But shall we see better times? Why, yes, surely. They have begun already in Troy, N. Y., the papers say. And I verily believe the railway, which is to take the place of the canal, will do more than all things else to bring back work for all and money for all of us in our fair city of Richmond. Let us at least hope so. And with that hope in view, I trust that these reminiscences of an obsolescent mode of travel--which may have been delightful, but certainly was not rapid--will give a few moments of pleasure to the friends of the publishers and of the writer.
Among my earliest recollections is a trip from Cumberland County to Lynchburg, in 1835, or thereabouts. As the stage approached Glover’s tavern in Appomattox county, sounds as of a cannonade aroused my childish curiosity to a high pitch. I had been reading Parley’s History of America, and this must be the noise of actual battle. Yes; the war against the hateful Britishers must have broken out again. Would the stage carry us within range of the cannon balls? Yes, and presently the red-coats would come swarming out of the woods. And--and--Gen. Washington was dead; I was certain of that; what would become of us? I was terribly excited, but afraid to ask questions. Perhaps I was scared. Would they kill an unarmed boy, sitting peaceably in a stage coach? Of course they would; Britishers will do anything! Then they will have to shoot a couple of men first;--and I squeezed still closer between them.
My relief and my disappointment were equally great, when a casual remark unfolded the fact that the noise which so excited me was only the “blasting of rock on the Jeems and Kanawha Canell.” What was “blasting of rock?”
What was a “canell?” and, above all, what manner of thing was a “Jeems and Kanawha Canell?” Was it alive?
I think it was; more alive than it has ever been since, except for the first few years after it was opened.
Those were the “good old days” of batteaux,--picturesque craft that charmed my young eyes more than all the gondolas of Venice would do now. True, they consumed a week in getting from Lynchburg to Richmond, and ten days in returning against the stream, but what of that? Time was abundant in those days. It was made for slaves, and we had the slaves. A batteau on the water was more than a match for the best four or six horse bell-team that ever rolled over the red clay of Bedford, brindle dog and tar-bucket included.