it seems to me that the best way to get at the heart of any boy's town is to take its different watercourses and follow them into it.

the house where my boy first lived was not far from the river, and he must have seen it often before he noticed it. but he was not aware of it till he found it under the bridge. without the river there could not have been a bridge; the fact of the bridge may have made him look for the river; but the bridge is foremost in his mind. it is a long wooden tunnel, with two roadways, and a foot-path on either side of these; there is a toll-house at each end, and from one to the other it is about as far as from the earth to the planet mars. on the western shore of the river is a smaller town than the boy's town, and in the perspective the entrance of the bridge on that side is like a dim little doorway. the timbers are of a hugeness to strike fear into the heart of the boldest little boy; and there is something awful even about the dust in the roadways; soft and thrillingly cool to the boy's bare feet, it lies thick in a perpetual twilight, streaked at intervals by the sun that slants in at the high, narrow windows under the roof; it has a certain potent, musty smell. the bridge has three piers, and at low water hardier adventurers than he wade out to the middle pier; some heroes even fish there,[25] standing all day on the loose rocks about the base of the pier. he shudders to see them, and aches with wonder how they will get ashore. once he is there when a big boy wades back from the middle pier, where he has been to rob a goose's nest; he has some loose silver change in his wet hand, and my boy understands that it has come out of one of the goose eggs. this fact, which he never thought of questioning, gets mixed up in his mind with an idea of riches, of treasure-trove, in the cellar of an old house that has been torn down near the end of the bridge.

on the bridge he first saw the crazy man who belongs in every boy's town. in this one he was a hapless, harmless creature, whom the boys knew as solomon whistler, perhaps because his name was whistler, perhaps because he whistled; though when my boy met him midway of the bridge, he marched swiftly and silently by, with his head high and looking neither to the right nor to the left, with an insensibility to the boy's presence that froze his blood and shrivelled him up with terror. as his fancy early became the sport of playfellows not endowed with one so vivid, he was taught to expect that solomon whistler would get him some day, though what he would do with him when he had got him his anguish must have been too great even to let him guess. some of the boys said solomon had gone crazy from fear of being drafted in the war of 1812; others that he had been crossed in love; but my boy did not quite know then what either meant. he only knew that solomon whistler lived at the poor-house beyond the eastern border of the town, and that he ranged between this sojourn and the illimitable wilderness north of the town on the western shore[26] of the river. the crazy man was often in the boy's dreams, the memories of which blend so with the memories of real occurrences: he could not tell later whether he once crossed the bridge when the footway had been partly taken up, and he had to walk on the girders, or whether he only dreamed of that awful passage. it was quite fearful enough to cross when the footway was all down, and he could see the blue gleam of the river far underneath through the cracks between the boards. it made his brain reel; and he felt that he took his life in his hand whenever he entered the bridge, even when he had grown old enough to be making an excursion with some of his playmates to the farm of an uncle of theirs who lived two miles up the river. the farmer gave them all the watermelons they wanted to eat, and on the way home, when they lay resting under the sycamores on the river-bank, solomon whistler passed by in the middle of the road, silent, swift, straight onward. i do not know why the sight of this afflicted soul did not slay my boy on the spot, he was so afraid of him; but the crazy man never really hurt any one, though the boys followed and mocked him as soon as he got by.

the boys knew little or nothing of the river south of the bridge, and frequented mainly that mile-long stretch of it between the bridge and the dam, beyond which there was practically nothing for many years; afterwards they came to know that this strange region was inhabited. just above the bridge the hydraulic emptied into the river with a heart-shaking plunge over an immense mill-wheel; and there was a cluster of mills at this point, which were useful in accumulating the waters into fishing-holes before they rushed through the gates upon the wheel. the boys used to play inside the big mill-wheel[27] before the water was let into the hydraulic, and my boy caught his first fish in the pool below the wheel. the mills had some secondary use in making flour and the like, but this could not concern a small boy. they were as simply a part of his natural circumstance as the large cottonwood-tree which hung over the river from a point near by, and which seemed to have always an oriole singing in it. all along there the banks were rather steep, and to him they looked very high. the blue clay that formed them was full of springs, which the boys dammed up in little ponds and let loose in glassy falls upon their flutter-mills. as with everything that boys do, these mills were mostly failures; the pins which supported the wheels were always giving way; and though there were instances of boys who started their wheels at recess and found them still fluttering away at noon when they came out of school, none ever carried his enterprise so far as to spin the cotton blowing from the balls of the cottonwood-tree by the shore, as they all meant to do. they met such disappointments with dauntless cheerfulness, and lightly turned from some bursting bubble to some other where the glory of the universe was still mirrored. the river shore was strewn not only with waste cotton, but with drift which the water had made porous, and which they called smoke-wood. they made cigars for their own use out of it, and it seemed to them that it might be generally introduced as a cheap and simple substitute for tobacco; but they never got any of it into the market, not even the market of that world where the currency was pins.

the river had its own climate, and this climate was of course much such a climate as the boys, for whom nature intended the river, would have chosen. i do not[28] believe it was ever winter there, though it was sometimes late autumn, so that the boys could have some use for the caves they dug at the top of the bank, with a hole coming through the turf, to let out the smoke of the fires they built inside. they had the joy of choking and blackening over these flues, and they intended to live on corn and potatoes borrowed from the household stores of the boy whose house was nearest. they never got so far as to parch the corn or to bake the potatoes in their caves, but there was the fire, and the draft was magnificent. the light of the red flames painted the little, happy, foolish faces, so long since wrinkled and grizzled with age, or mouldered away to dust, as the boys huddled before them under the bank, and fed them with the drift, or stood patient of the heat and cold in the afternoon light of some vast saturday waning to nightfall.

the river-climate, with these autumnal intervals, was made up of a quick, eventful springtime, followed by the calm of a cloudless summer that seemed never to end. but the spring, short as it was, had its great attractions, and chief of these was the freshet which it brought to the river. they would hear somehow that the river was rising, and then the boys, who had never connected its rise with the rains they must have been having, would all go down to its banks and watch the swelling waters. these would be yellow and thick, and the boiling current would have smooth, oily eddies, where pieces of drift would whirl round and round, and then escape and slip down the stream. there were saw-logs and whole trees with their branching tops, lengths of fence and hen-coops and pig-pens; once there was a stable; and if the flood continued, there began to[29] come swollen bodies of horses and cattle. this must have meant serious loss to the people living on the river-bottoms above, but the boys counted it all gain. they cheered the objects as they floated by, and they were breathless with the excitement of seeing the men who caught fence-rails and cord-wood, and even saw-logs, with iron prongs at the points of long poles, as they stood on some jutting point of shore and stretched far out over the flood. the boys exulted in the turbid spread of the stream, which filled its low western banks and stole over their tops, and washed into all the hollow places along its shores, and shone among the trunks of the sycamores on delorac's island, which was almost of the geographical importance of the island in old river. when the water began to go down their hearts sank with it; and they gave up the hope of seeing the bridge carried away. once the river rose to within a few feet of it, so that if the right piece of drift had been there to do its duty, the bridge might have been torn from its piers and swept down the raging tide into those unknown gulfs to the southward. many a time they went to bed full of hope that it would at least happen in the night, and woke to learn with shame and grief in the morning that the bridge was still there, and the river was falling. it was a little comfort to know that some of the big boys had almost seen it go, watching as far into the night as nine o'clock with the men who sat up near the bridge till daylight: men of leisure and public spirit, but not perhaps the leading citizens.

there must have been a tedious time between the going down of the flood and the first days when the water was warm enough for swimming; but it left no trace. the boys are standing on the shore while the[30] freshet rushes by, and then they are in the water, splashing, diving, ducking; it is like that; so that i do not know just how to get in that period of fishing which must always have come between. there were not many fish in that part of the miami; my boy's experience was full of the ignominy of catching shiners and suckers, or, at the best, mudcats, as they called the yellow catfish; but there were boys, of those who cursed and swore, who caught sunfish, as they called the bream; and there were men who were reputed to catch at will, as it were, silvercats and river-bass. they fished with minnows, which they kept in battered tin buckets that they did not allow you even to touch, or hardly to look at; my boy scarcely breathed in their presence; when one of them got up to cast his line in a new place, the boys all ran, and then came slowly back. these men often carried a flask of liquid that had the property, when taken inwardly, of keeping the damp out. the boys respected them for their ability to drink whiskey, and thought it a fit and honorable thing that they should now and then fall into the river over the brinks where they had set their poles.

but they disappear like persons in a dream, and their fishing-time vanishes with them, and the swimming-time is in full possession of the river, and of all the other waters of the boy's town. the river, the canal basin, the hydraulic and its reservoirs, seemed all full of boys at the same moment; but perhaps it was not the same, for my boy was always in each place, and so he must have been there at different times. each place had its delights and advantages, but the swimming-holes in the river were the greatest favorites. he could not remember when he began to go into them, though it certainly[31] was before he could swim. there was a time when he was afraid of getting in over his head; but he did not know just when he learned to swim, any more than he knew when he learned to read; he could not swim, and then he could swim; he could not read, and then he could read; but i dare say the reading came somewhat before the swimming. yet the swimming must have come very early, and certainly it was kept up with continual practice; he swam quite as much as he read; perhaps more. the boys had deep swimming-holes and shallow ones; and over the deep ones there was always a spring-board, from which they threw somersaults, or dived straight down into the depths, where there were warm and cold currents mysteriously interwoven. they believed that these deep holes were infested by water-snakes, though they never saw any, and they expected to be bitten by snapping-turtles, though this never happened. fiery dragons could not have kept them out; gallynippers, whatever they were, certainly did not; they were believed to abound at the bottom of the deep holes; but the boys never stayed long in the deep holes, and they preferred the shallow places, where the river broke into a long ripple (they called it riffle) on its gravelly bed, and where they could at once soak and bask in the musical rush of the sunlit waters. i have heard people in new england blame all the western rivers for being yellow and turbid; but i know that after the spring floods, when the miami had settled down to its summer business with the boys, it was as clear and as blue as if it were spilled out of the summer sky. the boys liked the riffle because they could stay in so long there, and there were little landlocked pools and shallows, where the water was even warmer, and they could stay[32] in longer. at most places under the banks there was clay of different colors, which they used for war-paint in their indian fights; and after they had their indian fights they could rush screaming and clattering into the riffle. when the stream had washed them clean down to their red sunburn or their leathern tan, they could paint up again and have more indian fights.

i do not know why my boy's associations with delorac's island were especially wild in their character, for nothing more like outlawry than the game of mumble-the-peg ever occurred there. perhaps it was because the boys had to get to it by water that it seemed beyond the bounds of civilization. they might have reached it by the bridge, but the temper of the boys on the western shore was uncertain; they would have had to run the gauntlet of their river-guard on the way up to it; and they might have been friendly or they might not; it would have depended a good deal on the size and number of the interlopers. besides, it was more glorious to wade across to the island from their side of the river. they undressed and gathered their clothes up into a bundle, which they put on their heads and held there with one hand, while they used the other for swimming, when they came to a place beyond their depth. then they dressed again, and stretched themselves under the cottonwood-trees and sycamores, and played games and told stories, and longed for a gun to kill the blackbirds which nested in the high tops, and at nightfall made such a clamor in getting to roost that it almost deafened you.

my boy never distinctly knew what formed that island, but as there was a mill there, it must have been made by the mill-race leaving and rejoining the river.[33] it was enough for him to know that the island was there, and that a parrot—a screaming, whistling, and laughing parrot, which was a pretty poll, and always wanted a cracker—dwelt in a pretty cottage, almost hidden in trees, just below the end of the island. this parrot had the old creole gentleman living with it who owned the island, and whom it had brought from new orleans. the boys met him now and then as he walked abroad, with a stick, and his large stomach bowed in front of him. for no reason under the sun they were afraid of him; perhaps they thought he resented their parleys with the parrot. but he and the parrot existed solely to amuse and to frighten them; and on their own side of the river, just opposite the island, there were established some small industries for their entertainment and advantage, on a branch of the hydraulic. i do not know just what it was they did with a mustard-mill that was there, but the turning-shop supplied them with a deep bed of elastic shavings just under the bank, which they turned somersaults into, when they were not turning them into the river.

i wonder what sign the boys who read this have for challenging or inviting one another to go in swimming. the boys in the boy's town used to make the motion of swimming with both arms; or they held up the forefinger and middle-finger in the form of a swallow-tail; they did this when it was necessary to be secret about it, as in school, and when they did not want the whole crowd of boys to come along; and often when they just pretended they did not want some one to know. they really had to be secret at times, for some of the boys were not allowed to go in at all; others were forbidden to go in more than once or twice a day; and as they all[34] had to go in at least three or four times a day, some sort of sign had to be used that was understood among themselves alone. since this is a true history, i had better own that they nearly all, at one time or other, must have told lies about it, either before or after the fact, some habitually, some only in great extremity. here and there a boy, like my boy's elder brother, would not tell lies at all, even about going in swimming; but by far the greater number bowed to their hard fate, and told them. they promised that they would not go in, and then they said that they had not been in; but sin, for which they had made this sacrifice, was apt to betray them. either they got their shirts on wrong side out in dressing, or else, while they were in, some enemy came upon them and tied their shirts. there are few cruelties which public opinion in the boys' world condemns, but i am glad to remember, to their honor, that there were not many in that boy's town who would tie shirts; and i fervently hope that there is no boy now living who would do it. as the crime is probably extinct, i will say that in those wicked days, if you were such a miscreant, and there was some boy you hated, you stole up and tied the hardest kind of a knot in one arm or both arms of his shirt. then, if the evil one put it into your heart, you soaked the knot in water, and pounded it with a stone.

i am glad to know that in the days when he was thoughtless and senseless enough, my boy never was guilty of any degree of this meanness. it was his brother, i suppose, who taught him to abhor it; and perhaps it was his own suffering from it in part; for he, too, sometimes shed bitter tears over such a knot, as i have seen hapless little wretches do, tearing at it with their nails[35] and gnawing at it with their teeth, knowing that the time was passing when they could hope to hide the fact that they had been in swimming, and foreseeing no remedy but to cut off the sleeve above the knot, or else put on their clothes without the shirt, and trust to untying the knot when it got dry.

there must have been a lurking anxiety in all the boys' hearts when they went in without leave, or, as my boy was apt to do, when explicitly forbidden. he was not apt at lying, i dare say, and so he took the course of open disobedience. he could not see the danger that filled the home hearts with fear for him, and he must have often broken the law and been forgiven, before justice one day appeared for him on the river-bank and called him away from his stolen joys. it was an awful moment, and it covered him with shame before his mates, who heartlessly rejoiced, as children do, in the doom which they are escaping. that sin, at least, he fully expiated; and i will whisper to the young people here at the end of the chapter, that somehow, soon or late, our sins do overtake us, and insist upon being paid for. that is not the best reason for not sinning, but it is well to know it, and to believe it in our acts as well as our thoughts. you will find people to tell you that things only happen so and so. it may be; only, i know that no good thing ever happened to happen to me when i had done wrong.