File:Athletics and manly sport (1890) (14753287016).jpg

Identifier: athleticsmanlysp00orei (find matches)
Title: Athletics and manly sport
Year: 1890 (1890s)
Authors: O'Reilly, John Boyle, 1844-1890
Subjects: Boxing Games Canoes and canoeing
Publisher: Boston, Pilot publishing company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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ntervals a straggling village, usually con-nected Avith a saw-mill for juniper and cypress.Originally the canal ran right through the swamp,which it now borders on the eastern side. The land east of the canal has been cleared,because it has been drained into the sea. The fallis to the east. But all the land west of the canalis still unrelieved and dismal swamp. How is this ? Does not the land on the westside drain into the canal, as the land eastward hasdrained into the sea ? No ! the canal has com-pletely stopped drainage ; it is higher than all thewestern swamp. Then came the startling suggestion, striking usboth at the same time. Tliis canal is a cruel liga-ture on the vitals of the swamp, shutting it in onitself and suffocating it. The canal is higher thanthe swamp, and instead of draining it, drowns it.The canal is a straggler, and here before our eyeswas a deliberate process of land murder! But I have outstripped the canoes. Let mebegin at the beginning, and tell this story of a
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362 ETHICS OF BOXING AND MANLY SPORT. delightful summer outing, and stop this damna-ble iteration of the sufferings and wrongs of theDismal Swamp. The sw^amp cannot grieve atwhatever infamy may be put upon it. What doesit care, or who does care w^hether the wonderfullake be ringed with silver sand or hedged withbleached roots and twisting serpents ? But thepity of it, lago ! Oh, lago, the pity of it! Go back again to Norfolk with me, and try toforget that you have been inside the gates of thisbrown-water canal of the Dismal Swamp. It wasnot fair to begin my tale in the middle. Surely Ihave made a mistake and told the story of theswamp too soon. But I have only told the story;it remains for me yet to prove it. It is seven oclock in the morning, and we twoare in the market of Norfolk buving bacon, saltpork, hard bread, cheese, a ham, an alcohol stove,and all the necessaries for a few weeks sojourn inthe wilderness. At eight oclock, breakfast over, we are gettinginto rough suits in the o

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