Walk Away West

by J. F. Collen

  The hoggee and the land agent finished harnessing the fresh trio of horses. Nellie and the girls prepared to go back onboard. Carefully gauging the distance across the watery gap between the towpath and the boat, Nellie judged it as an easy step. Clutching her shawl tightly to her, she extended her leg. In the middle of her stride, the boat lurched away from the land. Already committed to the motion, she turned the step into a leap. Determined not to fall into the water like her hapless fellow traveler, Nellie exerted a bit too much forward motion and found herself sprawling headlong on the deck. It is very hard to maintain one’s dignity on this infernal packet, she thought, checking her hands for splinters as she righted herself.

  Obadiah handed each girl over the watery gap, seconds before the hoggee called ‘gee up’ to the horses. Nellie hugged them to her, glad they safely averted yet another opportunity for a watery disaster. Obadiah continued his journey on foot.

  “Papa, shall you walk all the way to Buffalo?” asked Emma.

  “No. Just wait and see,” replied Obadiah. They watched him walk along beside them, whistling a merry tune. The girls sang along. At the sight of the next low bridge, Obadiah ran ahead. The girls watched him scramble up the bank. As they all scrunched down, Obadiah jumped off the bridge and landed on the deck, immediately crouching down with them. The boat slid smoothly under the low overhang.

  “Mercy, quite the daring stunt, Papa!” Emma giggled.

  Nellie wondered why he did not jump from the other side of the bridge, after the boat emerged from the low overpass. “Pshaw, you say I have a penchant for drama!” she said. But Obadiah winked with a merry expression. “Just attempting levity and a bit of sport,” he said.

  That second night they floated by yet another forest decimated during the widening of the canal. Stumps of trees stood clustered like bewitched statues in grotesque positions. During the day, the stumps appeared petrified, as if unable to recuperate from man’s intrusion into their domain. But at night, these stumps glowed with an eerie phosphorescence.

  A long melancholy horn sounded in the distance, and bounced off the ruined trees, further contributing to the spooky scene.

  “Is it this eerie forest which gives the canal its name?” asked Emma.

  Cornelia could not restrain herself; she joined Obadiah and some eavesdropping passengers in a hearty chuckle.

  Emma looked crestfallen. Nellie quickly engulfed her in a reassuring hug. “We are laughing because your explanation makes so much sense, I wonder I did not think of it myself. The glowing trees make the scene an eerie night on the Erie Canal.”

  “That is quite solid deductive reasoning,” her father reassured Emma. “Howsoever, I do believe the canal was named for the Erie Indians, native to this area. When you learn how to spell words, you will see Erie Indians are written differently than an eerie forest.”

  “Furthermore, the unnerving sound of the horn is probably a packet traveling ahead of us, calling some land agent, watching in the wilderness, to ready the fresh horses,” Nellie said.

  “I cannot wait to spell,” said Emma. Nellie smiled in the darkness and gave her daughter another hug.

  “Low bridge, everybody down!” shouted Elizabeth, jumping off her chair on the top deck. The other passengers obediently jumped down too.

  “Low bridge, everybody down. Low bridge, we’re coming to a town,” the two girls sang. “Much fun,” Elizabeth said, from her crouching position on the deck, even though for this bridge at least, she could have stayed standing. The bottom of the bridge cast its shadow over them as the packet boat slid underneath. “Can we play this at home too?” asked Emma.

  Home. Nellie felt a pang of longing for the place to which she might never return.

  One of the staff offered them drinks from a tray.

  “Mama, iced water with lemon juice, again,” said Emma. “But where do they keep the icehouse?”

  Nellie suppressed a grin and explained, “The canawlers pack enough food and supplies for the journey. I am sure they engineered enough room for ice, both as a preservative of perishables and a complement to our beverages.”

  The steward overheard her. “Little Ladies, yer in for a treat. Yep, yer mama’s right, we carry our supplies with us, but not a hold-full for the entire journey. You’ll be seeing the farm urchins, in their bateaus, sidling up to our packet. They’ll be hawking their fresh produce, and fresh caught game.”

  Just as he finished speaking they heard a shrill, “Halloo!” from the water below. The Wright women looked down and saw a group of children on a flat-bottomed rowboat holding up quail, partridge, and pigeon, as well as bunches of carrots, lettuce, and radishes. As they floated onward, the steward jumped from their packet onto the children’s boat. Nellie and her daughters looked on in amusement as the man haggled for the best price and then bought sixteen quail for their dinner.

  “Mama, on land, we travel to the market. On the canal, the market travels to us!” said Emma. Nellie smiled.

  The steward threw his bartered bundle on deck and then clambered back onboard. As the children’s rowboat slipped back behind them, the sky darkened. The beautiful autumn day vanished behind a thick black cloud.

  CRACCCK! A loud clap of thunder seemed to rumble right behind them.

  “Best be heading below, Miss,” said the steward. “Ye won’t want to be out on deck in a thunderstorm.”

  Emma looked down the canal and along the berm behind them. “Where did those children go? They mustn’t be out in a storm either.”

  “We haven’t yet seen lightning. The storm must still be miles away.” Nellie said, with a soothing hand on Emma’s head. “Furthermore, I am sure any children smart enough to barter with a canal steward aboard a fancy packet boat will be smart enough to vacate the canal in a thunderstorm.”

  But as she shepherded the children to the hold below, her eyes scanned up and down the canal. Nowhere to be seen. I hope they arrived safely at their home. I, too, tremble at the thought of children out on the water in a storm. She shuddered, picturing the drowned children washed ashore from the Henry Clay disaster and then laid out in a dignified manner on the beach by Agnes. She clutched at her heart, renewing her vow to spare no effort in keeping her children safe from harm.

  Suddenly, a bolt of lightning sent a jagged streak across the dark sky.

  “Mercy, that was near!” Cornelia exclaimed as she hurried the girls into the sitting parlor.

  Thunder boomed through the air, just as they seated themselves in the passenger cabin. “That noise was as loud as a cannon,” cried Emma. Nellie threw protective arms around both her daughters.

  A bolt of lightning flashed so brilliantly, it appeared to be inside the cabin. Both girls’ cries joined the screams of the other ladies surrounding them. Nellie hugged her daughters again. Obadiah joined them on the bench as thunder banged and lightning flashed. Cornelia’s anxious eyes found her husbands’ and she thought, Merciful Lord, protect us.

  After another volley of thunder and lightning, the sky brightened. Has the storm ceased its fury? Curious, Nellie rose to peer out the window, to see if the storm clouds had passed.

  Without warning, the boat jolted. Cornelia lurched with the boat and nearly lost her footing.

  Another boat floated within arm’s length of their packet, and she stared into its cabin. Chaos visibly erupted among the passengers, but no sound was heard through both sets of closed windows.

  “What’s happened?” Nellie reached her arm out to the first mate as he hurried through.

  “That packet...” he said, jerking his thumb toward the window, continuing to walk. “The Chief Engineer, just had two horses kilt and its hoggee stunned by an electron from this here lightning.”

  Lightning flashed again.

  The man hurried away.

  Emma tugged Nellie’s skirt. With eyes as wide as teacup saucers, Emma asked, “Is lightning going to strike us, too?”

  Chapter 21 – Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay

  Erie Ca
nal, Rochester, New York to Towanda, Pennsylvania, November 1856

  The stone passageway of the aqueduct towered in the near distance. Nellie could see it clearly from her perch on the rooftop deck, around a curve in the canal. I’ll not miss this ingenious conduit, she vowed. When they had traversed the Weedsport Aqueduct, Nellie had been occupied putting her daughters to bed. She had been unaware of the great engineering feat over which she traveled. I am attentive and ready for this marvel, worthy of display at the Exhibition of the Industries of All Nations. The aqueduct’s arches lift canal commerce twenty-six feet in the air over the bustling Genesee River, right in the middle of the town of Rochester. What a wonder!

  They rounded the curved entry from the east, and their boat climbed the trough supported by two massive stone arches. Now they were on the 444-foot long central trunk of the aqueduct, directly over the rushing river. Nellie looked down from the dizzying height of the boat on top of the water and felt as nauseous as if she were back on the Latting Observatory, looking straight down at the streets of Manhattan. She saw Obadiah try to count the arches as they floated past. Mercy, the massiveness of the fifty-two foot pillars is intimidating, even from this vast height. Yet that very massive girth provides comfort in its superlative support of this waterway.

  “I understand this aqueduct replaced the original that leaked like a sieve,” said Obadiah.

  “Yes, I read that too,” said Nellie. “This ‘new’ conduit was completed back in ‘42, engineered by Josiah Bissell, and hasn’t leaked a drop.”

  Obadiah leaned over and kissed her. “Mercy! In public?” Nellie whispered, with a pleased blush.

  “That was a reward for your resourcefulness in keeping well-informed in spite of your expanded duties,” Obadiah said. They sailed through the streets of Rochester, into a bustling harbor, and docked at a busy quay.

  My word, this town deserves its reputation as ‘an emporium of mud and outcasts’. Nellie sniffed in dismay. The elevated aqueduct is its only salient feature. She giggled. We shall hope the canal can one day elevate the rest of this town to a larger, more engaging city.

  By now they were accustomed to the business of the harbor—the disembarkation of passengers, the replenishment of supplies, and the boarding of new travelers. After what seemed like only a moment to stretch their legs, the Storm Queen, pulled by fresh horses, floated out of town.

  Their packet was in the ‘long level’ now, the last lockless leg of sixty-three miles extending from Rochester to the stepped locks of Lockport. Nellie felt the pace of the journey quicken, ever so slightly, and she surmised the captain fully intended to take advantage of travel without interruption, but for a change of horses.

  “After our three days and nights on the canal, I quite comprehend the appeal of having neither lock, block, nor stay of travel, to impede our progress,” Nellie said. “But should we so cavalierly neglect honoring the Lord’s Day?”

  They sat at the breakfast table enjoying coffee and fresh farm eggs fried with a round of crisped pork, bartered yesterday from a farmer’s barge.

  An earnest-looking man, with spectacles that made him look pensive, said, “The packet boat is the cock-a-hoop high-mightiness of the Erie Canal. She alone can break God’s holy law at four miles-per-hour, through special privilege granted by the Canal Commission.”

  Nellie nodded her thanks for the information and turned away from the speaker to cut some pork for Elizabeth. The pensive man cleared his throat and again addressed her, “Madam?” Nellie looked at him again with quizzical eyes.

  “In light of this information, I expect you will attend my preaching later this morning, Madam?” The man tipped his hat to her.

  Nellie recoiled. “But I...”

  “This modern era affords us opportunity to worship whilst traveling. In point of fact, I believe we are called to consecrate our life’s journey as an unending, continued worship of the Lord God Almighty,” the preacher continued, bowing his head.

  Nellie blushed and looked at Obadiah, who glared back, angry at the thought of coerced worship.

  “With all due respect, Sir, I am a Catholic and I....” Cornelia Rose began.

  “Then you should have taken advantage of the stop at Rochester. Just a short trek up the path from the berm they’ve got a pretty little Catholic Church. Saint Patrick’s I do believe. Tsk, tsk, tsk. ‘Tis inevitable now you shall neglect your obligation to attend Mass. There ain’t no other Catholic Church until Medina. Furthermore, we shall not arrive at that dock until eight o’clock this evening, at which point you will have committed mortal sin, if memory of your Papist rules proves correct.”

  Nellie was flabbergasted. I am quite certain this arduous traveling gives us dispensation. She put her hand under her chin to close her gaping mouth.

  Obadiah pulled her back around and gave her a fierce whisper. “Curb thy tongue! Your idle chatter has placed us in an untenable position. We must either disembark and walk back to Rochester, lose time at Church, and then organize our continued passage on the next packet—or attend this know-nothing’s preaching.”

  Tears stinging her eyes, Nellie made an attempt to defend herself against his harsh criticism. “I petition you grant my fervent wish for no delay to our progress. Postponing my long-awaited reunion this very evening with my dear friend and fellow midwife shall trigger my profound grief.”

  Like recalcitrant children doing penance, Obadiah and Nellie sat listening to the assertive preacher’s sermon. The girls, ordinarily well behaved in Church, squirmed under the preacher’s rantings. Emma stood up and sat down, bounced from side to side and whispered to Elizabeth. Elizabeth shouted her replies and pulled away from Nellie’s grasp. “Shh! Shush!” whispered Nellie, again and again. Mercy, can my rebelliousness at the underhanded ensnarement of my person at this service instigate poor behavior in my daughters? Nellie wondered.

  She stole a glance at Obadiah. He seemed not at all concerned by his daughters’ antics. He sat with an amused expression on his face. Nellie tried to return her attention to the preacher, who rambled and raved about ‘fire and brimstone’ and pounded his fist.

  Elizabeth jumped up and shouted, “No”.

  My daughter rejects fire and brimstone? Nellie and Obadiah stood, as of one accord, whispered apologies to the people sitting next to them and removed themselves from the area. All eyes turned to stare at them.

  The Wrights escaped outside. Nellie and her daughters looked apprehensively at Obadiah when Nellie closed the door behind them. “That’s quite enough of that,” he said. The girls looked uncertainly at Nellie. She smiled. Obadiah laughed and opened his arms. Nellie joined his laughter. His daughters ran to Obadiah, and covered him with kisses. They climbed to the top deck for repose on the packet’s benches and the calisthenics of jumping down at the call of ‘low bridge’.

  “At a minimum, the preacher could have had a lap organ to provide relief, and arm us with ammunition to resist our sermon-induced stupor,” said Obadiah with his good-humored grin.

  “We certainly were subjected to a healthy dose of hell fire and eternal damnation,” agreed Nellie.

  A church bell chimed as they passed through the town of Spencerport.

  “Ten o’clock, Methodist time,” Obadiah said with a wicked grin. He and Nellie laughed and settled in to enjoy the crisp fall air and the golden sunshine. Obadiah opened the Rochester Telegraph, hawked while their boat floated in the quay, and Nellie began knitting a new pair of mittens for Emma.

  At last the spacing of occupation bridges became so thickly clustered that the girls’ song lyrics proved true—they came to the town of Lockport, and its famous stairway of five locks.

  Nellie could not believe her eyes. Her friend Clara Rafferty Otis stood on the towpath well before the entrance to the first lock, scanning all the passengers on Young Lion of the West, the packet lining up ahead of them for the flight of locks, looking for her.

  “Halloooo! Here!” Nellie shouted. “We are here, in the next boat!” S
he blushed. She could just hear her mother’s chastisement, ‘One week in the wilderness and you are shouting like a tenement dweller calling her children home for supper’. Tears popped out of her eyes. Ach, Mutter! Her frequent admonitions have been drilled into my manner and the memory of her words shall keep her close to my heart.

  “Clara!” Nellie shouted again. Her daughters jumped up and down and shouted with her. “We are on the Storm Queen.”

  “Obadiah, I see Clara,” Nellie jumped into his arms, in her excitement.

  “And I see her husband,” Obadiah replied with a grin.

  Nellie felt the wind leave her sails.

  “Mercy, did you not expect to see your former beau, and dear friend’s husband, Elmer P. Otis?” Obadiah teased.

  “I deluded myself with the hope he would be deployed on an Army Corps of Engineers’ assignment,” replied Nellie, head hanging down. “Moreover,” she stamped her foot, her elation gone. “He was never my beau!”

  Moments later, Nellie jumped out of their boat and into the arms of her childhood friend. After a long hug, she turned to introduce Clara to her children. So excited, Nellie knocked Elizabeth with her skirt and sent her stumbling headlong towards the canal. She reached out and caught her daughter seconds before the toddler toppled sideways into the churning water.

  “Thank the Lord you have retained your excellent reflexes,” said Clara. The women laughed and hugged each other again. It took several more hugs and excited chatter before they walked up the incline from the towpath, toward the shops and taverns of the town.

  Nellie peppered her friend with scores of questions.

  “When I first arrived, I do confess, I thought Lockport a most peculiar place,” said Clara. “The stumps of newly felled trees predominated the landscape, resting side by side with the new factory buildings that gradually replaced the forest. Francis Trollope’s snide remark that my town ‘...looks as if the demon of machinery, having invaded the peaceful realms of nature, had fixed on Lockport as the battleground on which they should strive for mastery...’ was not far off the mark. Now however, the poor forest has quite conceded defeat, and civilization has taken its firm hold. We have sixteen hotels....”