Boating on Stony Brook - An Adventure

Here's an interesting feature article - they just don't write like this any more. Please note the literary references. Taken at his word, the author banters with the sewer superintendent with quotes from Tennyson. At the least, the reader is assumed to get the references. The equivelent today? Maybe Jay Leno making the night's required Britney Spears and Paris Hilton jokes for week after week? So much for progress.

Boston Globe March 14, 1893

Through Stony Brook Conduit

Perilous Trip of an Inquisitive Stranger in Dark

Depths of the Water of the Waterway

An individual whose name will not go thundering

down the ages as a synonym for wisdom, last week

sauntered into the gatehouse of the Stony brook

conduit.

While the courteous official in charge was showing

him the interesting sights of the works, he noticed

an iron ring to which was attached a rope, and,

being more inquisitive than wise he asked what it

was for.

The information was vouchsafed him that the rope

was attached to a shaft, back of which was a boat,

so that if one of the men or any other unfortunate

individual should fall into the water he might land

on the raft, and so make his was back to safety,

through the conduit and the Back Bay Fens, and thus

return to the bosom of his family.

The unwise one said that such a trip was a

desirable one, to which the official replied that

it was so.

The unwise one further said that he would like to

take the trip.

The official courteously remarked that the only

thing needful was permission of the inspector of

the department, Mr. Edward McLaughlin.

In a moment the two were on a jaunt to the house of

Mr McLaughlin. He was found laid up with a

combination of sciatica, lumbago and rheumatism.

He readily gave his permission, and incidentally

remarked that after reading a big book on "Every

Man His Own Physician," he had come to the

conclusion that he had a broken leg.

Back to the gatehouse went the pair.

The official was too proud to back out, and the

unwise one didn't know enough to.

Rubber coats and hats were speedily appropriated,

and, after some trouble with the boots, the unwise

one was ready.

The five huge openings were pouring a cascade of

muddy water into the tiny basin, and the space

beneath the gatehouse was covered with foaming,

boiling rapids.

A bad quarter of an hour was spent by Capt Bill

Daly, father of the sporting man of the same name,

St Johnnie Hogan and Frank Leslie, in preparing the

boat, the "Stony Brook," for service.

At last all was ready. The unwise one, Capt Daly,

and Sub-Inspector James F. Granlee scaled

down the ladder, and, after some few frantic

efforts, the lines were cast off, and, like a rifle

bullet, the little boat and its occupants shot into

the cavernous opening.

Grantee shouted like a stentor: "We're off," and

the cruise of the "Stony Brook" had begun.

With a whirr, in a shrill treble, the boat shot

into the mouth of the conduit, and all was as dark

as midnight is supposed to be.

No one dared to look behind, for all the faculties

of the crew were necessary to keep the craft in the

middle of the stream.

Capt Daly would not trust the safety of precious

lives to any other than his own skillful hand, and

so he sat at the stern, with a deftly handled

skulling-oar.

The center seat was occupied by Mr. Granlee,and the

foolish one crouched in the bow a helpless and

worthless burden.

A second and the goodbye shouts of those left

behind were drowned in the roar of the great falls,

and the crew of the little boat were left to their

own strength and skill.

In a few seconds all but the deep and steady roar

of the falls was hushed, and even a whisper could

be heard with almost painful distinctness.

The boat was supplied with a locomotive headlight

in the bow and a pair of lanterns on the side.

Once beyond the foam of the rapids all was as still

as the grave.

The place was like a refrigerator.

If one shut his eyes for a moment he felt himself

suspended between earth and sky.

The strong, sullen current went along, mighty as

death, and, if possible, more silent.

The walls of the conduit seemed but a blur of

bricks and mortar, and when an opening was passed

the roar of an overhead wagon or horse car sounded

like the deep boom of a thunderstorm in midsummer.

So still was it that the unwise one was prompted to

ask questions befitting his uninformed state.

Where are straight upward hole in the arch was

passed he ventured to assert that they were ladders

for unfortunates to cling to.

"No sir." said Capt. Sir Henry Curtis Granlee "They

are manholes for men to come down".

The unwise was thankful for the information, and

kept quiet until the outlet holes for some small

sewers were passed. He suggested that there were

some sewers, small ones. "Yes, they are

connections."

A minute later one was passed filled with mortar.

"Ah, there's on plugged up," said the unwise one.

"Yes, it's cut off." said Capt. Granlee.

Feeling that he was unable to keep up with the

technical terms of his captain, the man lacking

wisdom did a wise thing - he shut up.

So far all had been quiet as a ladies' parlor, but

on a sudden the captain called out "Gurney and

Parker sts."

The unwise one felt at home at once, and began

searching in his pockets for the customary nickel,

and it was not until a sharp "Look out there!" from

Capt. Granlee that he recovered his presence of

mind.

The wayfarers were at the point where the immense

single arch is separated into two, each scarcely

smaller than the main arch.

The captain shouted "Right!" to Capt. Daly, and the

unwise one murmured "Left" at the same time.

The result was that the boat was landed square

against the central pier.

The mighty, though silent current held them there a

moment.

Slowly the straining boat was edged over the

dangerous point, and once more she was headed for

the far distant outlet. The brickwork on the side

seemed but a strip of dull dark drab in the ghostly

glare of the lanterns and the steady shine of the

headlight. When a word was spoken it sounded like a

clang of an iron drumstick on a gong, and the

echoes carried it along and back until it died out

in a sharp rattle, like the platoon firing (?) of

infantry.

Still farther on, and a small glint of light

appeared. The unwise one began to dream of the

underground voyage of Peter Wilkins and the trip of

Jan Kidd. But strongest of his overburdened

imagination was the experience of Allan Quartermain

and Umslopogass.

Here indeed was the light bursting into splendor

and heat, here were the dark, dark walls, here was

the steady, silent current, so mild when of the

same mind as it, so mighty and cruel when trying to

stem it.

Long and anxiously were the eyes strained to see

the flaming gas of Haggard's wonderful tale, but

Matter-of Fact Granlee crushed all these phantasies

in the iron pestle of common sense by answering the

unwise one's query as to the distance by saying:

"that light is the outlet of the conduit at Back

Bay fens, and is over a quarter of a mile away."

Again the unwise on subsided, and he began to feel

more and more useless and more and more of a burden

to those in whose charge he was.

As the boat shot out into the pool ahead of the

bridge the time was taken, and the trip, which

seemed to have been made at much length, was found

to have occupied but seven minutes.

As the distance was a mile, less a few feet, the

time made was not so bad.

The men back at the gatehouse had been instructed

to put in the gates after 10 minutes, so as to make

the journey back comparatively easy.

A wait about five minutes and the boat was headed

for the right opening.

Here at once came into play the strength and skill

of Capt Daly, 76 years old, but with a frame of oak

and muscles and finely tempered steel. He scullied

and steered the boat, while Inspector Granlee aided

as much as possible with one oar.

The opening was not wide enough to admit of a pair

of oars being used, so the old man kept the boat to

one side of the arch, and the oar was skilfully

brought to bear on the forward movement.

The arch was no sooner entered that the current was

found to be swift and strong. Granlee and Daly

wondered if the men at the gate house had obeyed

and turned the water into the old conduit, but

their wondering amounted to no more than the unwise

ones' trepidation.

When looking at the current it seemed as if the

boat was shooting along with wonderful quickness,

but on raising the eyes to the brick walls of the

conduit it was found that progress was extremely

slow. The water was deep, and while not a ripple or

check of any kind on its surface indicated that

there was anything but black water, the force

against the boat was something wonderful.

Slowly and steadily the aged captain worked at the

straining oar, and foot by foot the boat crept back

to the rapids at the gatehouse.

There was ample time for the seeker after

information to find out all abut the monster

culvert and its building, and as was to be

expected, while he had no breath to help the boat

along, he had plenty to ask impertinent questions.

Between the beats of the oars in the rowlocks he

found out that the culvert was built from a design

of Supt. Carter, that it cost over $2,500,000; that

it was under construction for two years, and that

it would last for a century. The latter was easily

seen, for not a break or imperfection was visible.

This could not be owing to the fear of the public

eye, for, save Inspector Edward McLaughlin, not a

human being has ever cast his eyes on the works

since finished.

Save a few tiny stalactites, nothing like a leak is

to be seen in the long stretch of brick work making

up the immense specimen of engineering skill. Where

the water has reached high up on the wall a few

whitening germs of moss are to be seen, and beyond

that all is a stretch of perfect masonry.

The trip back to the entrance on the immense

conduit was as slow as the trip down was fast. But

so steadily, if so slowly, was the scull worked by

the aged son of the sea that the foolish one could

not help murmuring

And the dead, oared by the dumb,
Passed upward with the tide

He was no sooner void of the lines than he was

surprised and overwhelmed by the captain with,

"You ain't so pretty as the lily maid Elaine,'but

your feet are a d--d sight bigger, and I'm d--d if

I'm dumb And perhaps you wold be less trouble if

you were dead."

The reminiscent poet didn't feel hurt at anything

but the allusion to the feet, and it did gall him

to reflect that he had taken a full half hour to

get into the largest pair of rubber boots in the

sewer department, and even then they pinched, and

they were not half on.

He kept quiet for a few minutes, but, never knowing

when he was well off, he soon forgot tight boots

and everything else.

Passing by some cabalistic figures on the culvert

walls, he asked what they meant. A murmur, which to

a suspicious man might have sounded like "To make

fools ask questions." was his answer.

A "What's that?" as if he were slightly deaf,

brought the further answer that they meant the

changes in the grade, the beginnings of turns in

the course and depth of the foundations.

One was passed which indicated that the foundations

were 41 feet below the normal surface of the water.

The captain told his inquisitive passenger that the

surmise was correct.

It was further explained that the greater part of

the huge arch was based on a ledge which underlies

all that part of the Highland district, and that it

had been utilized by Supt Carter as a foundation

for the greater length of the conduit.

By this time it seemed that the greater part of the

course had been gone over, and when the unwise one

wondered how much further it was to the gate house

he was bluntly told that barely a tenth of the way

had been covered.

In making a turn to the right in the current, which

seems to have an insane desire to go in a straight

direction, piled up a quartet of arches on the

left.

Before they knew it the boat was beating in the

teeth of the turned-aside water and was for a

moment stationary.

"Look out there." cried Sir Henry, and the

passenger hurriedly tried to compress his 220

pounds of too, too solid flesh into the smallest

space possible.

An anxious query was sent back, was anything wrong?

Nothing was wrong, only the passerger had come near

swamping the boat.

A few moments more and the centre of the arch was

reached and the slow and steady progress of the

craft was resumed. Still another curve and the boat

went pounding against the brickwork.

Thinking to help thigs along, the passenger thrust

out his hand, dug his fingernails into the bricks,

and got a handful of something. It may have been a

snake, or a lizard, or a bat, or some unclean

creature or, perhaps, a bit of moss. But if it had

been a million dollars in gold, and each dollar red

hot, it could not have been dropped quicker.

By the time a full half hour had passed, and a

glance backward showed that the cruisers were still

in sight of the light which shone into the mouth fo

the culvert.

The old man was still shooting the boat along with

mighty sweeps, and the current was fighting him and

his assistant with a grim, unrelenting

perserverance which would have been enough to

discourage any ordinary man.

The aged son of Nepture was no ordinary man, for he

had no time or breath to waste on the passenger,

only a quick "Shut up!" being the answer to various

interesting queries a to the progress and

difficulties of the voyage.

But in spite of the old man's iron muscles and the

help given by the side oar, he breathed more

heavily as each rood of the course was (?) bed.

Capt. Greenlee offered half a dozen times to take

the scull, but Capt. Daly was either too knowing or

too strong, and he steadfastly refused.

At last a manhole was sighted and the party

laboriously urged the boat toward it. The iron

steps once reached were gripped with the energy of

exhausted men, and all took a long breath.

The passenger, who had none of the hard work, was

the last to relinquish his hold on the support, and

longingly and regretfully parted with the brick

imbedded iron.

Slowly, foot by foot, painfully with the labored

breathing of the oarsmen and the steady thump of

the wooden blades in the iron rowlocks, the course

was passed over.

Another manhole was reached and another breath was

taken. Then a fresh start and it again dawned on

the obtuse mind of the passenger that he was really

a worthless individual. He felt as helpless as a

woman at a prize fight, anious to distinguish

himself, but nothing came his way.

Another and another manhole was passed, and at last

another faint gilmmer of light was seen far ahead.

Rest was again taken, and Capt Daly remarked that

it was a nasty current, and the water was rising.

The discovery seemed to make the two who knew

something earnest, and no replies were vouchsafed

to the passenger's clumsy attempts to be poetic.

Even the choicest lines of Martin Farquhar Tupper

passed unnoticed, and a passage from Mrs Homans

was unceremoniously broken into by a warning "Look

out, there."

At last the point where the two arches became one

was reached. Every one felt that the course was

half over, and that the broad stream would make it

easier sculling.

But every one was doomed to disappointment. The

huge fall of water came down in nearly a straight

line, without a ripple, black and threatening. It

was like the force of darkness pushing the sunlight

off the face of the earth.

The atmosphere was like a refrigerator, only much

more damp. The passenger actually forgot to say

anything, and felt that at last he had really found

a time to keep still.

Cold as it was the rowers were reeking with sweat,

and their hot breaths seemed as it left their

nostrils, dense enough to fall and strike the water

with a thud.

At last the weary trio came in sight of the

gatehouse rapids. No sooner were they there than

they say that the two openings through which the

water had been pouring had been increased to five,

the full extent.

The pool into which they all poured was a singing

boiling mass of foam.

The foolish passenger felt still more uncomfortable

as the boat reaches the raft and everybody clung to

something and took a long breath previous to

working back in the ladder which streched so

invitingly down, barely 10 feet away.

A loud "halloa" was sent down from the watchers on

the frail flooring of the passageway, and a few

moments more and the occupants of the boat could

see John Graham, he of F(?) fame, handsome Johnny

Hogan, and Frank Leslie, the only one who did not

look anxious.

As soon as the boat hove in sight preparations were

made to heave a rope.

The boat worked up through the narrow and foaming

channel to the head of the raft and swung against

its immense timbers. It careened partly and was

with difficulty put on an even keel.

Mr Graham at last managed to cast a line with a big

bar of wood attached to it, so near that the

passenger got it in his hands.

He might as well have tried to hold a glacier . It

was twisted out of his hands quicker than it was

got into them, and again the boat whent up against

to raft. The line was lengthened, the stick was

thrown and caught in the thwarts and again the

travellers essayed to reach the ladders.

The boat's head was put right up to it, the

passenger made a frantic strike for the lower

round, missed it by feet, and in another second the

bubbling, foaming, treacherous surge had cast them

so near the fifth waterfall that, with a flash a

couple of tons of water were thrown into the boat

and half filled, it jumped back to its old starting

place above the raft.

With grave faces the two men who know something

bailed her out, while all of them held on to the

raft's painter, all but the useless passenger with

one hand, and he gripped the rope with a grasp

which a giant could hardly have loosed.

This time Granlee caught the club, and while he

made it fast, under the thwarts and gunwale the

white-faced and anxious watchers on the passageway

above farily lifted the craft and its occupants to

the foot of the ladder.

Again a hand was streched out to catch a rung, but

with a jump the boat was carried to one side, and

was quick as lightning another ton of water was

poured into the boat.

Again a death grip of the raft's painter, again an

anxious and hurried bailing, and the craft was

once more started on its 10 foot cruise to the foot

of the ladder. This time the fickle and feminine

goddess was with the cruisers, for a hitch was

made, two ropes were made fast to the boat, and the

passenger, as the most bulky and most useless

member of the party, was clutched and pulled up the

ladder.

Full 10 minutes more were necessary before Granlee

came up, and the old captain was safe in about five

more. He had had the least to say, had done the

most work, and was the only one who really seemed

to be aware that the three men were for 20 minutes

in real danger of drowning.

The time consumed in the return trip was two hours and 11 minutes.

All were drenched to the skin, all were cold and numb, and all were glad that the trip was over.

As to the unwise and inquisitive individual, he gained wisdom to a slight extent, and he found out by his questions that Bostonians in the Stony brook watershed need have no further fear of a freshet, for the culvert can take care of four Stony brooks at once, and then there will be ample room for a boat, without the one lacking wisdom, to go down to the mouth of the arches.

The little watercourse which has troubled the inhabitants of Roxbury since Washington's soldiers first slaked their thirst in its pellucid and trecherous eddies, is now chained and held in hand by forces of engineering science let loose by Supt Carger and tended by Inspector McLaughlin and a corps of courteous and trained assistants.