercup back. Brittain describes all these occurrences with humor and an eye for detail. I could have wished for more attention to the natural history of the country, but I guess I’ll have to make my own excursion.

The Book of Dust: La Belle Sauvage is set a decade or so before the beginning of Pullman’s His Dark Materials: The Golden Compass. Malcolm lives in his parents’ inn near Oxford, and of course, that is where various agents engaged for and against Magisterium (the imagined, more sinister version of the Catholic Church) seem to stop for refreshment as they pursue their secretive missions to employ the alethiometer (the eponymous golden compass) and get hold of the infant Lyra. Malcolm becomes caught up in the goings on, and he shows great aptitude for clandestine work and practical boat-craft, which serves him well as he and a teenage girl who has worked in the inn suddenly must take Lyra  down the river to safety from the pursuing Magisterium during an epic flood. Supernatural forces are clearly behind the catastrophe, and manifest themselves in a variety of ways during the novel, but Pullman has a deft hand with his material, almost always keeping me believing in his fascinating alternative world. The true heroine of the story is La Belle Sauvage, the sturdy canoe and saves its three passengers but perishes in doing so. I’m looking forward to more of the story.

It occurs to me that I could add two more books about English rivers, Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat and Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows. I don’t have a lot to say about either, except that both are as wonderful in their ways as the preceding pair.

John Wesley Powell

The Exploration of the Colorado River and Its Canyons by John Wesley Powell. Revised edition, published by the Smithsonian Institution. 1895. I listened to the Librivox version, by a very able group of readers.

I remember seeing the six-cent John Wesley Powell expedition commemorative stamp, when it was issued in 1969, but I never gave it much thought, except to notice that the steersman has only part of his right arm. I had learned somewhere, sometime, that he was the leader of the first United States expedition through the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. When I came across this account in the Librivox catalog, I thought I ought to listen to it, and I’m glad I did. This is the story of an epic journey told by an extraordinary individual.

Checking Powell’s biography on Wikipedia, I learned that by the time he was 25, he had rowed the entire Mississippi, Ohio, Illinois, and Des Moines Rivers and been elected to the Illinois Natural History Society. After his service in the Civil War (he lost the forearm at Shiloh) Powell taught geology at Illinois Wesleyan University. Along with his students and his wife, he made an expedition to Colorado to collect geological specimens.

His expedition, ten men in four boats, left Green River, Wyoming, on May 24, 1869, and reached the mouth of the Virgin River, at the lower end of the Grand Canyon on August 30, with two or three boats and six men. Three men had left to climb out of the canyon shortly before the end, because the expedition was dangerously short on food and still faced unknown risks on the river. As it happened, they were the unlucky ones: Powell later was told they were killed by Shivwits Indians, who believed they were part of a party that had  murdered some other Indians shortly before Powell’s men passed through.

Powell’s book reads like a journal and is based on the records he kept, but some later editing occurred, apparently. Whatever the case, it is a harrowing tale. One boat was wrecked early, and the rest were frequently capsized. Food was lost or spoiled by wetting, so by the end, they were in danger of running out. Many stretches had to be portaged round or the boats lowered and hauled through on ropes. That and the rowing made every day exhausting. At one point their fire spread into some driftwood and nearly incinerated them in a narrow alcove where they had camped. Powell and some of the others also made regular ascents of the canyon walls to take instrument readings, examine the landscape and scout ahead where possible. These involved rough and dangerous ascents of thousands of feet and tortuous scrambles through narrow slot canyons. This by a man with only one hand!

Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the voyage was the uncertainty of what they faced ahead. Around the bends of the river, they were sometimes confronted by large falls or dangerous rapids, with little time to decide whether to go ahead and try to run them or make desperately for some safe stopping point. It seemed possible that they might meet an impassable obstacle at a point where they could not escape from the canyon. They could face a choice between starvation and near-certain drowning. Today, hundreds raft down the Grand Canyon, aided by years of experience, modern equipment and a flow now controlled by the Glen Canyon Dam. Powell’s trip was a plunge into the unkn0wn, Samuel Walter Foss’ opening lines for The Coming American “Bring me men to match my mountains,” could be applied to Powell and his crew, perhaps modified to “…men to match my canyons.”

John_Wesley_Powell_with_Native_American_at_Grand_Canyon_Arizona
Powell and Tau-gu, a Paiute, 1871-72

His descriptions of the geology, the river, the landscape and vegetation are vivid and sometimes enthralling. The latter part of the book describes the trip he made in 1870 and 1871 back over some of the same ground, but visiting many of the Native Americans resident in the lands north of the canyon and eastwards to the Pueblos of New Mexico. These are also fascinating. He worked for the rest of his life as a geographer, ethnologist and administrator at the US Geological Survey and the Smithsonian Institution and was a strong advocate that development in the arid western states, should be carefully limited.

 

Thoreau’s Maine Woods

Thoreau, Henry David. The Maine Woods. I listened to the excellent Librivox recording by “Expatriate.”

This is the posthumously published account of three trips Thoreau took between 1846 and 1857 to the vicinity of Mount Katahdin, all by canoe or bateau, on two of which he employed native guides. The land he saw was thinly settled, but it had already been greatly changed by cutting of the white pine and the construction of numerous dams to facilitate floating the large logs down to the sawmills. They frequently visited or slept at vacant lumber camps. The descriptions match very closely the reconstructed one I visited years ago near London, Ontario.

Thoreau was of course, an unmatched observer of nature, whose journals are still a valuable resource for modern ecologists seeking to understand the New England landscape as it existed in the first half of the nineteenth century. He gives many detailed descriptions of the landscape, from the forbidding slopes of Mount Katahdin to the falls and rapids of the Penobscot River. He gives the scientific names of the plants he saw, most of which were familiar to me, like jack pine, Pinus banksiana, and Lilium canadense. He mentions many birds, including the shelduck, which I take to mean the common merganser, Mergus merganser, the cat owl (probably the great horned owl) and bald eagles along the rivers. He has some excellent descriptions of the geology of the routes, such as Mount Kineo, in Moosehead Lake, whose flint-like rhyolite was sought by the natives for toolmaking. His accounts of the difficulties of walking along the rocky, timber strewn banks of the streams and through the boggy ground at the divide between the major drainages evoke memories of similar hikes. The photo by KD Swan, river driving in 1937 in  Kaniksu National Forest, from the US Forest Service Northern Region, gives an idea of the challenge.

Thoreau the transcendentalist’s belief in the spirit lodged in every person is evident in his narrative of these trips. Some of the best descriptive passages are of the the solitary hunters and the timber scouts, who spent months in the wilderness, searching out the uncut stands and the routes for bringing logs to the mills, or the ones engaged in piling up hay and other stores in the camps, to feed men and beasts over the winter of timber cutting. His descriptions of camping out, under simple cotton tents, next to roaring fires, cowering under veils and blankets from mosquitoes and black flies, fishing, hunting and skinning moose and dressing the huge, heavy hides are vivid. Best are his accounts of his native Penobscot guides, particularly Joe Polis, who accompanied him on the third trip to the St. John’s and Penobscot. His interest in Native American language and woodcraft is evident in his careful accounts of Joe and his ways. He gives a detailed and nuanced description of this man, who had travelled to Washington D.C. To pay his respects to Daniel Webster and who had led the pro-education faction of his village against the Catholic priest, who wanted to tear down their “liberty pole” and shut the school. This struggle included a simulated attack on the priest and his party, as they tried to lay hands on the pole, by a gang of painted, naked young men. Despite his tendency to keep his communication minimal and to refuse to answer a question more than once, Joe was a superb teller of tales. He was also a superb handler of his canoe, shooting dangerous falls and rapids, handling the heavily laden craft on stormy lakes and portaging over rough trails. Thoreau tells how Joe taught him the techniques of paddling, which sounded very similar to what I practiced when I earned canoeing merit badge. Joe Polis knew the properties of most plants, could make numerous varieties of tea from them, and yet he was not as familiar as Thoreau with the arrowheads and other flint tools that Thoreau found and showed to him. Overall, Thoreau’s portrait is of a man successfully bridging two cultures.

The Maine Woods joins books by Ruben Gold Thwaites, Mark Twain, Richard Bissel, and, continents away, Eric Newby, on my short but growing list of great river narratives. I’m about to post on a fine account of three British naturalists, Bates, Wallace and Spruce on the Amazon.

Along the Ohio

Ruben Gold Thwaites. Afloat on the Ohio: An Historical Pilgrimage of a Thousand Miles in a Skiff, from Redstone to Cairo.

If this book were made into a film, its musical score should be Antonin Dvorak’s New World Symphony. The varied settings and historical reflections match up well with its varied musical themes. This narrative is similar to his Historic Waterways, but this is a longer trip, with his friend the doctor and his wife and 10 year old son together the whole time. It is historic in that much of the text concerns events that occurred in the previous two and a half centuries. The Ohio Valley is also where the battle to expand the colonies and later the United States beyond the Eastern seaboard took place: the accounts he gives of the conquest and settlement of the region sent me to Wikipedia to learn about the beaver wars, the Northwest War and other conflicts that my school history classes and U.S. stamp collection only left me with a few names like Fallen Timbers and General Braddock. The voyage takes Thwaites and his companions past the sites of Native American towns, forts, trading posts, ambushes, battles and settlements. George Washington spent much time before the Revolutionary War in the Ohio country, both as a military officer and as a surveyor, marking out lands both for his own speculations and for others. The struggles of the colonists from Virginia and Pennsylvania to drive out first the French and then the British from the Ohio had effects on the larger global struggles of these two nations. These were among the bloodiest conflicts in our history, although the later wars with the plains Indians have garnered more attention, along with those in the Hudson Valley and central New York, thanks to James Fenimore Cooper

The other part of the story is of the valley as it appeared in the late nineteenth century: The country they passed through was much more heavily settled and industrialized than the rural regions of Wisconsin described in Historic Waterways. Beginning at Redstone on the Monongahela, the banks were lined with coal tipples, oil and gas wells, mills and factories as well as river towns large and small, and farms that range from prosperous to squalid. There is more river traffic, including a steady procession of steamboats making waves that threaten to swamp their skiff or flood their tent on the bank. These are not bucolic streams but busy waterways in what was, in 1897, the industrial heart of America. The resources of the country were being rapidly converted into goods to be floated up or downriver or loaded onto railcars, which were already displacing the steamboats. Everywhere the waste from mills, mines and wells was being dumped on the banks or poured into the river itself. Thousands of Eastern Europeans were coming to the factories to earn a fortune that they could take back to the homeland, according to Thwaites’s informants, and already there were complaints about the downward pressure on Americans’ wages.

Below Cincinnati and Louisville, though, the river flowed through less developed country, and the rural poverty on both sides made it hard to find the supplies they needed for daily sustenance. Still, there were many well-kept farms and moderately prosperous towns. There was also a stark reminder that this was during the successful counter-reconstruction period, when the hopes of freed slaves were being overturned by southern whites. Thwaites reports, without comment, an exchange between a group of blacks working on an island on the Kentucky side and a black man on the Ohio shore. Their taunts are silenced when the Ohio man points out that at least he has not been put to work doing gang labor on an island that he can’t leave.

As in Historic Waterways, there is rich detail about the river, the weather, the people they meet along the way. The rivermen especially, have that independence of mind, along with a penchant for repartee, that is found in Mark Twain’s Life on the Mississippi or Richard Bissel’s wonderful A Stretch on the River. There is less of natural history, although his wife avidly botanized at every opportunity and he describes the wildflowers they find. So much of the country had been emptied of wildlife a hundred years of uncontrolled exploitation, and the air and water so polluted by slag, mine tailings, coal smoke and oil that fish and birds were becoming scarcer all the time. A more recent account of the devastating changes wrought upon the fish of the Ohio River (and the Great Lakes) by development, channelization and drainage can be found (if you can locate a copy) in the introduction to The Fishes of Ohio by Milton Bernhard Trautman. Ohio State University Press, 1957.

Throughout, Thwaites makes reference to the early narratives of travel in the Ohio Valley, which he himself played a major role in editing and publishing. I think I may want to read some of those myself.

Northern traveller: Ruben Gold Thwaites

Thwaites, Reuben Gold, 1853-1913 Historic Waterways—Six Hundred Miles of Canoeing Down the Rock, Fox, and Wisconsin Rivers. Chicago A. C. Mcclurg and Company. 1888 [I listened to the Librivox recording]

In 1888 Ruben Gold Thwaites, with his wife Jessie Turvill Thwaites and a physician friend, canoed three rivers in Wisconsin and Illinois. This book is an account of those trips. He describes the people, landscape and history of the areas they passed through, their encounters with farmers, townspeople and river people. Before much of the land adjacent to these rivers was drained for farming, there were long stretches of heavily-wooded bottom land, and the streams were shallow during dry spells, with confusing mazes of channels and islands. He describes encounters with barbed wire fences and with mill dams and mill races that would horrify most modern canoeists. Today, such things would be walled off or posted by the managers of our recreational rivers to prevent people from hurting themselves. Yet he and his wife, after cautious scouting to be sure, took them head-on, fending off with paddles and ducking under the strands of wire or the roofs of culverts. The closest I can come to a comparable account is in Snowshoeing Through Sewers: Adventures in New York City, New Jersey, and Philadelphia 1994 by Michael Aaron Rockland where he and a friend do something similarly crazy in Trenton NJ.

Gold Thwaites was a good naturalist, well acquainted with the plants and birds along the river, so I find it easy to picture the riverscapes he describes. The extensive marshes and winding channels at that time were still full of emergent plants, ducks, pickerel and sturgeon. He describes a humming swarm of mayflies headed upstream in the twilight, like a reverse river over their heads. His descriptions of the homes and the quasi-inns where they spent the nights are at turns amusing and appalling. Rural poverty was as pervasive or more so then than it is today. Many towns that had once thrived were bypassed by the railroads and were dying, their factories shut or burned and their dams and bridges crumbling in the late 1880’s.

I glanced at his other river voyage book Afloat on the Ohio: An Historical Pilgrimage of a Thousand Miles in a Skiff, from Redstone to Cairo on Project Gutenberg http://www.gutenberg.org/files/29306/29306-h/29306-h.htm There is a fascinating account of their side trip up to Big Bone Lick, the salt springs famous for the vast quantity of prehistoric animal bone, especially mammoth, found by the early settlers, some of which ended up in museum collections. He also describes the poor health of the inhabitants of that swampy bottomland, because of endemic malaria. I’d like to read the rest on my Kindle or listen to it on Librvox, if that recording is as well read and produced as this one.

His profession was as a historical archivist: He was a prolific editor of early American historical documents, including the Wisconsin Historical Collections (volumes xi-xix, 1888-1911); The Jesuit Relations (73 volumes, 1896–1901); Early Western Travels, 1748-1846 (32 volumes, 1904–1907); Original Journals of Lewis and Clark (7 volumes, 1905); and similar works. Much of this was accomplished with support from the state of Wisconsin, which he worked hard to obtain, when his attempts to obtain private donations fell far short. I doubt that the current governor and state legislators are willing to fund such efforts. Links to his work can be found at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reuben_Gold_Thwaites  An appreciation of his life and work by Frederick Jackson Turner can be found at https://archive.org/details/reubengoldthwait00tu