A light Delaware River skiff, pointed at each end, was purchased, and Mr. Cloud left Philadelphia in the month of August, promising his friend to arrive in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, in twelve or fourteen days.  After waiting a few days to enable Mr. Cloud to get fairly started upon his voyage, which was to be made principally by canals to the Alleghany River, the manager went to Pittsburgh with letters of introduction to the editors of that busy city.  The representatives of the press kindly seconded Mr. Jones in advertising the coming of the great oarsman.  Mr. Cloud was expected to appear in front of Pittsburgh on a certain day.  A hall was engaged for his performance in the evening.  An immense amount of enthusiasm was worked up among the people of the city and the neighboring towns.  Having done his duty to his colleague, Mr. Jones anxiously awaited the expected telegram from Cloud, announcing his approach to the city.  No word came from the oarsman; and in vain the manager telegraphed to the various towns along the route through which Mr. Cloud must have passed.

On the day that had been settled upon for the arrival of the boat before Pittsburgh, a large concourse of visitors gathered along the river-banks.  Even the mayor of the city was present in his carriage among the expectant crowd.  The clock struck the hour of noon, but the little Delaware skiff was nowhere to be seen; and, as the sun declined from the zenith, the people gradually dispersed, muttering, “Another humbug!”

At midnight Mr. Jones retired in anything but an amiable mood.  His professional honor had been wounded, and his industrious labors lost.  Where was Cloud?  Had the poor fellow been murdered?  What was his fate, and why did he not come up to time?  Revolving these questions in his mind, the manager fell asleep; but he was roused before five o’clock in the morning by a servant knocking at his door to inform him that his “star” was in Alleghany City, opposite Pittsburgh.  Mr. Jones went to look up his man, and found him in a state of intoxication in a drinking-saloon.  A hard-looking set of fellows were perambulating the streets, bawling at the top of their voices, “Arrival of John C. Cloud, the great oarsman!  Photographs for sale! only twenty-five cents!”

When the intoxicated boatman had returned to a conversational state of mind, he explained that he had actually rowed as far as Harrisburgh, Pennsylvania, where he had been most generously entertained at the liquor saloons, and had been so fortunate as to make the acquaintance of some “good fellows” who had engaged to travel in advance of his boat, and sell his photographs, sharing with him in the profits of such sales.  He had made his voyage from Harrisburgh to Alleghany City by rail, his boat being safely stowed in a car, and tenderly watched over by the red-shirted “good fellows” who had so generously taken him under their wing.  The “great oarsman” had, in fact, rowed just about one-third of the distance between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh.