159. Scenes on Ferry and RiverLast Winters Nights
THEN the Camden ferry. What exhilaration, change, people, business, by day. What soothing, silent, wondrous hours, at night, crossing on the boat, most all to myselfpacing the deck, alone, forward or aft. What communion with the waters, the air, the exquisite chiaroscurothe sky and stars, that speak no word, nothing to the intellect, yet so eloquent, so communicative to the soul. And the ferry menlittle they know how much they have been to me, day and nighthow many spells of listlessness, ennui, debility, they and their hardy ways have dispelld. And the pilotscaptains Hand, Walton, and Giberson by day, and captain Olive at night; Eugene Crosby, with his strong young arm so often supporting, circling, convoying me over the gaps of the bridge, through impediments, safely aboard. Indeed all my ferry friendscaptain Frazee the superintendent, Lindell, Hiskey, Fred Rauch, Price, Watson, and a dozen more. And the ferry itself, with its queer scenessometimes children suddenly born in the waiting-houses (an actual factand more than once)sometimes a masquerade party, going over at night, with a band of music, dancing and whirling like mad on the broad deck, in their fantastic dresses: sometimes the astronomer, Mr. Whitall, (who posts me up in points about the stars by a living lesson there and then, and answering every question)sometimes a prolific family groups, eight, nine, ten, even twelve! (Yesterday, as I crossd, a mother, father, and eight children, waiting in the ferry-house, bound westward somewhere.)
I have mentiond the crows. I always watch them from the boats. They play quite a part in the winter scenes on the river, by day. Their black splatches are seen in relief against the snow and ice everywhere at that seasonsometimes flying and flappingsometimes on little or larger cakes, sailing up or down the stream. One day the river was mostly clearonly a single long ridge of broken ice making a narrow stripe by itself, running along down the current for over a mile; quite rapidly. On this white stripe the crows were congregated, hundreds of thema funny procession(half mourning was the comment of some one.)
Then the reception room, for passengers waitinglife illustrated thoroughly. Take a March picture I jotted there two or three weeks since. Afternoon, about 3 1/2 oclock, it begins to snow. There has been a matinee performance at the theaterfrom 4 1/4 to 5 comes a stream of homeward bound ladies. I never knew the spacious room to present a gayer, more lively scenehandsome, well-drest Jersey women and girls, scores of them, streaming in for nearly an hourthe bright eyes and glowing faces, coming in from the aira sprinkling of snow on bonnets or dresses as they enterthe five or ten minutes waitingthe chatting and laughing(women can have capital times among themselves, with plenty of wit, lunches, jovial abandon)Lizzie, the pleasant-mannerd waiting-room womanfor sound, the bell-taps and steam-signals of the departing boats with their rhythmic break and undertonethe domestic pictures, mothers with bevie of daughters, (a charming sight)children, countrymenthe railroad men in their blue clothes and capsall the various characters of city and country represented or suggested. Then outside some belated passenger frantically running, jumping after the boat. Towards six oclock the human stream gradually thickeningnow a pressure of vehicles, drays, piled railroad cratesnow a drove of cattle, making quite an excitement, the drovers with heavy sticks, belaboring the steaming sides of the frightend brutes. Inside the reception room, business bargains, flirting, love-making, eclaircissements, proposalspleasant, sober-faced Phil coming in with his burden of afternoon papersor Jo, or Charley (who jumpd in the dock last week, and saved a stout lady from drowning,) to replenish the stove, after clearing it with long crow-bar poker.
A January Night.Fine trips across the wide Delaware to-night. Tide pretty high, and a strong ebb. River, a little after 8, full of ice, mostly broken, but some large cakes making our strong-timberd steamboat hum and quiver as she strikes them. In the clear moonlight they spread, strange, unearthly, silvery, faintly glistening, as far as I can see. Bumping, trembling, sometimes hissing like a thousand snakes, the tide-procession, as we wend with or through it, affording a grand undertone, in keeping with the scene. Overhead, the splendor indescribable; yet something haughty, almost supercilious, in the night. Never did I realize more latent sentiment, almost passion, in those silent interminable stars up there. One can understand, such a night, why, from the days of the Pharaohs or Job, the dome of heaven, sprinkled with planets, has supplied the subtlest, deepest criticism on human pride, glory, ambition.
Another Winter Night.I dont know anything more filling than to be on the wide firm deck of a powerful boat, a clear, cool, extra-moonlight night, crushing proudly and resistlessly through this thick, marbly, glistening ice. The whole river is now spread with itsome immense cakes. There is such weirdness about the scenepartly the quality of the light, with its tinge of blue, the lunar twilightonly the large stars holding their own in the radiance of the moon. Temperature sharp, comfortable for motion, dry, full of oxygen. But the sense of powerthe steady, scornful, imperious urge of our strong new engine, as she ploughs her way through the big and little cakes.
Another.For two hours I crossd and recrossd, merely for pleasurefor a still excitement. Both sky and river went through several changes. The first for awhile held two vast fan-shaped echelons of light clouds, through which the moon waded, now radiating, carrying with her an aureole of tawny transparent brown, and now flooding the whole vast with clear vapory light-green, through which, as through an illuminated veil, she moved with measurd womanly motion. Then, another trip, the heavens would be absolutely clear, and Luna in all her effulgence. The big Dipper in the north, with the double star in the handle much plainer than common. Then the sheeny track of light in the water, dancing and rippling. Such transformations; such pictures and poems, inimitable.
Another.I am studying the stars, under advantages, as I cross to-night. (It is late in February, and again extra clear.) High toward the west, the Pleiades, tremulous with delicate sparkle, in the soft heavens. Aldebaran, leading the V-shaped Hyadesand overhead Capella and her kids. Most majestic of all, in full display in the high south, Orion, vast-spread, roomy, chief histrion of the stage, with his shiny yellow rosette on his shoulder, and his three Kingsand a little to the east, Sirius, calmly arrogant, most wondrous single star. Going late ashore, (I couldnt give up the beauty and soothingness of the night,) as I staid around, or slowly wanderd, I heard the echoing calls of the railroad men in the West Jersey depot yard, shifting and switching trains, engines, &c.; amid the general silence otherways, and something in the acoustic quality of the air, musical, emotional effects, never thought of before. I lingerd long and long, listening to them.
Night of March 18, 79.One of the calm, pleasantly cool, exquisitely clear and cloudless, early spring nightsthe atmosphere again that rare vitreous blue-black, welcomd by astronomers. Just at 8, evening, the scene overhead of certainly solemnest beauty, never surpassd. Venus nearly down in the west, of a size and lustre as if trying to outshow herself, before departing. Teeming, maternal orbI take you again to myself. I am reminded of that spring preceding Abraham Lincolns murder, when I, restlessly haunting the Potomac banks, around Washington city, watchd you, off there, aloof, moody as myself:
As we walkd up and down in the dark blue so mystic,
As we walkd in silence the transparent shadowy night,
As I saw you had something to tell, as you bent to me night after night,
As you droop from the sky low down, as if to my side, (while the other stars all lookd on,)
With departing Venus, large to the last, and shining even to the edge of the horizon, the vast dome presents at this moment, such a spectacle! Mercury was visible just after sunseta rare sight. Arcturus is now risen, just north of east. In calm glory all the stars of Orion hold the place of honor, in meridian, to the southwith the Dog-star a little to the left. And now, just rising, Spica, late, low, and slightly veild. Castor, Regulus and the rest, all shining unusually clear, (no Mars or Jupiter or moon till morning.) On the edges of the river, many lamps twinklingwith two or three huge chimneys, a couple of miles up, belching forth molten, steady flames, volcano-like, illuminating all aroundand sometimes an electric or calcium, its Dante-Inferno gleams, in far shafts, terrible, ghastly-powerful. Of later May nights, crossing, I like to watch the fishermens little buoy-lightsso pretty, so dreamylike corpse candlesundulating delicate and lonesome on the surface of the shadowy waters, floating with the current.