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I am spending too much time on this part of my life, if it were my life only which were concerned; but the Erie Canal, and the gaps through the Alleghany Mountains, are a part of the history of Vandemark Township.  The west was on the road, then, floating down the Ohio, wagoning or riding on horseback through mountain passes, boating it up the Mississippi and Missouri, sailing up the Lakes, swarming along the Erie Canal.  Not only was Iowa on the road, spending a year, two years, a generation, two generations on the way and getting a sort of wandering and gipsy strain in her blood, but all the West, and even a part of Canada was moving.  We once had on board from Lockport west, a party of emigrants from England to Ontario.  They had come by ship from England to New York, by steamboat to Albany and canal to Lockport; and for some reason had to take a deck trip from Lockport to Buffalo, paying Captain Sproule a good price for passage.  Their English dialect was so broad that I could not understand it; and I abandoned to Ace the company of their little girl who was one of a family of five—­father, mother, and two boys, besides the daughter.  I suppose that their descendants are in Ontario yet, or scattered out on the prairies of Western Canada.  Just so the people of the canals and roads are in Iowa, and in Vandemark Township.

Buffalo was a marvel to me.  It was the biggest town I had ever seen, and was full of sailors, emigrants, ships, waterside characters and trade; and I could see, feel, taste, smell, and hear the West everywhere.  I was by this time on the canal almost at my ease as a driver; but here I flocked by myself like Cunningham’s bull, instead of mingling with the crowds of boys whom I found here passing a day or so in idleness, while the captains and hands amused themselves as sailors do in port, and the boats made contracts for east-bound freight, and took it on.  Whenever I could I attached myself to Captain Sproule like a lost dog, not thinking that perhaps he would not care to be tagged around by a child like me; and thus I saw things that should not have been seen by a boy, or by any one else—­things that I never forgot, and that afterward had an influence on me at a critical time in my life.  There were days spent in grog-shops, there were quarrels and brawls, and some fights, drunken men calling themselves and one another horrible names and bragging of their vices, women and men living in a terrible imitation of pleasure.  I have often wondered as I have seen my boys brought up cleanly and taught steady and industrious lives in a settled community, how they would look upon the things I saw and lived through, and how well they could have stood the things that were ready to drag me down to the worst vices and crimes.  I moved through all this in a sort of daze, as if it did not concern me, not even thinking much less of Captain Sproule for his doings, some of which I did not even understand:  for remember I was a very backward boy for my age.  This was probably a good thing for me—­a very good thing.  There are things in the Bible which children read without knowing their meaning, and are not harmed by them.  I was harmed by what I saw in the book of life now opened to me, but not so much as one might think.