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Sarah was a bit dismayed by the behavior of these rough forerunners of
civilization.
"Don't worry," said Samson, as they were driving away on the Lake Road
next morning. "The lake and river boatmen are the roughest fellers in the
West, and they're not half as bad as they look an' talk. Their deviltry
is all on the outside. They tell me that there isn't one o' those boys
who wouldn't give his life to help a woman, an' I guess it's so."
They had the lake view and its cool breeze on their way to Silver Creek,
Dunkirk and Erie, and a rough way it was in those days.
Enough has been written of this long and wearisome journey, but the worst
of it was ahead of them--much the worst of it--in the swamp flats of Ohio
and Indiana. In one of the former a wagon wheel broke down, and that day
Sarah began to shake with ague and burn with fever. Samson built a rude
camp by the roadside, put Sarah into bed under its cover and started for
the nearest village on Colonel's back.
* * * * *
"I shall never forget that day spent in a lonely part of the woods," the
good woman wrote to her brother.


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