The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1902-03-21
The Chicago River.

on the map, yet the volume of business
done along its short course exceeds that
done at all but two ports in the world
1t is almost beyond belief to those who
know it only in its present aspect, that
its waters once flowed clear and spark
ling, between verdant, grass grown
flower strewn banks, beneath the over
hanging bOughs of willows, and a sky
that was blue when the sun shone. Its
shaded pools were the haunts of fish,
and water fowl swan and waded i'll It's
shadows.
Now it is contaminated by the out
pourings of innumerable sewers. The
grassy slopes have given way to docks,
warehouses, factories and foundries that
rise abruptly from the waters edge.
The skies that look upon it in faiI
weather are smoke streaked It's former
inhabitants, except the gulls, have re-
moved to places less frequented by men.
The river is much pleasanter to see
and smell than it was before the compile
tion of the drainage canal a few months
ago. Then its waters were of an inky
blackness, and their surface was often
covered with scum, while boxes, bar
rels, garbage, in short, everything that
floats, tossed in the swell of passing
boats. 1t was dirty with the washings
of the great city that sprawled upon its
banks. So much refuse was cast into it
that the unusual spectacle of river On
! fire was sometimes presented. 1t was
like stagnant swamp. 1t had no per
ceptible current. Now it flows swiftly,
and has the deep blue tinge of the lake.
The river is unique in that, reversing
the usual order, it flows toward its
source. Before the opening of the canal
it was undecided which way to go. A
series of pumps at Bridgeport were en-
ployed in an endeavor to keep it flowing
away from the source of Chicago's water
supply, but heavy rain or a rapidly
melting snow would send the rebellious
stream tearing toward the lake. For
merly the river would freeze sOlidly over
in severely cold weather, and staunch
tugs were used in breaking up the ice
and in keeping a clear way for the fire
| boats and other vessels that had occasion
to pass. Now the river is open the year
round, although. in winter, the stream
is filled with ice bergs brought in from
the lake.
The natural forests that once grew
along the shore have been replaced by
forests of masts and sparS. Boats may
be seen at all times. During the navi-
cation season they come and go, but as
soon as the northern straits are frost
locked, they find the river a haven.
They are engaged in the carrying of all
sorts of commodities, coal, ore, lumber,
grain, fruit and Christmas trees forming
the bulk of their cargoeS. SO potent is
their influence that railroad freight
rates are regulated by their running.
The passenger and pleasure boats, some
of which make regular voyages the year
round, are docked along the lower
stream, few of them coming above the
bridges. The freight boats, however, 60
everywhere their draft will let them.
The river is bordered by docks, above
which rise plain, Window-pierced, iron
shuttered brick walls.
The three tunnels that connect the
south side with the west and north sides
of the city, are used almost exclusively
by the street railway companies, whose
cars, by their means, are enabled to
avoid the annOyances and delays incident
to surface travel. They are the bane of
the navigator's life. The larger boats
are often stranded upon them, and it is
sometimes necessary to stop the flow of
water into the drainage canal before
they can be released.
The bridges that span the stream are
of different styles. There is the old-fash-
ioned draw bridge, with a central pier,
through. There is the bascule bridge,
and there is the lift bridge, which may
LDo r, fol
masts of the largest vessels to go be
meath it.
Steam-driven boats used to ply the
river under their own power, but the
current has become too swift to allow of
their doing 50 with safety, and they
must now be escorted by tugs The
river crafts are of all descriptions.
Freighters and passenger boats, side
wheelers and propellers, and sail-b boats
variously rugged, tie side by side. Down
toward the rivers mouth the ''bum-
boats" do a thriving trade in intoxi-
cants. Occasionally households are
seen. Sometimes revenue cutters, rep
resenting the United States navy, pay
their respects to Chicago. When dredg
ing operations are in progress tows of
mud scows, loaded to the water line,
sink along beneath the bridges. For
the fire-boats everything must yield
precedence.
The river, on a summers day, is a
place of activity. Boats from all the
lake ports, and even from the other side
of the ocean, are loaded and unloaded
at the wharves. The deep toned whistles
signal the bridge-tender for an open way
sound during every hour of the twenty
four. Impudent tugs, spouting quanti
ties of black smoke, go wheeling up and
down, sometimes alone, sometimes con-
voying boats many times their size. At
the deep-mouthed warnings there is a
scurrying to get across before the bridge
turns. Pedestrians hasten their steps,
teamsters whip up their horses, the
motormen on the electric cars go ahead
at full speed. A bell clangs a command,
the policeman on guard stretches a chain
across the wagon track. All traffic in
the street ceases, while lines of cars and
vehicles form to await the closing of the
draw, and a crowd gathers to watch the
stately boat glide by.
At night, when darkness wells the rot
ting wharves and stark brick walls. the
river becomes almost majestical. From
it comes no sound. Its rippled surface
reflects the shore liUhtS in WaViD0 vel