CHESAPEAKE BAY
George Barrie, Jr.
Reprinted from "The Cruiser," New York.
CHESAPEAKE, from the
Algonquin K'tchisipik, meaning Great Water, is
truly a fitting name for the noble Bay whose sparkling
waves lap the shores of Maryland and Virginia.
This magnificent sheet of water is nearly two hundred
miles long and its greatest width is about one-eighth of
its length, but the Bay itself is not all; numerous
rivers, such as the Potomac, Rappahannock, Choptank,
Chester, with many others of less imposing size and
innumerable creeks -- seemingly unnamable, too, as many
names are duplicated -- total up a greater number of
square miles. These latter, really little estuaries, are
misnamed, as the word creek is apt to bring to one's mind
a dirty little stream running between muddy banks; but
this is not the case. They are beautiful, placid
indentations with green fields or bits of woodland coming
almost to the water's edge and only a narrow strip of
beach intervening. Some are very narrow at the mouth, but
inside spread out and branch off in different directions.
Nearly all of them end abruptly, and one may think he has
some distance yet to go before reaching the head, when
one is suddenly confronted with a little piece of marsh
through which runs a small brook, and that is as far as
one can go.
The Bay would lose a large part of its fascination if
there were no long rivers to explore, no bays to sail
about in, no snug little creeks or coves in which to drop
anchor at night. Providence must have made the Chesapeake
early in the morning after a good night's rest and the
Delaware late in the evening after a long, hard day, as
the latter is all that is mean, unpleasant, low, and
aggravating, while the former is the direct
antithesis.
Gradually more and more yachts are seen on the
Chesapeake, especially since gas engines have become so
popular. Few yachtsmen realize the beauties of this great
Bay -- a perfect paradise for the cruiser. A short dash
outside now and again is very proper to relieve the
monotony, but offshore, with its banging and slapping,
the necessity of many lashings, long days without a real
meal, cabins battened down, dampness and evil smells
below, faces crusted with salt, eyes bleary with night
watches, and above all nothing but a wilderness of
tumbled waters with once in a great while a faraway sail,
cannot compare with the beautiful, ideal, peaceful
existence of the cruiser who takes advantage of this
perfect mixture of water and land.
SEINERS IN FAIRLEE CREEK.
BACK CREEK FROM HORN POINT.
To thoroughly explore the Chesapeake and its
tributaries, one should have a vessel of not more than
three feet draft -- that is, if one wishes to look into
every nook and cranny, to investigate places never seen
and for that matter never imagined by the great majority
of yachtsmen. Any draft up to ten feet can find good
harbors and lots of them, but as the draft increases the
limit of ground explorable decreases. With five or six
feet one can keep going for some time and never anchor in
the same harbor twice. A small launch or sailing dinghy
will be found an aid and will afford much interesting
amusement in looking into the little nooks which surround
the night's anchorage; the latter preferably, as who can
be thoroughly in harmony with the beauties of a fine
sunset while having your teeth rattled by the vibration
of one of those canned devils?
In the matter of provisions one need have no qualms;
neither from fear of their lack or the use of canned
ones, which are unnecessary in this land of plenty.
Butcher's meat, and very good beef at that, can be found
in all the towns; chickens and eggs at all farmhouses;
the same applies to vegetables and milk; ice nearly
everywhere. The headquarters for larder filling are so
conveniently situated as to allow three or four days of
sauntering between each one; while farmhouses abound on
all sides. Fish and crabs are at your own front door.
Varieties of game are fairly plentiful, although not so
much so as when the legislature passed a law forbidding
owners to feed their slaves on terrapin more than twice a
week. That annoying necessity of the modern cruiser,
gasoline, can now be had everywhere, as will be testified
by the rapid fire reports to be heard in the most
out-of-the-way places.
The lover of things colonial will find much to
interest him.
Many notable specimens of colonial architecture are
scattered over the shores of the Bay, while Annapolis is
strewn with them. The Brice, Paca, Chase, Harwood, and
Scott houses are the most striking, and copies of
portions of them are seen in many of the present day
colonial residences; a door from the Harwood, the arched
triple window from the Chase, or the cornice from the
Brice. Here came the landed gentry as the days grew
shorter, leaving their pleasant waterside plantations,
and rumbled into town in their great coaches followed by
a horde of servants in less pretentious vehicles; or
those from the Eastern Shore sailed over in their private
vessels; many of which were kept expressly for pleasure.
Then followed a season of revelry. While the fathers
attended the solemn meetings of the Assembly, the younger
generation followed the fox over the rolling inland
country, or, if the weather had been severe, glided on
the ice of Spa Creek. In the evenings there would be a
ball at the governor's mansion, or a rout at one of the
hospitable residences, where punch flowed freely and many
hogsheads of fine Orinooko were lost and won at langtry
loo.
WHITEHALL, ANNE ARUNDEL COUNTY.
THE BRICE HOUSE, ANNAPOLIS.
Many of the country establishments were as
substantially built and as lavishly furnished as those of
the town. Governor Paca's house, which stood on the upper
end of Wye Island overlooking the Narrows, is said to
have been one of the finest. The tradition is handed down
that in order to keep his son John from going to sea he
gave him carte blanche as to the design and building,
and, if all accounts are true, John took him at his word,
for a veritable palace with porticoes and galleries,
surrounded by many terraces, was erected on the banks of
the placid Wye.
Wye House, which has been in the Lloyd family since
Philemon came with the early colonists, is an eldorado,
and although the original was burned by the British
during the 1812 differences, there still remain the
beautiful old formal gardens with their box edged paths,
the graveyard with its collection of well carved stones,
the large orangery standing at one end of a broad, grassy
sward, lined on each side with tall privet bushes, while
at the other end is a long, low, white mansion, within
whose walls are treasures to feast the eye of the
connoisseur.
Tulip Hill is one of the finest; a big, square brick
structure, with wings somewhat larger than are usually
found, standing on a hill overlooking West River. Two
broad terraces, with unobstructed view, are on the river
side, while the front is approached through a park made
up of immense trees, most of which are of the tulip
variety. A wide hall extends through the house, on the
west side of which is a dining room and a music room,
while on the east side are two large parlors with walls
wainscoted to the ceilings. The west wing is given up to
the kitchen, while that on the east contains a library
and offices.
Whitehall, near Annapolis, with its portico supported
by large white columns is somewhat out of the usual
design of tidewater mansions.
A chaplain of the Revolutionary Allied French Army
remarks on the differences between life in New England
and in Maryland; in the former a scant living was made by
trade, and the colonists collected in villages, their
homes were small and built mostly of wood; while in the
latter there were hardly any villages or towns -- in
fact, in early years there was only one: St. Mary's, and
the houses were built, in nearly all cases, from brick,
not imported as many suppose, but of brick whose size was
known by the term English. The inhabitants lived on broad
plantations, some of which contained ten or twelve
thousand acres, where a living was drawn from the rich
soil, and each one was independent, with its own food
supply to satisfy the inner man, and weavers to make
rough cloth from wool sheared from home raised sheep to
cover his body. Private windmills ground the wheat into
flour to make bread for the planters' tables, and the
maize into meal from which evolved the hoe-cake of the
field hands.
At first life was exceedingly rough, and only barest
necessities prevailed. Hospitality was always extended to
everyone, even the Sot-Weed Factor, who found fault with
everything else in the colony, acknowledged this and
transforms the Cockerouse's words of welcome into his
doggerel verse:
- "Whether you come from Gaol or Colledge
- You're welcome to my Certain Knowledge
- ... found them drinking for a Whet
- A cask of Syder on the Fret,
- So after hearty Entertainment
- Of Drink and Victuals without Payment."
-
Many of the old mansions are inhabited by the
descendants of the builders and are still kept up, but
the majority have passed out of the hands of the original
families and are in a sad state of repair and
desecration. Think of whitewashing a mahogany staircase
and wainscoting as was done lately in one which belonged
to one of the most celebrated colonial families, or of a
stately mansion in which probably were entertained the
red heels of the time, now being used as a county
almshouse. But no matter its condition, a substantial,
square brick building with long, low wings, finely
situated, back of broad terraces, overlooking some placid
stream, is more of an ornament to the landscape than most
of our modern abortions.
Swift currents are unknown and the annoyance of a rise
and fall of six to forty feet is not encountered. The
average rise and fall for the whole Bay is one foot; at
Old Point it is two and one-half feet, while at the Elk
River it is three, and at Annapolis less than one foot,
which is accounted for by the fact that there are two
tides within the length of the Bay and they meet at this
point. The wind effect is greater than the tidal, ranging
quite high; three or four days of a steady, whole sail
north or south wind will make three or four feet
difference in the level, and if the wind changes directly
from south to north the current of the ebb in the Bay
will be very noticeable.
A reputation for squalls and heat during the summer
months appears to frighten off a good many cruisers.
Wonderful tales are told of the heavy gusts; for
instance, we read of a British frigate on the Potomac
during the War of 1812 having her jib boom blown away
while the quarterdeck was in complete calm, and also of
the capsizing on the Patuxent of two of their schooners
under bare poles; but on the average they are no worse
than those encountered at other points along the coast or
on the Great Lakes. The heat is also much overestimated.
I have felt just as warm in Boston as in Norfolk, the
difference being that the "spells" last a day or two
longer; and there is also the advantage of having
scarcely any fog -- in fact, in summer it is almost
unknown.
On coming out of the Delaware and Chesapeake Canal it
is, if in a sailing vessel, advisable to tow down Back
Creek to Elk River, a distance of two miles; tugs are
generally on hand for this purpose. A launch can be
guided down the serpentine channel by means of bushes put
out by the canal company to mark the various points and
bars.
The Elk River, with its shores of tree-covered hills,
here and there dotted with prosperous-looking farms, is
easy of navigation for its seven miles of length to
Turkey Point, where its waters join those of the
Susquehanna and Northeast Rivers. It was on the north
shore of this river, near Turkey Point, that Lord Howe
landed with the British forces before the battle of the
Brandywine. What a sight it must have been to see a fleet
of square riggers anchored in the mouth of the river,
with a pack of small boats crowded with "lobsters," as
the redcoats were called, bumping alongside. Several
coves along this shore afford moderately good anchorages
for small craft, while the southern shore line is broken
by the Bohemia River and Cabin John's Creek, the former
being a broad stream of short length whose clear, clean
water is perfectly safe for drinking.
The Sassafras River empties into the Bay just below
the Elk and its southern shore is very high, running out
to Howell's Point, which is seven knots exactly from
Turkey Point. Betterton, a summer resort very popular
among Baltimoreans, is also on this shore, but as the
anchorage is very exposed from the north and west it is
unwise to stay here over night. Two miles up, however, is
Turner's Creek, inside the mouth of which you are
completely landlocked.
Below Howell's Point is Still Pond Harbor, a deep
indentation; but the place, as far as security goes,
belies the name of harbor except for craft of three feet
or less draft that can run into Churn Creek and there
find shelter. Still Pond drains into the "harbor" through
a narrow gut which has across its mouth a bar, and over
this not more than two feet can be taken. Worton's Cove,
a few miles farther south and directly opposite Poole's
Island, is a bay somewhat deeper than Still Pond Harbor
and therefore affords fairly good protection for drafts
up to eight feet, while a creek which is hurricane proof
can be entered by vessels drawing five or six feet. It
was on the shores of this cove that two Germans, in early
colonial days, while stopping at a house near by were
witnesses of the extreme rage and chagrin of their host's
son, because he bagged only twelve ducks at one shot.
The western shore from Havre de Grace to the Patapsco
River is very low and inclined to be marshy, while long
flats protrude well out into the Bay and as the main
channel keeps to the eastward, the rivers, i.e., Bush,
Gunpowder, Middle, and Back, which empty into the Bay are
very poorly marked.
Below Poole's Island the Bay widens considerably and
no more harbors are to be found until Swan Point is
reached, back of which is a creek of the same name, where
lies Rock Hall, a great oystering headquarters. The
Chester River here flows into the Bay from a
southeasterly direction, and the Patapsco, directly
opposite, has a northwesterly slant, thus making quite a
stretch of open water. On the south side of the latter,
about seven miles up from Bodkin Point, is Curtis Bay, on
which is the home of the Baltimore Y.C. From the Bodkin
to Annapolis, a distance of fifteen knots, the only
harbor intervening is Magothy River, whose narrow mouth
gives no idea of the broad sheet of water lying hidden
from view behind a row of hills which separates it from
the Bay. The shores of this river are one large truck
garden, from which quite a fleet of sail and power boats
carry the produce to market in Baltimore.
The upper Bay has a deserted appearance, very few
craft being seen; but when the Patapsco is reached and
passed the sails of bay craft are seen everywhere,
together with a fair sprinkling of ocean steamships and
coastwise schooners. The various rigs and models of the
Chesapeake are extremely interesting. The pungys are
descended from the famous Baltimore clippers: their keels
are cut away very much like the old English cutter, with
the greatest draft, usually six or seven feet, at the
rudder post. No board is used and they are fairly beamy,
but not so much so as an ordinary centerboard schooner;
the freeboard is low and, curiously, the topsides are
nearly always painted pink with dark-green wales or
bends. They are schooner rigged, masts well raked, and no
foretopmast. Pungys have long since gone out of favor,
and none have been built for years; consequently those
few stragglers that are seen look much the worse for
wear. The ordinary two-masted schooner is the vessel most
used for cargoes and differs not particularly from those
of other localities.
The most popular rig and model is that of the
"bugeye," or "buckeye," which of the two terms is correct
will never be decided, neither will the derivation; but
the first spelling is the phonetic representation of the
bayman's pronunciation. Bugeyes and canoes are of the
same family. Undoubtedly the canoe came first; originally
hollowed out of one log, then for larger ones two logs
were used, and as big timber grew scarce three and four,
until now under the term of "chunk built" seven or nine
are used.
No more graceful and picturesque craft can be found
than the canoes and in those of today we would hardly
recognize that described by the Sot-Weed Factor who came
to the province of Maryland early in sixteen hundred:
- "The Indians call the Watery waggon
- Canoe, a vessel none can brag on,
- Such a shinning odd invention
- I scarce can give its due Dimention.
- Cut from the Popular-tree or Pine
- And fashioned like a trough for swine."
-
Their wonderful turn of speed is much bragged of, but
whether it is as great as we are led to believe is still
undecided and will be until one of the crack canoes is
tested against one of our modern machines. In favor of
the former is the fact that, besides displaying great
speed, they will not only outlast but will also outlive
the latter in a seaway. Great sport and skillful handling
are seen at their interlocal races. Here the use of
movable ballast in the shape of men on sliding boards is
still practiced, and very expertly too, as some of them
will not stand right side up unaided when their racing
spars are shipped. As trees large enough could not be
found to keep up with the ideas of man, the plan was
conceived of building up with ribs and planking from a
log bottom and decking all over, with a small cabin aft
of the foremast, but this combination did not satisfy; so
that frames and planking throughout are now used for
those of over forty feet.
Canoes and bugeyes are everywhere to be found. On the
oyster bars are seen great fleets of the former and it is
wondered from where they all come; but if during a cruise
one will explore some of the little out-of-the-way creeks
one will realize the thousands of them that there must
be. Everywhere are canoes found tied to a stake in front
of the owner's house or hauled out on two logs under a
bit of overhanging bank. Oystermen will be found tonging
well out in the Bay in pretty rough weather. There they
stand, perfectly balanced on the narrow washboard,
handling their tongs, the canoe violently bobbing up and
down. Often they are caught out and unable to beat for
home, but must run before the winter's gale. Only last
winter a sudden vicious northwester scattered over the
Bay a fleet of more than two hundred which was working
the bars off West River; many sought shelter by scudding
before it for the Eastern Shore, others were dismasted or
had their sails blown away.
The lasting quality of a small log boat is wonderful;
canoes twenty-five or thirty years old are common and
some are said to be at least a hundred. The lack of
ceiling or covering of any kind which would prevent the
free circulation of air or form a pocket for water to lie
in and thus cause rot, is in a great way responsible for
their lasting qualities.
A new model built of planks has for the past few years
gradually been coming into favor, the deadrise bateau, as
the smaller sizes are called, while the larger, which run
up to fifty-five feet, are called skipjacks. Being very
easy and cheap to build, they are in many instances
superseding the bugeyes. Their weatherly qualities are
well spoken of and the very shallow draft is an
advantage. Seeing the chances for room and comfort that a
boat of this type offers I became a convert from the deep
draft and had one built by C. E. Leatherberry, of West
River. She is forty-six feet over all, sixteen feet
breadth, and three feet draft; the entire deadrise
amidships being nine inches. Jib and leg-o'-mutton
mainsail, with a small engine, makes her very easy to
handle. The luxury of real bedsteads in the staterooms is
the piece de resistance. This will no doubt make the old
shellbacks scoff; I was a disdainer of such myself at one
time, but no more hard bunks; and I notice the spare bed
is a bone of contention among the slaves.
The nearly flat bottom gives much more floor space
than would be had in a round bilge boat of the same
length and breadth. She has a large main cabin, two
staterooms as big as those generally found on a
seventy-foot schooner, a toilet room with running water,
and a galley in which it affords one pleasure to dabble
in the culinary art. When going to windward with a
certain size sea running she sometimes jars one when
landing on the top of a wave and this has a tendency to
sag her to leeward, but on the whole she does very well
and has shown her ability to claw off. A still later
model of this type has the bilge rounded instead of an
angle and this lessens somewhat the banging in a
seaway.
The important water industries of the Chesapeake are
oystering, crabbing, fishing, and the transportation of
farm products. Under the first of these the most men and
vessels are employed, as during their season the other
three are almost at a standstill, and practically every
inhabitant of the surrounding shores is engaged in some
way, either tonging, dredging, or in the packing houses.
In the early spring, as the oyster season is on the wane,
the fish begin to run; of these the most numerous are the
shad, herring, and rock. Pound nets are found everywhere;
some of them in the lower Bay are veritable forests, and
the piles are of such a size as to be extremely dangerous
to any vessel colliding with them. Great quantities of
menhaden are also caught, as will be testified by the
numerous fish factories found below the Potomac. The
toothsome crab next puts in his appearance, and it is
miraculous that they have not been exterminated by the
thousands of lines set every day all over the Bay. When
the oyster season is over, the vessels either lay up
until the next month with an R in it or else a general
overhauling is gone through before the gatherings from
the soil are ready to be shipped to Baltimore.
From any of the well-protected harbors may be seen a
fleet of ten or fifteen sail slip out while the
"rosy-fingered dawn" is just appearing in the East, and
generally square off before the fresh southerly breeze;
the captain at the wheel, a sleepy-faced, barefooted
fellow sloshing down decks, while a nigger fusses around
an old dry goods box containing a stove and by courtesy
might be called the galley, from which is now coming
forth clouds of rosin-laden pine wood smoke. There are
bugeyes, schooners, pungys, and now and again a skipjack
-- but these latter are not very often used as freighters
-- loaded with wheat, watermelons, tomatoes, boxes in
shooks, lumber and cordwood. The vessels carrying the
last-named article are generally the most dilapidated,
and never attempt to go to windward on account of their
high deck loads; while the bugeyes are the most shipshape
and show a variety of color.
But we must return to our progress down the Bay.
After passing Magothy, Sandy Point is rounded, and
five miles further on lies Annapolis, where there is a
fine harbor and excellent markets. It is situated on a
point of land between the Severn River and Spa Creek,
just outside of the mouth of which is the best place to
anchor, as from here one can see out across the Bay and
also be more apt to catch the cooling breezes. A day is
well spent inspecting the Naval Academy, whose buildings
overawe the quiet, sleepy town, and in admiring the fine
old colonial residences. If time can be found to run up
the Severn to Round Bay the journey will not be
regretted.
Just below Annapolis are South and West Rivers, while
below the latter is Herring Bay, a deep bight good only
as a shelter in westerly winds and very exposed to
easterly, unless one runs up to the head, where there
will be found a creek which has a bar across the mouth
with three feet at low water: inside is six feet and one
can lie here in complete safety behind the low point
which shelters but does not obstruct the view of the Bay.
The two rivers are certainly worth looking into. Opposite
these on the Eastern Shore is Eastern Bay, a broad sheet
of water fed by many creeks and rivers, the prettiest of
which is the Wye and the largest is the Miles, near whose
head is Easton, the home of the Chesapeake Y.C., while
near its mouth is St. Michael's, where will be found a
good shipyard.
Tilghman's, Greenwood, Cox's, and Shipping Creeks,
with a string of others, will entice the cruiser to
linger. Poplar Island, just below here, has a fine harbor
entered from the eastern side and affords complete
shelter for vessels drawing up to five feet. Twelve
houses are scattered over its surface, one of which is
also a store and post office, whence departs a mailbag
every day whether or not there is a letter.
The Choptank, a river the mouth of which is really a
bay, next opens out. It runs up into back country for
some sixty miles. Cambridge, a thriving oyster town, lies
on the south shore about twelve miles up; while Oxford,
at the mouth of the Tred Avon, is about five miles nearer
the Bay. Behind Cook's Point or in Black Walnut Cove,
according to the wind, are suitable stopping places for
the night. Creeks and coves everywhere on each side lend
enchantment to this magnificent stream. Sharp's Island,
which lies at the mouth of the river, is surrounded on
all sides by extensive shoals and it is rapidly washing
away; statisticians say at the rate of an acre per year.
At one time it was covered with a fine growth of timber,
which has all been cut or blown down, and now the island
is almost bare; a deserted hotel and some tumbledown
buildings being the only landmarks. One of the oldest
inhabitants of the vicinity is said to have heard his
grandfather say it was at one time part of the mainland,
but a map dated 1666 shows an island. The channel which
separates it on the eastern side from the mainland was at
one time called Trip's Bay, and by using this passage,
when bound south, some little distance is saved; it
carries you past the mouth of the Little Choptank, with
lots of wild country, where very snug anchorages can be
found in Slaughter Creek on the south side or Brooks
Creek, which is just around Ragged Point, on the north
side.
From here it is best to go back to the western shore,
as south of this point the Eastern Shore becomes very
low, mosquitoes are of Jersey abundance, and rivers and
bays are rendered difficult of navigation by long bars
and shoals.
Below Herring Bay the western shore is unbroken for
thirty miles: high bluffs rise up from strips of yellow
sand, and back of them a beautiful rolling country,
tree-clad, with patches of cleared land, keeps one
constantly using the glasses.
Cove Point marks the north mouth of the Patuxent River
while Cedar Point, on the south side, lies five miles
away. Solomon's Island, a village situated on the shores
of an island of the same name and whose harbor draws
forth encomiums of praise from all visitors, sleeps
calmly on in the certainty that some day the natural
advantages of the Patuxent mouth, with its ninety feet of
water, will be realized. Here is one instance where the
chart is misleading; as a rule those of the Chesapeake
are very exact and the soundings correct. To enter
Solomon's Harbor, instead of following along the north
shore from Drum Point and past black buoy No.3, pass
outside of red buoy No.4 and cross the oyster bar just
where the chart shows four feet and bear off to port into
the harbor. The depth is nearer four fathoms than four
feet.
The Potomac River, emptying into the Bay twenty miles
lower down, has an evil reputation; its ten miles of
breadth is said to be the lurking place of violent calms
or fierce northwest squalls. Cornfield Harbor, under
Point Lookout, will shelter one in northerly winds, but
good harbors some distance above can be found on each
side, that to the north being St. Mary's River, on whose
banks was the first settlement made in Maryland; on the
south is the Coan River, while just around Smith's Point
is the Great Wicomico, of fish factory fame.
Numerous creeks indent the shore from here to the
Rappahannock River, most of which are available as
shelters for shoal draft vessels, but when this river is
reached a cove back of Windmill Point makes a good
anchorage in northerly or westerly winds, while by going
a few miles more the tropical-like shores of the
Piankatank will give a good haven in all weathers.
Mobjack Bay, on whose shores lived the man who soon
tired of "The Life Worth Living," is a broad estuary
having many feeders; a sort of miniature Chesapeake, but
the only shelter for the passing voyager is behind New
Point Comfort and a discomfort it would become in a
southeaster. The same may be said of York River, so it is
best to make one run from the Piankatank to Old Point,
where an anchorage will be found inside the bar and just
back of the Hotel Chamberlain, or over behind
Willoughby's Spit, on which is the Hampton Roads Y.C.
A run on shore which is well worth while may be made
to the old historic town of Hampton, situated on the site
of the Indian village of Kecoughtan. A fine old ivy-clad
church, said to be the third oldest in the state and some
curious old tombstones will interest the antiquarian.
Quite a contrast to this sleepy town are the shipyards at
Newport News.
Over in Norfolk, now called a city, are some fine old
houses, while Portsmouth, with the navy yard, is as
peaceful and as casual as are all places contaminated by
the Government.
Visit this land of Canaan and you will fain take the
advice which Alsop gave in 1666, and "dwell here, live
plentifully, and be rich."
..
© 2000 Craig
O'Donnell, editor &
general factotum.
May not be reproduced without my permission. Go scan
your own damn article.
