Foreword

Friends interested in the Voyage have suggested that the accompanying articles, which appeared in the Twin City Daily Sentinel, the Winston-Salem Journal, and the combined Journal-Sentinel, should be bound between the covers of a book. This is the sole excuse for the appearance of this hastily sketched narrative in this dress.

Certainly there in no apology for the Old Yadkin; there she stands_or flows_ serenely unmindful.

Many years ago, when the writer was a small boy, he found himself with a band of travelers journeying over the rough roads of Davie County. At close of day the party reached the River and embarked on a ferry flat.

As the boat moved slowly across the placid stream, the radiance of the setting sun was mirrored upon the calm surface of the River like burnished gold. With sudden impulse and in one accord the travelers sang, "Shall We Gather at the River? "

Some of those saintly pilgrims have long since reached "that Shining River" of which they sang, but their evensong is not forgotten.

The Yadkin will always hold some of that sacred mystery and charm of the Ganges and the Jordan.

It was twelve feet long, weighed a hundred pounds, drew six inches of water, was fitted with two air compartments, and provided with oarlocks.

It was light freight and a good traveler. Men on the Arm referred to it as the " skeeter. "

This summer Mrs. W. N. Reynolds kindly consented to allow the use of the boat for a trip down the Yadkin river from Wilkesboro.

Mr. Lybrook had the vessel painted a rich orange color with white stripe around the top.

So small was the young cruiser that it divas loaded crosswise on an auto and brought from the farm to Winston-Salem. This came near proving its last voyage. Loaded as it was, it took up considerable road space. Nearing town one end struck a wooden post beside the road. The opposite end was thrown violently around, forcing the driver's head suddenly against the steering wheel of the car. Fortunately all objects concerned were of material sufficiently hard to withstand the shock.

There was only one thing lacking about the boat. It had not been christened. Accordingly we painted on its prow, or brow, or bow, or whatever you call it, the good Greek word "Agathos," which means, of course, "no flies on us."

As companion for the journey and other half of the crew, a volunteer was found in a young man connected with a banking establishment of the city. Since the journey was to be largely an exploration along river banks, he was duly qualified as bank examiner. Let us call him Tom.

For a charge of $4.48 the boat was expressed to the port of embarkation. This seemed too much, for each of us weighed more than the boat did, yet neither paid as much for transportation. It must be that the express company valued its charge more than did the passenger service.

We received little encouragement along the way. The conductor on the train smiled dubiously at the mention of the voyage, and expected to haul us back again. Several residents of the Yadkin valley referred to the low water, saying they did not know the trip could be accomplished.

Friends Sympathetic

Our good friends, Professor Horace Sisk, principal of the North Wilkesboro high school, and Professor T. E. Story, principal of the Wilkesboro high school, were much interested in the voyage from a scientific standpoint, and were willing to bring down their pupils and line them up on the bank to see us off. We declined, knowing too well our inability as seamen. Dr. C. S. Sink was humane enough to offer his services, but happily we had no need of them until we were fifty miles or more down stream.

W.C. Shoemaker, of Purlear, Route 1, passed by the North Wilkesboro station enroute to his home thirteen miles up the river. We struck a quick bargain, and he loaded the "Agathos" on his wagon. We rode down to the river brink at the bridge that connects the two towns. Here we loaded our light baggage and then tried to find out which was the bow and which was the stern. We have not yet decided. Both ends looked alike to us. So we seated ourselves in a manner approved to ourselves, each grasped an oar; then Mr. Shoemaker shoved us off into the water while several members of the Wilke's Kiwanis club in passing raised a cheer.

Agathos Pulled Anchor

The first fifty yards were glorious. A pretty silk U. S. A. flag waved front the end of the boat headed down stream. The water was sufficiently deep for our vessel to glide along smoothly. Then, before we were out of sight of the bridge the boat rubbed against a hidden stone ledge and swerved around; the flag dropping into the water floated off in one direction, the boat speeding on in another. That was the last we saw of the flag; but you may be assured we didn't dip colors intentionally.

We settled down to business. There were many things to learn. We found out how to steer, in a graceful manner, around rocks and snags. We learned that the current cuts a channel deeper in some parts of the river bed than in others. We discovered that disturbing ripples usually hid submerged boulders. At the end of an hour we had rounded the tannery and were down stream.

First Natives Sighted

Our first greeting from the natives along the banks was about three miles down Six boys were swimming and splashing in the stream, four whites and two blacks. destitute of all bathing suits except those nature provides. They had evidently never seen a boat like this one. They waded and swam along behind it for a hundred yards, cheering and crying out in friendly terms. We were greatly consoled, and after that we never feared meeting the natives.

Steadily we worked down stream. Once or twice we rubbed into a sand bank and had to wade in the stream to push oh; but after that, sand troubled us no more. There is a channel somewhere, and we were careful to pull into it.

Several miles down we passed the ruins of an old railway box car, a decaying wreck protruding out of the stream. It is a relic of the great flood of 1916. That year the river rose suddenly to a depth greater than any could remember. Miles of railroad track were washed away. Barns and houses were carried down stream. Many an acre of fine fertile valley land was scooped out by the deluge, or piled deep with sand. The water was eight feet deeper along the Forsyth county line than any record previously marked. This formed a great contrast with the river today after an exceedingly dry season, the most severe drought in a score of years. Not a place on the first stage of our journey did we find the depth over our heads.

First Port Roaring River

Night was falling when we pulled in sight of the bridge at the first station of our travels, Roaring River. The railway time table says it is nine miles from North Wilkesboro. We are quite sure it is that much if not more. Weary travelers we were when we tied the boat up among the bushes, hid the oars, and plodded up to the little village. The one cafe of the place was closed, as the hour was now seven o'clock. The lone barber shop had ceased its short cuttings for the day. By the aid of the two street lights, which cast their sickly glow over a dusty road, we rambled into a combination harness shop, filling station, grocery and general merchandise establishment.

Villagers Suspicious

" We are weary voyagers and would fain fill ourselves with food, " we ejaculated, becoming somewhat romantic over the adventures of the day.

The natives eyed us suspiciously, and well they might The warm day, nine miles of rowing, the hot sunshine, these had had some effect upon the khaki-clad mariners. The field glass, canteens, Kodak, kit bags, camp hatchet and other paraphernalia were slung about us like ornaments on a Christmas tree. But the clink of ready coin, after we had explained our explorations satisfactorily, speedily opened up the cans of pork and beans and other nutriment. We dined ravenously, sitting on the sidewalk of Main street.

In Hospitable Home

The only rooming house was full, they told us. So we climbed a steep hill overlooking the valley and found a pleasant shelter in the home of Mr. Blackburn, a new residence beautifully located. The seven children of the family gathered around us on the porch, and of course we had to uphold the reputation of good sailors, so we spun yarns for an hour or so.

A bountiful breakfast, including fried chicken, started us off just right. After shaking hands with prominent citizens at the docks, we were soon rowing windward.

Second Day's Cruise

We were in no hurry. To attempt to cover distance in as short time as possible did not appeal to us. We wanted to observe the scenery, to chat with the people along the way, to be on the lookout for wild animals and water fowl. Sometimes we would drift along idly for half a mile. This gave us a fine opportunity of knowing the Yadkin Intimately.

The Yadkin river lacks the grandeur of the Hudson. It fails to reveal the clear waters and sandy beaches of rivers of Indiana, Pennsylvania. or Florida There are no waterfalls of note. Most of the year the waters are muddy, colored from the constant drainage from the red upland hills. The banks of the stream too.

Obscured the view of the valley, as they rose to a height of from six to fifteen feet nearly all the way. The upper stretches of the river were lacking in rocky cliffs and gorges which we had expected.

There's Charm About the Yadkin

But the Yadkin has a certain charm that seizes and holds your interest. Willows, sycamores, and a variety of other trees line the banks, often spreading out over the edges of the stream, pieced out with reedy thickets and dense undergrowth. A gradually widening yellow ribbon it stretched out mile after mile, inviting us ever onward. The sound of the waters, here and there rushing over rocks and hidden shoals, yielded music sweetly borne to the ear. Occasionally a fish flashed for a moment above the surface and disappeared, leaving a faint ripple to mark the spot. Blue herons appeared nearly every mile, leaving a mud flat to travel ahead of the boat, sometimes for several miles, stopping slowly and waiting until we were almost within Kodak range, then rising again for grave flight ahead

Twilight Entrancing

The twilight the scene was entrancing. This "yellow Tiber" rolled smoothly on, flecked by the Allen leaves or foamy bubbles. Distant hills turned indigo color; then faded into obscurity. Tiny waves lapped the steep muddy shore under the overspreading willow or sycamore. The bright star of the west peeped out over the bed of the stream, while light clouds were transforming delicate coloring, from yellow to pink to gray. There was a distinct hush, broken only by the splash of the oar. The Yadkin calmly fascinates.

However, there is something coquettish about the winding stream. A sudden rain in the mountains to the west will send the waters rising several inches in an hour. There is little regularity in depth, and many a swimmer in this inviting old stream has found himself caught in deep holes or swift waters, while not a few lives of unfortunate swimmers have been lost.

The time of departure from Roaring River was 7:25 a. m. The first hours were cool and pleasant. Not until near mid-day did the sun begin to beat with fury. We gladly pulled in at the next bridge down stream that marked the settlement of Ronda.

Ashore at Ronda

This will some day be a thriving place. A cotton mill and other establishments are here, but the season is dull.

Tom and I tried a palatable beef stew at the Cafe while we gathered information as to the statistics and customs of the people. Here is a first class drug store, the only one we found between Wilkesboro and Elkin. Probably the most noteworthy feature of the place is the good school. It has a fine record. We remember, too, that Ronda has furnished the State university with one of its best teachers of mathematics in the person of Professor T. F. Hickerson. I remember him gratefully, for he passed me on first math.

Canteens were filled at the town pump. Then before embarking, Messrs. Jones and Coleman, of the garage near the river, soldered up a small leak which we had found when the boat first entered the water. These gentlemen watched us from the bridge until we were out of sight.

Lone Fishermen

Not far along we met three fishermen seining in the river. They had a net which looked like a fifteen foot section of a chicken yard fence. The father, an old man with grizzly mustache, held the end while a young fellow held the other. They were busy in a shallow, rapidly flowing section where there was a rocky bottom. Instead of moving up stream with the net; they scooped it across stream along the bottom and quickly pulled it up while a third member of the party grasped it in the middle and groped for the fish enmeshed. Three big catfish were the result of a single haul. "How many have you caught?" yelled Tom who has a weakness for fin chasing. "Bout half a bushel," cried the third member of the party as he pulled around a big sack fastened about his shoulders, and proved his statement as he calmly dropped the new catch into the bag. I had hard work luring Tom to the oars.

The First Rapids

Several rapids now caused us to row carefully. Years ago the people who lived along the river, possibly the Indians of long ago may have been the originators, piled two long lines of large rocks V shaped with the point of the V down stream. These were fish falls, and the point of the V was a place designed to ensnare tile fish in the runs down stream. We encountered a dozen of these falls in the course of our voyage. It may have made good fishing, but it was a setback for the Agathos, which more than once met the fate of the fish and was held on the ridge of rocks until we could push off. We learned, however, to pick the deepest and most dangerous looking part of the fall, and thereafter usually rode safely and quickly through, enjoying the thrill of riding on waves that sometimes lashed into the boat.

Fish Falls and Grabbling

At two or three falls we met with a singular adventure. On two occasions we stuck, apparently on the rocks, and as I plunged an oar under the boat to shove off from the obstacle, out from beneath the oar paddled each time a big turtle the size of a small wash basin, in terrified flight, swimming off before we could grab him.

This reminds us of the custom of "grabbling" for fish, which many natives practice along the river. Mr. Shoemaker, who helped us embark at Wilkesboro, was one of these grabblers. The art is practiced as follows: The fisherman wades into the steam during the heat of the day when the sun is beating down upon the water. The fish have apparently sought refuge in the shady nooks under the rocks in the stream. With deft and gentle movements of the hands these rocky cavities are explored, and when the fish is located, the fingers quickly close upon him and he is brought to the surface. Some of these grabblers even go so far as to say that they rub the fish with their fingers while in the water and apparently mesmerize him. We have this information from reliable sources, but we have never grabbled, nor have we ever seen any grabbling. We would like to know, too, if mud turtles and water moccasins are grabbled in this way.

Second Stopover at Elkin

By five o'clock we had pulled into Elkin River, which meets the Yadkin just above the bridge that connects Elkin and Jonesville. We were able to bring the boat up beyond the railroad bridge along Main street directly in front of the home of W. G. Miller, president of the Elkin Kiwanis club, where we had spent the night the previous week, thanks to the hospitality shown the wayfarers of the Get Acquainted Tour of Winston-Salem citizens.

After refreshments served us at the Miller home, some of the Elkin children came down and tried out the boat with a short ride to their evident satisfaction.

We were reasonably well acquainted with the city of Elkin and its splendid people, and did not tarry. Half an hour sufficed for Tom to gather in supplies and buy a Twin City paper lately off the press, while I telephoned home that we were still uncrowned and with no bones broken.

We wished to make a few miles more before dark; hence we pulled out from shore as the friendly German at the pumping station waved us "Auf Wiedersehen" and sang for us in good Breslau dialect, "As wir juengst in Regensburg waren. "

Night in Camp

Three miles down stream we made for the shore, tied up for the night, and ascended a steep knoll, which we had chosen for the evening lodging place. We knew it would not be full. A short distance away we saw a farmhouse. We thought it better to inform the people of our presence before striking camp. As we neared the barn, the children caught sight of us and scampered into the house. We didn't blame them. Our appearance did not do much to enhance the scenery. However, we were soon on friendly terms with all the Greenwoods, for such visas their name, and gained cordial permission to spend the night camping on the knoll.

A fire was soon burning brightly, and the evening meal enjoyed with a relish that only a hard day's work and the out-of-doors can afford.

We retired on a mattress of pine needles. Far up the river we could discern a few flashing lights of Elkin. Above our heads we looked up, through the pine boughs at the twinkling stars, which seemed ever so much nearer. A whip-poor-will lulled us to sleep before our watches had ticked off eight o'clock.

By seven o'clock next morning the Agathos had loosed its moorings and was cutting the stream on its course. We had counted on having breakfast at the next town, but did not realize that it was quite so far ahead. It was ten o'clock before we rowed into the mouth of Mitchell River and fastened at the pier under the railroad bridge. Here we wanted also to investigate an unseen leak that caused eater to seep in. We thought it resulted from a slight crack along the line of rivets.

Garage Man Fed Travelers

[jut we were mainly concerned about food. Hunger had been greatly accentuated by the morning's rowing, and two more famished travelers had possibly never set foot ashore at the town Of Burch. We rushed ahead to the first "store" and asked what the good lady in charge had to sell. We were informed that the place wasn't a store, but a peaceable hone, and there divas nothing to sell. Our mistake. We had seen a shelf of canned goods from the distance, and this caused our error. We rushed to the next, which was a combination post office and merchandise establishment. We dropped our romantic language and cried out, " Can you sell us anything to eat? " The reply was, " No. " We saw two loaves of bread upon the counter, but the proprietors probably couldn't understand our language. We were directed to the store across front the station. We found it closed. We beat upon the <loon It was locked. A bolt in the field back of the house said that the merchant had gone to Elkin and had taken the keys with him. The canteens had been empty an hour already, and we were thirsty ass sponges. "No well here," we were told, "nowhere except at that house up the railroad." We looked, it seemed a quarter of a mile up the tracks. Then we began t o vent our pent-up feelings. "Nothing to eat_ nothing to drink_nothing to sell_what kind of a place is this anyway_ O Burch why art thou on the map; why shouldst thou be called a station? Our kingdom f a ham sandwich and a glass of cold water! "

Our clamor was heard. A sympathetic man, who was driving a nail into a boar. called out, "Try the garage.' We needed no gasoline, but snatched at the la straw. There, sure enough, among tires, tubes, bolts, and cup grease, we four canned beans and a bottle of pickles. We did not hesitate then to walk up the tracks to the well, which poured out sparkling cool water.

Then down by the river side we feasted, while C. H. Carter, the garage man did an excellent job with his blow torch and soldered up the weak line in the keel of the Agathos. Burch wasn't such a bad place after all---after dinner.

We now made good time. Within a few miles the valley level dropped and the current was stronger. Difficulties came in the way of shallow shoals, most of which we manipulated without much trouble.

Ducks and Herons Sighted

Some wild ducks and white herons appeared, adding to our list of birds. We noted also a small bird of blue-gray color, that flew a few inches above the water on a line for long distances. Once we saw a blue heron soar upward with a fist in its beak.

After passing Fisher River we ran into the worst shoals thus far encountered and as we drew near Rockford, we found above an island a very shallow stretch! that forced a wading for fifty yards. The boat, lightened of its human freight could almost carry itself, so we held the chain, as if we were leading a dog, and strolled over the shallows.

There is a small island here between the Surry and Yadkin banks. We took the right channel and shot the highest falls yet encountered. It was not the steepness of the fall, but the jutting rocks that gave trouble, and we narrowly escaped a turn Dover. The ferryman, whom we met just below, complimented us upon our passage, and assured us that it was a risky place.

A Day at Rockford

Rockford has the earmarks of a long established settlement. It was once the county seat of what now comprises several counties. The old court house was pointed to. There is no marker to tell its history.

It was in the old court house that a mass meeting was called in the year 1859 to devise ways and means for making the Yadkin navigable.

We were kindly received by Mr. Reece, a prosperous merchant, who gave us much information about the neighborhood. He has spent his life here, knows every turn of the river in the vicinity, and knows the people like a book. We borrowed his evening paper, which had just come in by the train, and read it while we listened to the village gossip communicated by a group of four girls who gathered at the cross roads, and who after the custom of old, broadcasted the happenings true and fictitious of the neighborhood. After listening to the chatter we understood why there is no need of a local newspaper at Rockford.

Another Night in the Open

Again we were determined to spend the night in the open, and bent over the oars until we saw a likely looking knoll. After making fast the Agathos to a sycamore tree we clambered up the steep bank and through a dense thicket of briars and brush, crossed the clearing, and ascended the hill. Here another pleasant pine grove afforded shelter. We could discover no sign of human habitation anywhere in the vicinity. Off in the distance we could hear the faint lowing of cattle and barking of dogs.

The night turned considerably cooler, and as our fire died down early, we were rather wakeful. In the course of the quiet hours I heard far away a man calling his dogs. From time to time the sound echoed from the distance. "Whoo-ee! Whoo-ee!" was the faint cry of the man, and the two dogs responded. Again and again came the cry of the chase. They were after opossum. At length the yelping showed that the game had been treed. Then came the noise of an axe chopping away to fell the tree, followed by a savage barking as the prey was brought to ground. Then silence. This occupied at least two hours. I looked at the watch. It was 1:30 a. m. It was the first time I have ever heard an opossum hunt broadcasted. It is impossible to tell how far away the chase occurred. Sound travels far over the river bottom. I questioned Tom the next morning, and he didn't know anything about it; still I know I wasn't dreaming. It was too cold.

As we pushed off from shore at 6:00 o'clock a. m., vapors were rising everywhere from the surface of the river. We put our hands into the water and found it pleasantly warm. Later in the day, when we tried a short swim, we found the water quite cool. It stayed the same temperature' but we didn't.

Beautiful Siloam

A mile or more above Siloam we rounded a curve; then the favorite landmark of this whole section of country first came to view. Seemingly very near loomed the Pilot Mountain. Down on the river level this is the only place from which we could view the noble mountain until we were miles away down stream and looked up from the south. Siloam, like all the towns we had thus far visited, was on the north bank, the railroad side of the stream. Several beautiful residences look out from the hills above the valley. Once there was a splendid academy here. An able teacher trained many scholars and built up a creditable institution. We have in our possession a post card from him which he mailed while on his travels in northern Africa. However, his earthly work is finished, and the academy of former prestige is now but a shadow in the grade school that exists here.

Comparing our watches with the station clock we found the time 8:47 when we left the village. The boys of the vicinity followed us down to the river, and we could still see them when we rounded the curve far below.

Awaiting Rise in Water

By ten o'clock we knew that the rough stream, checkered with rocks, portended the approach of Shoals. We slowly wound around seeking the best channels, passing over ridge after ridge of hidden rock, until somewhat weary we saw the cable stretching across the stream, marking the next lancing. There was no one to greet us at Shoals, and when J. C. Corum, the ferryman, canoe down to the river, he was surprised to find a strange craft tied up beside the ferry flat.

We were informed that the river was from six to eighteen inches below normal, and that some days previous, before the heavy rain, it had been still lower. The ferry here, as those up stream, had necessitate<! the piling up of sand on the bank to afford a landing, so low as the water. We saw the ferryman attempt to float across an automobile in the flat boat, but the sand was too near the surface on the Surry side. The boat hung for half a day fifty yards from the shore and was finally poled back.

Mr. Corum is a ferryman to be remembered. He reminded us of that famous boatman Charon who transports troubled souls over the river Styx. It is a delight to see him pole a small wooden boat across the river. It is with him a ceremony stately and solemn. Over six feet in height he stands upright in the boat, using a sapling pole twice his length. Without bending the knee or winking an eyelash he sweeps one end of the pole into the water. This impulse shoots the boat ahead on a straight line as if it were driven by motor power. Between sweeps he stands poised as a Grecian statute. A dozen powerful strokes bring him safe to the opposite shore where with countenance still unmoved he casts the stay chain over the moorings.

He was greatly interested in the Agathos, and as he is of ingenious turn of mind, he would not surprise us by some day launching a metal barque of his own make upon the turbid waters of the Yadkin. But we had rather see him in the old flat wooden boat solemnly poling into port.

While we were resting under the trees on the south bank of the river at Shoals, we calculated our distance thus far traveled down the Yadkin. It was as more than two-thirds the distance from the sea of Galilee to the Dead Sea; a little more than twice across the English Channel between Dover and Calais; or tem miles less than a trip around the triangle from Winston-Salem to High Point to Greensboro and back to Winston-Salem. This is a conservative calculation of the distance from Wilkesboro to Shoals by river_about fifty miles.

Our little boat had made a noble record and called forth the admiration of ourselves and the curious passengers at the ferry.

We client some time resting_and we needed it. Several muscles had been exercised which we didn't know were included in our anatomy, and besides, sunburn was very much in evidence. Particularly so with Tom, who had left his trousers rolled up to the knees for a greater part of the preceding day, since the hour when we had first been forced by shallow water to get out of the boat and pull over a shoal. Facial sunburn is bad enough, but by constant exposure the epidermis of the face is much tougher than that of other parts of the body. On the water, also, there is a wicked glare that aids the sun in its broiling process. Thus after fifty miles Doctor Sink's offer of services was remembered as the need of a ship's physician was realized.

Agathos Put Into Harbor

While talking o'er ease we searched out a calendar and found that it was nearing noon, September 18, 1925, and that the next clay would be Saturday. There is a strange disregard for the time when traveling the solitude of the river, and we were surprised that the week was so near the end. It was necessary that one of the crew be back home by the next evening, and as the worst part of the river lay ahead of us, it was deemed best to return to Winston-Salem by the afternoon train and to complete the journey at a later date. This, too, might bring a rise in the water which we felt sure would be needed to voltage safely over the next few miles.

We pulled the good boat Agathos out of the water and stored it for safe keeping until the remainder of the journey could be attempted.

Mr. Corum, the ferryman, generously volunteered to pole us across in his long wooden scow. I was delighted for I wanted the pleasure of a trip across guided by the grim boatman. As we sat silently on the boat speeding across, I felt that a scene from Aristophanes' comedy "The Frogs" was being enacted, the one in which Charon conveys his charges over the uncertain waters to the unknown shore, and I could almost hear the chorus of frogs croaking out their infernal "Brekekekex koax koas. " We soon landed at the railway station of Shoals.

Shoals Has Big Store

The settlement of Shoals is an anomaly. The dictionary says that means a deviation from rule, type or form. As we stood at the station, we could see only one dwelling house anywhere in the vicinity. Yet before us stood the largest store building we had seen outside Wilkesboro and Elkin. It is a three-story structure of large capacity. We could not reconcile this big store building with the population of one family. But perhaps, like other up-to-the-minute cities, Winston-Salem, for instance, Shoals railway station is situated some distance from the center of population.

The store is conducted by John A. Martin, resident of East Bend, three miles away. Mr. Martin seems to be president, vice president, secretary and treasurer of Shoals, besides filling the position of secretary of the chamber of commerce, postmaster and station agent.

Brief Furlough

At 3:22 we boarded the home bound train and were greeted by the conductor, who had been on the lookout for us since he escorted us to Wilkesboro the Tuesday previous. He had been expecting to pick us up far up the river.

Experienced Crew Assembled

When I again set foot on the river bank at Shoals ferry, it was at 10:30 Monday morning, October 5. My faithful companion, Tom, was detained by banking duties and could no longer be counted upon as a member of the crew. However, I was lucky enough to sign up another deck hand, whom we may call Ed. He has a longer name, but since I am not being salarized for space, let the bi-itteral title suffice. Ed is a collegiate. Last year he was at the state University. His college training soon proved its usefulness; I found that he could cut bread with a pocket knife. He did not saw the staff of life off in hunks and scatter crumbs over the gunwales of the boat. He sliced it evenly, artistically, and economically. He said that he learned this "eating in his room" at college, a practice whirls generations of college youth have acquired in institutions of learning throughout the world. Let no one speak lightly of the benefits of a college education.

Out at High Tide

True to expectations the river had risen several inches, so we were promised better traveling. The complexion of the Yadkin had cleared some, too, and was not so muddy. On the first lap of the journey we could not see a submerged boulder, even though it was only two or three inches below the water line. Now we could spot these obstacles and steer clear. This was of great assistance.

Chills with Thrills

The weather, likewise, had changed considerably. Autumn's bracing air was as felt, and sweaters were not uncomfortable. In fact, we still had ours on late in the afternoon when we got a sudden soaking in water up to our armpits, of which you will read if you have the patience to follow this narrative seven miles further down the Yadkin.

Life Develops Sincerity

Before embarking we sought to make the boat water-tight by stopping a small leak. This was difficult as we had no soldering material at hand. Just then the suggestion of a worthy college president came to hand. Dr. H. E. Rondthaler, who witnessed this departure from Shoals, advised the use of chewing gum. How he ever hit upon that scheme of using chewing gum was a puzzle to us until we remembered that he was president of a college for girls and young women. That explained it.

Chewing Gum Good Solder

Chewing gum is all right as an adhesive on piano stools and school desks, but on the wet surface of a metal boat we found its value nil. Then we hit upon a discovery. Possibly we may yet revolutionize methods for patching leaky vessels. We brought the boat to land and waited for it to dry. Then I held a lighted match to the metal around the leak. Ed applied the gum, which immediately stuck. I quickly dashed cold water upon it. This resulted in as neat a job of vulcanizing as you have ever seen. Not a drop of water came through from the time we left Shoals until we dropped anchor in port at the journey's end. Had we more gum and more time we would have spared trouble with another part of the craft down stream.

Threading the Rocks

We entered now upon the worst drawback to navigation on the Yadkin river. The bed of the stream was thickly sprinkled with rocks jutting up from all parts of the river. The task of pulling through looked impossible. We prepared for long portages, expecting every moment to be compelled to drag the Agathos over reefs and around shallows. At some places it appeared that you could cross from one side of the stream to the other by jumping from rock to rock.

We threaded into one narrow channel, then another, then another, and looked back surprised that we had cone through without even scratching a rock. Then we grew bolder and took courage. The most threatening view now loosened up, but we went at it bravely. As this was the stretch which we had observed inwardly groaning as we had looked from the window of the railway coach. Then the most pleasant surprise was in store. Over on the north side under the overhanging willows appeared a narrow channel. We steered for it and rode it safely. On we sped, fearing each moment that this unexpected passage would fail us and end in another cruel reef. We were getting excited, but highly buoyant. At last we turned a curve and found that the danger was over. We gave a shout anti joyfully pulled up by a rock island to look back over the threatening boulder strewn stream.

But do not think that our difficulties were over. the distance front Shoals to

Donnaha is six and seven-tenths miles. Six of these miles are full of shoals and shallows that test your skill in boating. Yet we managed to thread in and out without once talking the boat out of the water. Three cheers for the Agathos!

Valuable Water Power

This long stretch of the river will some day be used for water power. We could suggest several sites where the drop in the water level could be thus utilized. Years will see some valuable developments. We would pick Rockford, Shoals and Donnaha as favorable sites for water power, but the railway track along the river bank would have to be diverted in order to gain best advantage. There are other sites lower on the river which would not involve this change

Overboard, but Rescued

As we passed out of the worst rocky portion of our journey, we found the river shallow and widened out to a great width with several islands of considerable size. We started down one channel, then backed up stream and chose another. The latter was unsatisfactory because it ran into shallow water. When we had gotten out of the boat and pulled it into deeper water, my fountain pen, which had been clipped to a pocket of jacket, was loosed by the exertion and dropped into the flood. This was the first loss of any consequence since the flag left us near Wilkesboro. The water was about two feet deep and moving swiftly. I groped for a minute or two, as I suppose natives grabble for fish; then gave it up as a bad job. The pen was gone_why worry? Suddenly Ed raised a shout. He, too, had been grappling for the loss, and as he straightened up, he held in his fingers the fountain pen dripping river water.

First Real Thrill

This episode was the prelude to the first spill of the trip. Already in the shallow we could hear the noise of rushing water, which always sounded a warning to us. Before we knew it, the banks had narrowed and we were darting toward the fall. We could not adjust the boat sufficiently and it was caught sideways on the rocks with water streaming in over the sides. I can still see Ed as he stood holding the baggage box in his arms while the water rushed in over his feet, then up to his knees. I sprang without hesitation into the water with such haste that nay bank book hopped out of a pocket and went sailing down stream. It was followed by the wooden seats of the boat, for the vessel was rapidly filled with water. I did not want to lose these seats, so I dashed on until the water was waist deep. The two boards were still gaining on me, so I turned back, helped piglet the Agathos and empty out the water. We continued on our course, now in the attitude of kneeling, as there were no longer planks whereon to sit. I did not mind the loss of the bank book, as nay purse remained safe in another pocket. This was the only unrecovered loss of the journey, except, of course, the flag, although we had a more hazardous experience late in the afternoon.

It Might Have Been

Not long after this we reached the bend in the river that changes the course of the Yadkin. We had come to the east bend. A high cliff, rising many feet above the water, stands at the turn. Thus far we had been traveling in a general direction east inclined slightly to the north. Now we headed south. the range of hills to the east has deflected the river current and sent it down at a right angle. What might have been the history of Winston-Salem if these hills had not been in the way and the river could have furrowed through the center of what is now Forsyth county instead of winding along the western border? We paused where the old Donnaha bridge had washed away, leaving the bridge piers as gaunt monuments. We tied the boat under the willows and ascended the steep bank to view the wide river bottoms below the home of our friend Oscar V. Poindexter. These wide fields are very productive, in spite of the dry season, and a good crop of corn was ready for harvesting.

Across the river is the site of Richmond Court House, where in 1787 Andrew Jackson was admitted to the bar.

Trapped in Fish Fall

Now comes a thriller! A small island appeared some distance down the stream. We debated which course to take. Although the road of the water portended a fall on the left, we turned that way. Soon we wished for the right channel.

Here was the highest fish fall yet encountered. The dam of rocks extended from either side pointing down stream. The swiftest and deepest portion of the stream passed through the point of this V between two large wooden beams. By the time we reached the center we were traveling at a rapid rate. The waters were roaring around us. Had it not been for those beams we would have shot through safely. But in the narrow passage between jutting rocks above the Agathos nosed against one of the beams and was swiftly jammed crosswise against the other. There we were caught, like rats in a trap, with a mighty current of water pouring entirely over the boat. Ed was again mimicking the statute of Liberty as he held aloft the baggage box.

Double Ducking

Releasing the boat was a serious undertaking. The force of the rushing torrent nearly bowled us over as we sought to lift the boat. As Ed gave a tug at one end of the Agathos, his foot slipped on a rock and he sat down on the ricer bottom.

While laughing at him I duplicated the performance, and went down nearly up to the neck. Things were getting interesting, also considerably damp.

To prevent the boat from being carried too swiftly down stream we made the stay chain fast to one of the beams. Then we managed to lift one end out of the water and partially empty the craft. It swiftly veered around nearly tumbling us over; then hung from the stay chain like a huge fish pulling at the end of a line.

Half an hour was lost in getting over this difficult passage and re-embarking. We had acquired a thorough dislike for fish falls.

Fish Falls Built by Indians

These falls, we were certain, had been originated by the Indians, as Indian village sites usually occur near the location of these traps. Further proof I have since found in the description given by Loskiel, the Moravian mission historian of Indian life, who has pictured these arrangements identically as they appear and tells how the Indians made great catches by these falls.

We were dripping when we landed at the Donnaha riverside park, the first pleasure resort thus far passed. We tied up beside a gasoline motor boat of strange design, which had the appearance of a miniature hydroplane without wings.

At Mr. McNeil's store we laid in a supply of food, also procured new planks for boat seats.

Fish With Your Fingers

Mr. McNeil was quite interested. "Are you out fishing?" he asked. The people all along the way could not get it out of their heads that anyone would try to navigate the river except for this purpose.

"No," we replied, "just exploring for pleasure."

"Why don't you catch a red horse?" he inquired.

What is a red horse?"

"A fish."

"We haven't any tackle."

"You don't need any tackle. Catch them with your fingers."

"Catch fish with your fingers?"

"Yes."

"Do you mean grabbling?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever grabbled?"

"No."

We liked his nerve.

English Tickled Them

This grabbling business has aroused our interest. We learn from Fir. John W. Fries that Englishmen of his acquaintance pursue an art which they call fish tickling. We are inclined to think that the Anglo-Saxon stock of the mountainous country of the upper Yadkin have perpetuated this sport of their ancestors under the name of grabbling. However, they seem to be more willing to talk about it than to demonstrate.

We have another bone to pick with Mr. McNeil. He surmised that the distance down the river to Flint Hill was a mile and a half. We traveled a good three miles and still did not arrive there. In the morning another mile was behind us before we came in view of the old Steelman place, the nearest plantation home to Flint Hill.

Darkness had settled while we had been trying to row hard and reach the familiar neighborhood of the Steelman place, where I knew a sandy filed above the river would furnish a dry night's lodging. Therefor we decided to pull in. The evening air was chilly and our soaked clothing demanded warm environment.

Luckily for us we chanced to tie up where the underbrush was not dense, and a few yards from the river bank was a fine sandy corn field.

Flint Hill Night Control

The moon was not yet in view and darkness was upon us. There was no sign of habitation anywhere around. There were no familiar sounds to lead us to any homestead. Hence we decided to pitch camp in the field and started out to look for firewood. This is a trying task in the dark. We traveled a quarter of a mile across the bottom to a fringe of trees and found a few dry pieces the thickness of your arm. On the way I stepped into a ditch over my head in depth and disappeared, to Ed's dismay. It was dry, and the bushes prevented any serious injury, but after that we walked circumspectly.

With the small supply of fuel we built a fire Indian fashion, a small fire with only three or four sticks, but it gave a fine steady heat. In two hours our clothing and blankets were dry.

The moon was now smiling upon us and we were well content except for the chilly weather. River bottoms, too, are decidedly more damp and penetrating than the distant knolls.

The Night Watch

Ed slept while I did a little more drying. Then I turned in and was awakened by Ed a little later as he built up the fire to warm. When I returned to consciousness with a shiver, I found him asleep; so I built up the fire. Again I heard him blowing the coals. Again I tried it. We must have done this half a dozen times apiece in the course of night. Once Ed heard a rooster crow (a sure sign of nearby habitation) and thought it was time to get up, but looking at his watch found that it was half past one. Once, too, I thought I heard a Ford motor buzzing far off in the distance. It must have been, for the night was too cool for mosquitoes.

Joy of the Dawn

I surprised Ed by telling him he had spent the night in an Indian grave. I further proved this by gathering a handful of bones from the field above us. The evidences that we had spent the night in an old Indian burying ground were unmistakable. This might have accounted for some of the cold chills that the feeble fire failed to dispel.

At seven o'clock we were on the river. We had camped just above a steep bluff studded with pine trees. The inevitable fish fall, not a dangerous one, was a short distance below.

After a mile we passed Steelman's then made good time. The river became more and more navigable. Miles sped by with little effort to us as we could do

single rowing now that we were out of the rocks.

Site Concrete Highway

At ten o'clock we were at Yadkinville highway bridge of the Boone Trail and saw the first hard surface of the trip.

We regaled ourselves with lunch near Smith's store at the bridge, and read the newspapers of home happenings the preceding day. Here also we counted numerous

cars of people from beyond the Yadkin who were evidently journeying to the big Fair at Winston-Salem, which was just opening. They tell us that there are not many people left in Yadkin county when the fair is going on in Winston-Salem.

The rather uneventful meal which we enjoyed at the bridge was brightened by the unexpected. As Ed was biting into a sandwich, a yellow jacket, attracted by the display of food, stung him on the tongue. Now I had heard years ago of a boy who was eating an apple and was stung by a bumble bee. The story went that his tongue swelled so quickly that he couldn't get it back in his mouth.

I watched with bated breath to see what would happen, and was naturally disappointed when the tongue disappeared again in the cheek and Ed went on eating the sandwich as if he had had only a little more dressing on the food in question. Later in the day, however, when Ed was at the oars, we passed a string of wasps nests, densely populated, and I suggested that the oarsman strike one of the nests with an oar and then row in retreat. Ed refused this request, saying he had had enough such enjoyment for the day.

Both of us had guessed that we would sight the West Bend bridge by noon, but we were half an hour late. A halt was made to visit the picnic ground below the bridge and quench our thirst at the spring. I had visited the spot numerous times before. It is a shady shore with rock ledge nearby from which issues a spring of clear sparkling water out of the heart of the rock. We found the spring today but a tiny trickle, reduced by the long drought.

Within sight of the bridge to the south can be seen the old Shallow Ford, were Cornwallis crossed with his army. There is no monument or marker to proclaim the historic site.

A few miles to the west is what may be called the grave of the Unknown Soldier of the Revolution. A hero of the struggle for liberty lies in unmarked grave, his Rename almost forgotten.

Water Fowls Keep Company

Our preparations were now for steady traveling. What the distance was to our destination we did not know, but we had the promise of friends to meet us at five o'clock. We bent to the oars and swept forward. The river is sufficiently broad and deep to afford good speed, and we made it.

This day noted a variety of birds upon or near the water. Several times we passed small islands where scores of sand pipers tripped hither and thither. These birds do not hop like sparrows, but trot, one foot before the other. They were so tame that we passed within oar's length of an island and none of the birds took flight. Of wild ducks we saw more than a score. They fly in military formation, executing squad right or left or oblique with the precision of trained soldiers. Strange to say, most of the ducks were flying northward, whereas the time has come to journey in the other direction. The herons were in sight many times during the day. A large one flew ahead of the boat for a long distance, rising whenever we drew near and continued ahead. We at last snapped his picture as he stood stiffly on a dead limb about fifty yards distant.

The flight ahead of the heron in advance of the boat brought up the question whether or not we could rightly say that he was following us when he was flying on ahead. We argued that he kept on a direct line ahead of us, waiting for us, then moving on in advance. On the other hand, we argued, we were traveling after him, but never caught up. We could make no decision. He was evidently curious and wanted to keep in sight of the strange craft. We were likewise bent on keeping in sight of him. So we gave it up, judging the proposition to be that of the sagacious definition of courtship which adjudges it to be "a man chasing a woman until she catches him. "

Near three o'clock in the afternoon we drew near the shore at a mill dam which extended across the river. This was the only mill we had found propelled by river power on the entire eighty miles of our travel. It was a frame structure with undershot wheel. On a marvel could have prevented it from being washed down stream in high water. Some benches and a table made of boards were near under the shade of the sheltering oak trees, distinguishing this as a picnic resort. We saw no one there although we observed a workman, some distance up the hill, rapidly traveling away. She had sighted us before we landed and did not like our looks.

The embankment of rock interspersed with logs and planks extended well across the river; so we were forced to lift the Agathos over the obstruction and launch it in the mater below. This was the second and last time of the journey that we stopped for portage. True, we had two spills, and paused to empty out the water, but otherwise the Agathos kept to the stream four score miles without forcing a carriage over dry land except at two points. That little boat is a wonder.

The old mill was a tempting spot to linger and while away the time, but we were determined to reach our destination as near five o'clock as possible. Again we bent to the oars.

To save time our afternoon lunch was eaten on board. Ed ate first while I roared; then he took the oars while I devoured food.

Sight First Boat Also

While Ed was lunching he called out, " Ship ahoy! Boat ahead ! " Sure enough, far down stream, we could clearly discern what appeared to be a boat and a man with oars. This, we remarked, was the first boatman we had discovered on the entire journey with the exception of the ferryman further up stream. We could not understand why the natives did not relish the pleasures of water sport, since we found such great fun on the Yadkin. We never passed a canoe or other attractive boat. Of course, every mile produced one or more familiar flat bottomed wooden scows used for fishing or for poling across the river. We thought of the great possibilities for canoe clubs to enjoy frolics on the long stretches of the Yadkin. Some day this will come to pass. Even boating, by motor can be done for miles up and down the river. Ale never saw a boat house on the entire journey. True enough, the restless river easily washes such frail structures away, but they could be built some distance above the bank. Probably the natives are afraid of the big freshets and do not care to invest in uncertainties. But the time Will collie when boating for pleasure, a most enjoyable sport, will be more popular on the Yadkin.

Thus meditating and commenting we approached Ed's man in the boat and when me drew near, found it to be only a large rock jutting out of the stream, across which a small log had lodged. Thus we were compelled to record that we did not meet any boatman at all on the river except the ferryman already mentioned.

Although we were making splendid time now and were earnestly engaged in bringing the Agathos into port, we observed from time to time the old-fashioned homesteads peeping out from the leafy summits of distant hills. These large plantation homes are usually known by family names connected with a past history extending back for generations. The names of Williams, Martin, Conrad, Speas, Hall, and others came to mind. Clustered around those old homesteads are many cherished memories. They bring back the picture of the Old South and many of the splendid families that have made its history. Some of these once handsome structures are now deserted. People are moving out to the good roads. However, there is also a renewal of appreciation for these choice locations, and the future will soon see another move in this direction, particularly for country hones or summer villas.

Home Again

We had waited for some hours to catch sight of a certain green roof, and when it did appear, we breathed a sigh of relief, for it meant to us that the bridge on the Clemmons highway was near. It had occurred to us that friends would possibly be waiting for us at the bridge, and we strained our eyes as soon as we caught sight of the steel framework spanning the river. There were passing autos, but no one was waiting for us that we could discern. We did discover, however, a large flock; of buzzards on the right bank. Possibly they had heard of our venture and were awaiting the outcome. Certainly they had a large crowd out to view us as we passed, and the trees were black with them. I counted forty-two of these Harpies, but was unable to talkie a complete census. I have never seen a more thickly populated buzzard roost.

Impatiently we pulled the oars. We had rowed 19 miles this day and five o'clock was fast approaching. We did not want such a glorious voyage to end except in triumph. The beautiful oaks of " Tanglewood " pointed to the skies with their leafy shelter as we sped by over the choppy waves which the wind stirred up. The last bend of the river was turned. There were our friends just stepping out on the ferry of the Reynolds-Lybrook Farm, where they had come to meet us. We sighted them before they espied us. At three minutes after five the faithful craft was swinging to the chain front moorings in its native harbor and the cruise of the Agathos had ended.

Second Stage