“The bridges crossing the canal,” explained mamma, “were so extremely low, that no one upon the boat could stand upright; often the boat could barely glide under them without grazing the rails of the deck.  The captain used to keep on the lookout, and as we approached one, would call, ‘Bridge ahead.’  Then the women and children would rush down the staircase to the little cabin, and the gentlemen would usually throw themselves at full length upon the dock until the bridge was passed.  That was always a moment of terrible anxiety for poor mother if we were out of sight; for accidents and even loss of life had been known to occur; indeed, on father’s previous journey, he witnessed an accident of a most terrible character.  A woman, who was going only a short distance in the boat, was very much afraid that she would be taken past the town where she wished to stop, and paid no attention to the warning to go below as they approached a bridge.  The captain, seeing the danger she was in, seized her by the arm, and thrust her downstairs.  She rushed up, and he again pulled her down.  Confident that she was about to be taken past her destination, the poor woman for the third time broke away from him, and reached the deck just in time to be struck by the bridge and instantly killed.”

“Frightful!” said Marguerite with a shudder.  “Tell us about the rest of your journey, mamma.  How did you travel after you left Buffalo?  Upon Lake Erie, I suppose?”

“No, indeed!” replied mamma, “although there were at that time steamboats upon the lake; but father had had so terrible an experience upon his previous journey, that he would not subject his family to the caprices of Lake Erie.  He had started from Buffalo upon a schooner, but a dreadful storm arose, in which the boat struggled for three days and was then obliged to put back to Buffalo a complete wreck.  Father declared at that time that he would never expose his family to the hair-breadth escape from death that he had undergone; consequently, he hired a strong wagon at Buffalo, and we travelled along what was called the ‘Lake Shore Road’ to the town of North East, whence we took a southern course to Wattsburgh.

“When at Wattsburgh, we were only eight miles distant from our destination, but as we were now to leave the main road and plunge into the deep forest, father exchanged his horses and wagon for a heavy wooden sled and a yoke of oxen.  Then we commenced to realize what our new life was to be.  There was no road through the woods, and the only indication of the route was blazed or marked trees.  Huge logs, so high that the oxen could barely step over them, lay occasionally across our path, and from time to time we had to stop while father and brother Barnes hewed down the trees that obstructed the way.  We children thought this pioneer episode even preferable to our experience upon the boat, but I remember that dear mother sighed often and deeply.