We forded the Muskakituck river at Vernon, which stands on its head waters, and is a country seat.  We then directed our course to Brownstown, on the east branch of White river.  We found the roads still bad until we came within about ten miles of that place.  There the country began to assume a more cultivated appearance, and the roads became tolerably good, being made through a sandy or gravelly district.  In the neighbourhood of Brownstown there are some rich lands, and from that to Salem, a distance of twenty-two miles, we were much pleased with the country.  We had been hitherto journeying through dense forests, and except when we came to a small town, could never see more than about ten yards on either side.  All through Indiana the peaches were in great abundance this year, and such was the weight of fruit the trees had to sustain, that the branches were invariably broken where not propped.

From Salem we took a westward track by Orleans to Hindostan, crossed the east branch of White river, and passed through Washington.  At a short distance from this town, we had to cross White river again, near the west branch, which is much larger than the east branch.  We attempted to ford it, and had got into the middle of the stream before we discovered that the bottom was quicksands.  The horse was scared at the footing,—­he plunged and broke the traces; however, after a tolerable wetting, we succeeded in getting safe out.  A little above the place where we made the attempt, we found there was a ferry-flat.  The ferryman considered our attempt as dangerous, for had we gone much further into the stream we should have shot into the quicksands in the deep current.  This day the fates were most unpropitious to us; and had we had, like Socrates, a familiar demon at our elbow, he most assuredly would have warned us not to proceed.  We had no sooner got into the ferry-flat, and pushed off from shore, than the horse tumbled overboard, carriage and all, and was with difficulty saved from drowning.

We passed through Petersburg to Princeton; but having lost the track, and got into several culs de sacs, an occurrence which is by no means pleasant—­as in this case you are unable to turn the carriage, and have no alternative but cutting down one or two small trees in order to effect a passage.  After a great deal of danger and difficulty, we succeeded in returning on the true bridle-path, and arrived about ten at night in a small village, through which we had passed three hours before.  The gloom and pitchy darkness of an American forest at night, cannot be conceived by the inhabitants of an open country, and the traversing a narrow path interspersed with stumps and logs is both fatiguing and dangerous.  Our horse seemed so well aware of this danger, that whenever the night set in, he could not be induced to move, unless one of us walked a little in advance before him, when he would rest his nose on our arm and then proceed.  We crossed the Potoka to Princeton, a neat town, surrounded by a fast settling country, and so on to Harmony.