CHAPTER IV
IN THE GIANT TULE SWAMPS
From the time that Roger fooled the members of the party just as theywere organizing a rescue search for him, his path became much easier.Though still he occasionally made mistakes, as was unavoidable, he foundthey were condoned rather than exaggerated. Indeed, the boy realizedthat he was no longer treated as a tenderfoot, as he had been but a fewweeks before, but, none the less, he was not sorry when Field told himone evening that he thought Roberts would be along shortly.
Roger was growing weary of the Minnesota work because it was evidentthat it consisted of the same routine day after day, that it wasunremittingly hard work, and that the sense of progress was slow inproportion to the labor involved. Then the mosquitoes were beginning toget troublesome, and worst of all, the "bulldog flies" began to maketheir presence felt. These large horse-flies, which madden cattle anddrive horses to distraction, in certain parts of the marsh wereferocious and hungry enough to attack men. Roger found that he waspopular with them and got many sharp nips, which, though in no sensedangerous, were irritating and painful.
"I don't want to seem ungrateful, Mr. Field," he said, when his chiefbroached the return of his former co-laborer to him, "and I'm not, butMr. Mitchon seemed to think that I would only stay a few weeks here, forthe sake of the experience and to get the hang of this kind of work. Ithink I have gained some knowledge of it, and," he laughed, "I can shootsnipe and teach swamp angels to steal ham sandwiches."
The chief smiled in response.
"You turned the tables on us very neatly that time, Roger," he said,"and you really had me badly worried, because, as you know yourself,these swamps are not a good place to get lost in. I reckon, from whatyou've told me, that if you had walked heedlessly on into that quagwithout trying to test it step by step, you would still be there, onlyat the bottom instead of the top."
"I really believe I would," answered the boy seriously.
"If you stick to the Survey," went on Field, "and come to be the headof a party, particularly in wild country, you will see how necessary itis to do just what you're told instead of trying to run the thing yourown way. If you follow instructions and anything goes wrong, then thefault belongs to the head of the party, who is supposed to have enoughjudgment and experience to know what to do in an emergency. What couldhave been more simple than to go twenty or thirty yards farther awaythan you had been told, just as you did, for instance, and yet, if youhad not been lucky, you would have disappeared forever in that quagmireand by your death spoiled our record."
"Have many lives been lost in Survey work?" asked Roger.
"In the nearly thirty years of the existence of the Geological Survey,as a separate branch of the Department of the Interior," replied Field,"during which time explorations of the most extreme peril have beenundertaken, only one life has been lost. Really, when you come toconsider how much of the work has been done in lands absolutely unknown,and that thousands of miles of territory have been covered wherein awhite man had never before set his foot, this is nothing short ofastounding."
"But if sickness should strike a camp?" queried the boy.
"Hard work, clean living, good judgment, and the open air, are worth allthe drugs we know about and a whole lot more that we don't. Of course asmall chest of certain radical remedies accompanies each party, withquinine and things like that, but it is seldom that it is opened."
"But how about accidents, Mr. Field?"
"Such as?"
"Breaking a leg by a fall, or something like that," the boy responded.
"I don't see what business any man on the Survey has to fall. That isn'twhat he's there for. He's there not to fall. Personally, I have neverhad any accidents which would need other than ordinary attention, norhave I had any with any members of my party. Then an injury would haveto be pretty bad, any way, that couldn't wait until some kind of adoctor was reached, that is unless it was in the north of Alaska, orsome place like that, and in such trips a little surgical case is sentalong, and the chief would do as well as he could do with it."
"Then," said Roger with a short laugh, "I'm just as glad that I'm not atthe bottom of the quag, for your sake as well as my own, for I shouldhate to be the one to spoil the Survey's record."
But while Roberts was expected in camp shortly, a couple more weeksrolled away before the party, completing its line through a verydifficult piece of marsh, headed for one of the famous corduroy roadsand made its way back to headquarters. There, with one of the farmer'schildren on his knee and the others grouped around him sat Roberts,occupied apparently in telling some interesting story or fairy tale. Heput down the youngster and shouted as the party hove in sight.
The chief was delighted without question to see the newcomer, for whilehe had been greatly pleased with Roger, the boy could not be expected tobe as valuable as an experienced man, and was not to be depended on toproceed in his work without instruction and supervision.
"I was looking for you a couple of weeks ago, Mr. Roberts," he said.
"I expected to be here earlier, Mr. Field," answered the other, "but Mr.Herold asked me to put in a few days in that Susquehannaflow-measurement business, and that put me back."
Roger looked inquiringly at his chief, who catching his look ofquestion, said,
"Well, son?"
"I would like to ask," said the boy hesitatingly, "what that streamflow-measurement is for?"
Roberts looked up a little surprisedly, but a few words from Fieldsexplained the situation, and the newcomer turned to Roger quite affably.
"Certainly, my boy, it's very simple," he said. "You see, all work onrivers, whether for the purpose of irrigation, flood control, ornavigation, is dependent on the amount of water that flows through thatriver channel every year. A week of wet weather makes a vast differenceto the amount of water the river is carrying, and a dry spell cuts itoff."
"But don't springs and things keep the water about even?" queried theboy.
"No, indeed," answered his informant emphatically. "Why, the TennesseeRiver, which I worked on once, for three months never flowed more than20,000 cubic feet per second, yet that same year, for fifteen days inthe spring, it tore down with over 360,000 feet a second. In otherwords, in the spring it was as big as eighteen rivers its usual size."
MEASURING STREAM FLOW.
Trolley line one mile long, over an Eastern river. Instruments pulledup, ready for return to the bank.
_Photograph by U.S.G.S._]
"Are all rivers like that?"
"Most of them. You see, suppose in the middle of summer a river is tenfeet deep with a three-mile current, in the autumn is only four feetdeep with a two-mile current, but in the spring floods goes rushingthrough its bed forty feet deep with a ten-mile current, it makes amighty difference to the towns and villages all the way along. Thedestructiveness of a flood lies in the top few feet of water. In thesecond place, the navigation of a stream can only be estimated by itslowest depth recorded, and its horse power in the same way. But thissame river, which in the autumn was only four feet deep and developed acorresponding horse power, would have an average depth of eight feetwith four times the horse power. If then, the water that wastefully andruinously flows down in the spring is conserved all through the summer,the river has been made more than four times as valuable."
"And how is this done?"
"That's too big a subject to take up now. Still, you can understand thatif you dam the stream high up, and divert all the water over a certainheight into immense reservoirs, the water could be let down graduallylater. But that all depends on the measurement, which is taken daily foryears, often--as in the case I was in--from a cable stretched from bankto bank, from which a little 'bos'un's chair' is hanging on a pulley, sothat sitting in this little framework you can reach up to the cable andpull yourself to and fro. The one over the Susquehanna, where I was, isover a mile long, and of course it's pretty high up to allow for thesag, which is not small on a wire of that immense span."
&
nbsp; Roger had a host of questions to ask but kept silent, not wanting tomonopolize the talk when older men were there.
"By the way, Roberts," asked Field, seeking to change the subject from atopic which was stale to all the members of the party except Roger, "howdid you like the work in the lower Sacramento Valley?"
"Parts of it weren't so bad, Mr. Field," was the reply. "Indeed, I thinkI've struck worse going right up here and in the Mud Lake district, butthe project down there is on so large a scale that one is bound tobecome enthusiastic in the work. The bush is very dense, of course,semi-tropical in character, but where the growth is heavy the swamp isnot so bad, so that it becomes a mere question of bushwhacking. Then,too, that southern stuff is all soft to cut and much easier to getthrough. The tule grass, however, is different."
"I've never been down in that tule grass," said one of the party, "is itas bad as has been described?"
"It's never been adequately described on paper," was the ready answer."Uncle Sam wouldn't let the report go through the mails."
Roger grinned.
"But what is it like, Mr. Roberts?" he said.
The newcomer thought for a moment.
"It's like what a field of wheat would seem to a very small dog," heanswered. "It's too thick to walk through, too high to see over, and asstuffy as a tenement house with all the windows nailed down."
"How do you manage it then," asked the boy. "Do you go on stilts?"
"Stilts!" ejaculated the surveyor. "You'd have to be an opera dancerwith legs about twelve feet long to manage stilts down there. And evenafter you cut it down, walking on the stubble is like tramping overbayonet blades stuck in the ground point up. No, what we do is to cut asort of trail for a horse, who is hitched to a light buckboard. Thehorse goes through because he's got to, and the buckboard follows unlessthe harness breaks."
"But how do you get your tripods above the rushes," said the chief, "foryou surely can't cut lines everywhere."
"We don't. The legs of the tripod are spliced to sticks long enough toraise them above the grass: and the topographer, standing sometimes onthe body of the buckboard, sometimes on the seat, works with his nosejust peering above the giant rushes, from a rod of extra length,deducting from his calculations the height of the tripod and thebuckboard from the ground."
"And is it dry?"
"Mostly, except when the tide comes in at the lower part. At least, it'snot soggy wet, like it is here. It's dead easy to get lost though, andyou can't see any landmarks. You could chase your own back hair for aweek and never know that you were going in a circle."
"Apropos of getting lost, Roberts," said the older man, "we had a littleexperience with the lad here that is worth repeating," and beginningfrom the snipe-hunt, he related the entire affair, showing first howwell they had got the laugh on the tenderfoot, and how he had got backin return. Roberts laughed long and heartily at the picture conjured upof Roger sitting in the boughs above the party, hearing them discussplans for his rescue and heroically resolving to leave nothing undonetill they should find him.
DIFFICULTIES OF WORK.
In the Giant Tule Swamps in the Southern Sacramento Valley. The umbrellais not for comfort, but to keep the sun off the instrument.
_Photographs by U.S.G.S._]
"I didn't fare as well when I got trapped down there," he commented,"and while I suppose it was funny, I couldn't see the joke of itmyself."
"Was that in the tule grass?" asked Field. "Tell us the yarn."
"I think I told you," began the new assistant, "how hard that stuff isto make a way through, and though it is really almost as tangled as thismarsh work up here, the ground is so flat that far fewer bench marks arerequired. We had taken a long sight, because there was a sort ofdepression at that point which we wanted to delimit, and I was quite adistance from the plane table. Suddenly I felt a swish of water at myfeet, my first realization that the tide was coming in. This had oftenhappened before, and the water usually rose to a little above the knee,when, as soon as the tide ebbed, it would flow out and leave all dryagain.
"Of course I was aware that I was working in a slight depression, but asa matter of fact it never occurred to me that this would make anyespecial difference. I was surprised, certainly, at the strength of thetide as it flowed in, and I remember a little later wondering whether itwas spring tide and not being able to find any reason for the heavyflow, but it was only casually that the matter occurred to me at all.Few minutes elapsed, however, before I realized that any greaterincrease of depth would be a really serious matter. The water wasalready above my knees and increasing at an alarming rate. I think Ihave shown you how hard it is to get through that stuff, and to cross ahundred yards of tule grass is a matter of half an hour's work. Still,at any moment, I thought the water would reach its maximum and I feltashamed to start back after all the labor of reaching the point where Ithen was.
"Of course I am not usually the tallest man in the party [the speakerwas not more than five feet six or seven] and the boys used to joke meabout my height. I knew they would roast me to a turn if I had to let onthat I was afraid of being drowned in a few feet of water. So I heldon. But the water had crept up rapidly until it was well above my waist,and I determined, jesting or no jesting, that I was going to strike forhigher ground, or, if possible, get as far as the buckboard. The otherfellows couldn't see the trouble I was in because they were on a littlecrest of ground, and because the waving tule grass shut off all sight ofthe water.
"What's wrong?" I heard one of them shout, as I started back, but Ididn't want them to get the laugh on me too soon, and I was coming backthrough that sodden grass just as rapidly as I could make arms and legsgo. Well, sir, I suppose that tide came in slowly, but it seemed to meas though I could see it creep up my shirt inch by inch, and I hadhardly got half the distance before it was up to my shoulders. I thoughtit was time then to let the boys know what was up, so I shouted:
"'Bring the buckboard here, fellows, or I'll be drowned in this infernalgrass!'
"'Drowned?' I heard one of the men say questioningly, then immediatelyafter, 'By Jove, he's caught with the tide down in that low spot.'
"But of course they couldn't bring the buckboard because the horsecouldn't go through unless a path had been cut, and they couldn't verywell cut a path, for the reason that in doing so they would have tostoop, bringing their heads under water, to say nothing of thedifficulty of swinging an ax in the water. It looked pretty bad for me,but I thought it likely that Shriveter, one of the party, who was oversix feet, would come to my aid, and six inches more of height made aconsiderable difference of time in the up-creeping of the water. Then Isaw the chief pull out his watch and speak to the rest of the boys, andthey began to laugh. I was about thirty yards away by this time andcould hear them laugh quite distinctly. It made me as mad as a hatter,for the water was up to my chin.
"'It may be deucedly funny to you,' I called out, 'but you might comeand help a fellow!' But they only laughed the harder and it made mesore. Can you imagine what it's like plowing through that infernal grasswith water up to your chin? You can't stoop your shoulder to pushyourself through, because, if you do, a mouthful of salt water comes toyour share; all your clothes are sopping wet and heavy; the ground underyour feet has become slimy and hard to walk on and the blades of grassare sodden and almost beyond a man's power to move. I found it harderwork to make a five-yard line through that mixture of tule grass andtidewater than Harvard ever did on the gridiron against Yale."
"Easy, old man," said Field, "I'm Yale!"
"I know you are," grinned the other, "that's just why I said it. But, asI was telling you, it sure was a man's job to fight through that stuffyard by yard, and the salt water was just about level with my lips, sothat when I wanted a breath I had to give a little jump and breathebefore I came down. And those beasts on the buckboard were simplyhowling with laughter.
"'Look at the human jumping-jack!' I heard one of them say, imitatingthe voice and manner of a sideshow barker,
'The only original half-man,half-frog, in the world. See him hop! One hop is worth the money!' Itell you what," added Roberts, laughing in unison with the rest, at thepicture he had conjured up, "I was just about hot enough under thecollar to have ducked every one of those grinning oafs."
"But did you really think you were going to be drowned, Mr. Roberts?"asked Roger.
"I suppose if I had stopped to think, my boy," was the immediateresponse, "I would have known that the other chaps would have got holdof me long before that, but I felt more than half-way drowned as it was,hardly able to advance a step nearer safety, and only succeeding ingetting breath by jumping up and down as if I was on a skipping rope.But when I thought I would have to give out, paying no attention to thejocose suggestions of the fellows, such as 'Get a balloon!' 'Talk abouta grasshopper!' 'Look who's here, there's spring-heeled Jack on thetrail!' and so forth, and when my strength was nearly at an end, itseemed to me either that I had reached a little hillock or that thewater was receding. I stood still, and found that by throwing my headback I could just breathe without making any wild gymnastics, and Ithought it a good time to take a breathing space. In a few moments I sawthat the water really was receding and half an hour later I made my wayto the buckboard, where all the boys had gathered and were sittingsmoking, watching my frantic efforts.
"'You're a precious lot,' I said to them, as I clambered up out of thewet, 'to let a fellow half drown without coming to help him. I mighthave gone under out there for all you cared.' Oh, I was mighty soreabout it, and I didn't care if they knew it.
DENSE SOUTHERN PALM GROVE.
Through this lines must be cut to establish Survey points, showing widerange of territory with which a topographer must be familiar.
_Photograph by U.S.G.S._]
"But the chief, who had been laughing as heartily as any, said:'Roberts, you know perfectly well that we would have come after you ifthere had been any danger. But I looked at my watch and saw that it wasfull time for the tide to turn, so that you really stood in no suchawful peril as you seemed to think.'
"'That's all very well,' I answered, 'but how was I to know it?'
"'That was just the sport of it,' he said; 'you didn't know it, and wedid. And you would have died laughing if you could have heard yourself,'Schriveter (gurgle, gurgle), you lanky galoot (gurgle, gurgle), comeand give me a hand (gurgle, gurgle), instead of sitting there (gurgle,gurgle), like an Indian cigar sign (gurgle).' I don't know just howSchriveter felt, but so far as I am concerned, I was so tired fromlaughing that I nearly fell out of the rig.' I suppose really the chiefwas right, knowing that the water would not come any higher, but then Ididn't know, and it wasn't any too pleasant a feeling."
"By the way," continued Roberts, when he had finished his story, andother members of the party had added their mite of comment, approval,or equivalent yarn, "Mr. Field tells me that you are new on the Survey.I suppose your name is Doughty, then?"
"Yes, Mr. Roberts," answered Roger, surprised that this man, who wasalmost a complete stranger to him, should know his name.
"Mr. Herold told me that I should find you here," he said, "and he askedme to give you this letter. He told me what was in it," added the newarrival with a smile, "and I think it should please you."
Roger took with eagerness the long official envelope handed him byRoberts, his first letter of instructions since he became a member ofthe Survey, and found therein a brief order, requiring him to report atthe El Tovar Hotel, Grand Canyon, Ariz., on the first day of the monthfollowing. The same envelope contained, moreover, a personal letter fromMitchon, in which, though of course no official recognition could bemade, was a phrase worded in such wise as to show that the boy had beenwell spoken of by Field, and that this new appointment was due tosatisfaction with his first few weeks on the Survey. The lad coloredwith pleasure as he read it.
"I suppose, Roger," said Field, when the boy folded the two letters andput them back into the envelope, "that letter means that you are goingto leave us?"
"Yes, Mr. Field," answered the boy, "I don't know just when I amsupposed to leave, but I am ordered to report in Arizona on the first ofJune."
"Going on the desert work?" queried the chief. "My word, Mr. Heroldwants to give you pretty sharp contrasts!"
"I think it must be somewhere about the Grand Canyon," answered the boy,his eyes sparkling with the thought of seeing that wonder of America,which he had so ardently desired to visit. "At least, I am told toreport at a place called Grand Canyon."
Roberts nodded.
"That's right son," he said. "Grand Canyon is the tourist station forseeing the Colorado River gorge at its best."
"To whom do you report?" asked Field, "to Masseth?"
"Yes, Mr. Field, that was the name," answered the boy.
"Isn't that the man who did such clinking good work in the LittleColorado country?" asked Roberts.
"That's the man," replied Field. "You couldn't be under a betterleader," he added, turning to the boy, "but you've got to keep both eyesand both ears wide open with him, for he has a knack of expecting everyone with him to know everything. He'll teach you to think quickly, allright."
"Well, my present chief----" began the boy gratefully, but Field wavedhis hand petulantly.
"Cut that sort of thing out," he interrupted. "Any man will get along ifhe tries to do his work. But," he warned smilingly, "I don't know thatit's such good discipline to play practical jokes on the head of theparty. They might not all take it kindly."
"I had a letter from Mr. Mitchon," retorted the boy, "in which he bidsme thank you for the snipe. He said they were much appreciated in theoffice. He writes awfully nicely."
"That snipe's an old joke on the Survey," answered Field, "indeed, it'spretty well known all over the West, but seeing that it was new to you,Mr. Mitchon wanted to enjoy the fun."
"I never met Mitchon until this last time I went to Washington," put inRoberts thoughtfully, "but I liked him very much."
"I had a little experience with Mitchon once," put in David, who hadbeen listening, "and I found him white clear through."
"Mitchon's all right!" said Field.
"You bet!" affirmed the boy.
"Well," commented Roberts with a laugh, "that's a good enough epitaphfor any man. Mitchon's a long way from being dead, and I guess no one'sparticularly anxious to start carving a tombstone, but at that, I guesshe'd be satisfied with such a general opinion."
Boy With the U. S. Survey Page 6