The clerk of the hotel told me that the best route was by way of Albany,
the canal, the Great Lakes to Chicago; that when I got there I would
likely find a boat or stage service to Jacksonville. I could leave at
noon for Albany if I wished. Accordingly, I made ready to do so.
I was entranced with the river boat. It was longer than the _Columbia
and Caledonia_. And it was propelled by steam. It had the most enormous
wheels. And no sooner were we under way than I found that we were
gliding along at the rate of twenty miles an hour. The swiftly passing
hills and palisades of the Hudson served to mark our speed. There were
great saloons, lovely awnings under which to read or lounge, promenade
decks. And there was a gay and well-behaved crowd of passengers.... At
dinner we were seated at long tables, and served with every luxury. And
the whole journey cost me less than seven shillings.
On arriving at Albany that night at about nine o'clock I found myself in
the best of luck. I could get passage on a canal boat the next morning
for Buffalo; rather I was permitted to sleep on board.... I got on and
retired. I awoke just as the boat was beginning to start. I had never
seen anything like this before. The boat was narrow, sharp, gayly
painted. It was drawn by three horses, each ridden by a boy who urged
the horses forward. We traveled at the great speed of five miles an
hour.
But it was delightful. We were more than three days going from Albany to
Buffalo. The time was well spent. The scenery was varied and beautiful.
All the while we were climbing, for Lake Erie, to which we had to be
lifted, was much above us. We went through lovely valleys; we ran beside
glistening streams and rivers; we wound around hills. The farms were
large and prosperous. The villages were new, fresh with white paint and
green blinds, hidden among flowers and shrubbery.
You see, I am eighteen and these external objects realize my dreams and
stimulate them. I do not know these people. They are frank, talkative,
often vulgar and presuming. But they are friendly. There is much
merriment on board, for we have to dodge down frequently to save our
heads from the bridges which the farmers build right across the canal.
The ladies have to be warned and assisted. There are narrow escapes and
shouts of laughter. And when the dinner bell is rung by a comical negro
every one rushes for the dining room. I am introduced again to the
American oyster, raw, fried, and stewed. It is the most delicious of
discoveries among the new viands. Then we have wonderful roast turkey,
chicken, and the greatest variety of vegetables and sweets. I am keeping
a daily record of events and impressions to mail to my dear grandmother
when I shall arrive at Buffalo....
Sometimes I get tired of the boat. Then I go on land and run along the
path behind the horses. A young woman on her way to Michigan to teach
school joins me in these reliefs from the tedium of the boat. We
exchange a few words. But I see that I am not old enough for her. I have
already observed her in confiding conversation with a man about the age
of Yarnell. And soon they go together to trot along the path, to stray
off a little into the meadows, or at the base of the picturesque
hills.... I am interested in the talk of the passengers, and cannot
choose but follow it at times.... One man has been reading the _New
Yorker_, printed by H. Greeley and Company. I learn that Horace Greeley
is his full name, and he comes in for a berating at the hands of a man
with one of the characteristic goatees that I first observed at Castle
Garden. The Whigs! I had always associated this party with
latitudinarian principles. Now I hear it called a centralist party, a
monarchist party. A voluble man, who chews tobacco, curses it as a mask
for the old Federalist party, which tried to corrupt America with the
British system, after it had failed as a combination of Loyalists to
keep America under the dominion of Great Britain.... This is all a maze
to me, at least so far as the American application is concerned. Then
the man with the goatee assails New England, and calls her the devotee
of the soured gospel of envy which covers its wolf face of hate with the
lamb's decapitated head of universal brotherhood and slavery abolition.
Surely there is much strife in America.... Also again President
Jackson, the tariff, and the force bill! And will South Carolina secede
from the Union on account of the unjust and lawless tariff? New England
tried to secede once when the run of affairs did not suit her. Why not
South Carolina, then, if she chooses? Another man is reading a book of
poems and talking at intervals to a companion. I hear him say that a Mr.
Willis is one of the world's greatest poets. I glance at the book and
see the name Nathaniel Parker Willis. Also it seems Willis is the editor
of one of the world's greatest literary journals. It is published in New
York and is called the _New York Mirror_.... It is all so strange. Is it
true that in this country, so far from England, there are men who are
the equals of Shelley and Byron, or of Tennyson, whose first book has
given me such delight recently?...
We near the journey's end. At Lockport we are lifted up the precipice
over which the Falls of Niagara pour some miles distant. We are now on a
level with Lake Erie, to which we have climbed by many locks and lifts
over the hills since we left Albany. Soon we travel along the side of
the Niagara River; quickly we drift into Buffalo.