where we asked shelter. There were no hotels, or taverns as they called
them, outside of the towns.

In due time we reached Whitehall, at the head of Lake Champlain, and the
big box in Uncle's wagon proved so heavy over the muddy roads that he
put it in a canal boat to be sent on to Cleveland, and we found it much
easier after this for there were too many mud-holes, stumps and stones
and log bridges for so heavy a load as he had. Our road many times after
this led along near the canal, the Champlain or the Erie, and I had a
chance to see something of the canal boys' life. The boy who drove the
horses that drew the packet boat was a well dressed fellow and always
rode at a full trot or a gallop, but the freight driver was generally
ragged and barefoot, and walked when it was too cold to ride, threw
stones or clubs at his team, and cursed and abused the packet-boy who
passed as long as he was in hearing. Reared as I had been I thought it
was a pretty wicked part of the world we were coming to.

We passed one village of low cheap houses near the canal. The men about
were very vulgar and talked rough and loud, nearly every one with a
pipe, and poorly dressed, loafing around the saloon, apparently the
worse for whisky. The children were barefoot, bare headed and scantly
dressed, and it seemed awfully dirty about the doors of the shanties.
Pigs, ducks and geese were at the very door, and the women I saw wore
dresses that did not come down very near the mud and big brogan shoes,
and their talk was saucy and different from what I had ever heard women
use before. They told me they were Irish people--the first I had ever
seen. It was along here somewhere that I lost my little whip and to get
another one made sad inroads into the little purse of pennies my father
gave me. We traveled slowly on day after day. There was no use to hurry
for we could not do it. The roads were muddy, the log ways very rough