Burning of the “Granite State”.
It
was an unusually foggy morning in May and to look at the spot where Salmon
River lay quietly in the moonlight the night before, one could almost imagine
that a mammoth iceberg had floated in during the night and lay between one and
the shore opposite, so densely did the damp clouds hang over the water. At four
o’clock I was to row my father across the river. I remember how flat and heavy
our conversation sounded as we moved slowly in the little row boat through the
thick walls of vapor, and how from the larger river below low, rumbling sounds
like those of a distant side-wheel steamer. “The ‘State’ is late this morning,”
said my father, of the Steamer “Granite State”, which plied between New York
City and Hartford. She usually passed the mouth of our river about midnight, on
her way up the Connecticut.
Suddenly
my father stopped me rowing and listened. “There’s something the matter down
there,” he said, and by that time I could also distinguish strange sounds
coming across the water. The rumblings grew louder and were accompanied by the
hiss of escaping steam and miniature explosions. Reluctantly my father left the
boat, and I returned home.
By
this time the sounds from river below had grown frightful. I hurried up the
steep hill behind our house hoping to obtain a glimpse of something above the
fog, which I knew to be thinner at the top. Here nothing met my view, however,
except the long, winding line of heavy vapor, but the sounds of disaster
increased at every moment, and were now assisted by the screaming of whistles,
the steady clanking of pumps, the shrieks of women and hoarse shouts of men. My
boyish imagination was filled with wonder and confusion. What it all meant my
wild flights of thought could in no way determine. The whole landscape seemed
depressed, and not even an early morning bird was to be seen or heard anywhere.
I could discern the long bank of fog as it wound down the Connecticut valley;
could see where it joined that which hung over Salmon River, and still further
on where it continued down between the hills, a long way beyond the scene of
commotion, but underneath it all, and not far below where the rivers united,
was taking place some disaster which was as completely shut out of my view as
though a wall of masonry divided us.
Suddenly
my feet nearly left the ground, caused by the shock of a tremendous explosion
which boomed across the water and reverberated from hill to hill, and above the
fog I could see thrown into the air, bits of burning wood and other debris.
It
was then that the truth flashed across my mind. The “Granite State”, the dear
old “Granite” which I had so many times admired as she swept proudly down the
river, was burning. To me, a boy, standing all alone there on the hill, the
thought seemed terrible. In my eagerness and excitement I climbed a tree so as
to get still higher above the fog.
In
a few moments a slight breeze from the North pressed against my cheek, and I
could see the fog-clouds below me already beginning to chase one another
towards the South. A few moments more, as if some magic hand swept down between
the hills, the white veil lifted and disappeared into space, while the morning
sun burst radiantly upon the scene. And such a scene it was! My simple country
life had been so quiet and uneventful heretofore that in my excitement I nearly
lost my hold on the branches above me. Lying lengthwise across the stream was
the ill-starred steamer a mass of roaring, lapping flames from stem to stern.
Great tongues of fire rose from her. leaping higher and higher, till it seemed
as though they met the sky before darting from sight. Now that the fog had
cleared the din of disaster seemed but to increase.
Hundreds
of people from the river villages crowded to the very waters edge, and the
river for a long distance up and down was thickly dotted with hurrying boats
and bits of burning wreckage. The scene, grand as it was from one point of view,
appalled me somewhat, and for a long time, even after the flames had died away
and the blackened hull had disappeared under the surface of the Connecticut, I
remained in my uncomfortable lookout, a picture of sorrowful meditation.
It was a new experience to me, and when last summer, after a
lapse of fifteen
years,
I stood on the hill and looked down the river, I could picture that May morning
with its heavy pall of fog and its terrible disaster with as much clearness as
though it were really taking place then and there.
See “The Ill-Starred Granite State (or ‘Burning of the Granite State’) (May 18, 1883)”, Feb. 1, 1892, Pub. in Conn. Valley Ad.
https://whowasjoecone.blogspot.com/2015/02/the-ill-starred-granite-state-may-18.html
Earlier
version:
English
22.
Joseph A, Cone.
Theme #2
Oct. 23,
1894.
You have chosen an excellent subject
for description and have kept your point of view admirably. You introduce
details unnecessary to your subject. Your language becomes conventional when
you attempt to express the impression made on your own mind. Analyze in your
themes, hereafter, your own impressions as you now the phenomena of the foggy morning; and give us what was
distinctive in your impression. Rewrite H.V.A.
Burning of the “Granite State”.
It was an unusually foggy morning in May and to look at the spot where
Salmon River lay quietly in the moonlight the night before, one could almost
imagine that a mammoth iceberg had floated in during the night and lay between him
one L.and the shore opposite, so
densely did the damp clouds hang over the water. [As was
customary,] I was about to row my father across the river at
four o’clock in the morning, and being a boy I was in some doubt as to whether
I could bring the boat to the landing opposite, so he, being an excellent
boatsman, took the oars. Compact this sentence – or omit; see below
I
remember how flat and heavy our conversation sounded as [we] my
father and I moved slowly in our little row boat through the thick walls of vapor, and how from the river
below low, rumbling sounds like those of a distant side-wheel steamer. Lacks
unity
“The ‘State’ is late this
morning,” said my father, [referring to] of the Steamer “Granite State”, which plied between New York
City and Hartford, and which usually passed the mouth of Salmon River (about
two miles below us) about midnight, on her way up the winding Connecticut. K
Suddenly my father
stopped rowing and listened. “There’s something the matter down there,” he
said, and by that time I could also distinguish strange sounds coming across
the water. The rumblings grew louder and were accompanied
by the hiss of escaping steam and miniature
explosions. Being an old seaman my father was naturally anxious, but being
obliged to go his way, he left the boat, and I headed for the homeward shore
which I found after much difficulty. weak By this time the noises from river below had
grown [positively] appalling, and acting upon my
father’s advice, I [ascended] climbed up the high hill behind our house hoping [thereby] not
a natural in this environment to obtain a glimpse of something above the
fog, which I knew to be thinner at the top. Here nothing met my view, however,
except the long, line of heavy vapor which followed the winding course of the
river, but the sounds of disaster increased at every moment, and were now
assisted by the screaming of whistles, the steady clanking of pumps, the
shrieks of women and the hoarse shouts of men. My boyish
imagination was filled with wonder[ment] L and
confusion. What it all meant my wild flights of thought could in no way
determine. The whole landscape seemed depressed, and [though
it was sufficiently light in the fields and woods behind me,] not
even an early morning bird was to be seen or heard anywhere. ¶ No
¶ I
could discern the long bank of fog as it wound down the Connecticut valley;
could see where it joined that which hung over Salmon River, and still further
on where it continued down between the hills, a long way beyond the scene of
commotion, but underneath it all, and not far below where the rivers united,
was taking place some disaster which was as completely shut out of my view as
though a [mighty] unnecessary
wall
of masonry divided us.
Suddenly
my feet nearly left the ground, caused by the shock of a tremendous explosion
which boomed across the water and reverberated from hill to hill, and above the
fog I could see flying helter-skelter a word not congrueous
to your theme through the air, bits of burning wood and other debris. It
was then that the truth flashed across my mind. The “Granite State”, the dear
old “Granite” which I had so many times admired as she swept proudly down the
river, was burning. To me, a boy, standing all alone there on the hill, the
thought seemed terrible, and I stood as one spell-bound. Too
conventional
In a few moments a slight
breeze from the North pressed against my cheek, and I could see the fog-clouds
below me already beginning to chase one another towards the South. A few
moments more, as if some magic hand swept down between the hills, the white
veil lifted and disappeared into space, while the morning sun burst radiantly
upon the scene. The experience of that moment has fastened itself firmly upon
me; I shall never forget it. Too conventional Lying
lengthwise across the stream was the ill-starred steamer, a mass of roaring,
lapping flames from stem to stern, while the river for a long distance was
dotted with small boats and burning wreckage. The scene, grand as it was from
one point of view, was truly W. appalling,
and for a long time, even after the flames had died away and the blackened hull
had lurched and sunk beneath the waters of the Connecticut, I stood as one
in a dream. Too conventional
No comments:
Post a Comment