What is the nature of the river?
The river is mostly water with some dirt and fishes mixed in. The questions is more about its restless shape. Let me show you a picture-drawing.
The head of the river is to our east, and the water runs south, but somehow ends up northwest. At the last bit the river goes rambunctious, and staggers all over the bottom land between the bluffs of Cleveland and Ohio city. As a consequence the two places are not neatly parted. There are places in the river flats where you would go west from Ohio city to reach Cleveland in the east – or nearly any other direction.
At the Ohio city iron foundry at Centre-street, east were straight south.
At Scranton’s peninsula, east were north-northwest.
At the Columbus road, east were north.
The Columbus road is where rich Mr Clark put his bridge.
The where brung considerable heartache.
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The river flats was the shared boiling heart of the two cities. Where road river canal and lake met and mixed all their blood. I read in the news paper that just one month brought 108 059 bushels wheat 988 555 pounds bacon 317 081 pounds lard through the warehouses along the last mile of the Cuyahoga.
From boats come iron tools, oils and medicines, gunmeal, kegs of nails, linens and calicoes, lyes, salt, pots of grease, crockery, brandied fruits, news papers and notions. From wagons come goose feathers, oats, peas, beans, barley, pigs, beeswax and corn. From everywhere come people – emigrants, farmers and merchants. Full of doubt and debt and expectations. And purses for us to feed from.
The Columbus road came out of the fat farm country and ran along the western bluff into Ohio city, looking down over the flats. Mr Clark had not waited for any vote of approval or assent after making his pledge, but had set workmen to rip open the bluff right at the Columbus road. Through the first months of 1837, Clark’s gangs cut a wide and easy road down the hill, and then set to work on a bridge. When it were done, all the plump wagons from the farm country would roll down the hill straight into Cleveland, and never into Ohio city at all – starving the little sister of commerce and custom.
* * *
As Big rode down to see Mr Clark, he chewed over what he would say. He were so lost in thinking that Agnes had to steer herself around the mudholes. At the crook of the hill, Mr Clark’s bridge come into view below. Even half built you could not call it ugly. Two hundred feet long and wide enough for three wagons abreast. Two covered stretches and in between a draw for letting through masted boats. From afar it resembled two houses, end to end, set atop the water. The bald wood of the bridge had the look of cake, dotted with raisins, or flies – workmen crawling the top and sides, swinging hammers and saws.
Big swung off Agnes and gone to the closest of the workmen.
Now, you have not met any citizens of Cleveland yet. Here is your first. It is a trick to tell apart a Cleveland man from an Ohio city man. They look the same and generally act the same. The only difference is that Clevelanders are wrong all over. Too much Connecticut in them. Big were more genial toward Clevelanders than most Ohioans. But the workers he approached did not return the curtsy.
Hulloa there
A grunt.
Do you know where I could find Mr Clark to speak with him?
No
Thank you kindly
* * *
Hidy
A narrowing of eyes.
Where might I find Mr Clark?
A cautious consideration of this visitor with shoes hung around his neck. Ask the foreman
Mister yes hidy
The smallest hitch in the swing of a hammer.
Are you the foreman? I wish to see the foreman
What do you want?
I want a position
Haven’t got any of those
Is Mr Clark about?
A hammer pointed to the Cleveland side of the river.
* * *
Under the noon-fat sun, Big led Agnes across the half-made bridge, their six feet and eight shoes mindful of the unfinished bits where the river showed through. The bridge had a gentle slope down from west to east, and the flats spread out like a table before my brother. A short ways off from the bridge were a pompous elm and underneath were Mr Clark, clad in a suit of barking white linen. His considerable self rested on a folding stool, with one hand on a knee and the other holding a long fork. Attending him were Miss Sarahjoseph, back from Handerson and Panderson with her basket full of brandied fruits.
Big! Mr Clark bellowed. Big Son! A welcome surprise Most welcome
Hidy Mr Clark Miss Sarahjoe
A sharp, short curtsy.
Come in comeincomein, Mr Clark said in a food-clotted voice.
Big were not sure how to come in considering they were out of doors.
Sit sit sitsitsit said Mr Clark as he went into a fresh jar of peaches with his fork.
Mr Clark had the way of some rich folks of acting as if they are the same as you. He seemed tickled to audience with Big. He wiped up his chops with a kerchief even whiter than his suit, and pushed the jar of peaches at his caller. Big fished a slice out with his fingers, to be courteous.
Their interview commenced.
Mr Clark I want to make a honest life for myself—
Commendable most commendable Another stab at the jar.
—but I want for means—
Gustation.
—and I wonder if you would take me on a worker at your bridge It is mostly done but you know my appetite I could build a dozen bridges for you do anything for you rastle alligators for you if you have any alligators
Big I am proud to hear of your turning honest I am boiled pink—
Big were unsure how it signified to be boiled pink.
—but I cannot give you work
My brother’s face fell off.
—on account of Progress We are Progressing as a People and a Place With each “P,” Mr Clark sent molecules of fruit flying. Your feats brung us a long ways toward Progress You have already done so much for us We cannot have you do more We must stand on our own
Big worked to pull his face back on, but it did not fit right.
Mr Clark paused with a gob of peach on the end of his fork. He considered some. There was a genuine boiled-pinkness to him. You could not say if it were from the liquor in the fruit or from tenderness at the hero’s predicament.
Big my word to you once the bridge is done once my money is unhitched from it I will fix you in paying work I will see it done
* * *
On Pearl-street, Asa snorted to a stop in front of DOGSTADTER GROCER. Folks mostly just called this place Dog’s. The oldest and most ragged public place on the west side of the Cuyahoga, run by an old and ragged person. The sign promised a grocery but the only good for sale was whiskey. Dog did not come out to greet us, but several of the cats what roosted in his establishment stepped outside to hulloa Asa. As the cats rubbed their brains on his ankles, Asa shook flies out of his ears. Mr Job and I went to unloading the last of the day’s load.
COFFINS I hollered.
Bring the f_____s in Dog hollered back.
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