us. At such times a goodly
current, aided by numerous wing-dams, appears of little avail; for,
when we rested upon our oars, Pilgrim would be unmercifully driven up
stream. Thus it has been an almost continual fight to make progress,
and our five-and-twenty miles represent a hard day's work.

We were overloaded, that was certain; so we stopped at Chartier, three
miles down the river from Pittsburg, and sent on our portly bag of
conventional traveling clothes by express to Cincinnati, where
we intend stopping for a day. This leaves us in our rough boating
costumes for all the smaller towns _en route_. What we may lose in
possible social embarrassments, we gain in lightened cargo.

Here at the mouth of Chartier's Creek was "Chartier's Old Town" of a
century and a third ago; a straggling, unkempt Indian village then,
but at least the banks were lovely, and the rolling distances clothed
with majestic trees. To-day, these creek banks, connected with
numerous iron bridges, are the dumping-ground for cinders, slag,
rubbish of every degree of foulness; the bare hillsides are crowded
with the ugly dwellings of iron-workers; the atmosphere is thick with
smoke.

Washington, one of the greatest land speculators of his time, owned
over 32,000 acres along the Ohio. He held a patent from Lord Dunmore,
dated July 5, 1775, for nearly 3,000 acres lying about the mouth
of this stream. In accordance with the free-and-easy habit of
trans-Alleghany pioneers, ten men squatted on the tract, greatly to
the indignation of the Father of his Country, who in 1784 brought
against them a successful suit for ejectment. Twelve years later, more
familiar with this than with most of his land grants, he sold it to a
friend for $12,000.

Just below Chartier are the picturesque McKee's Rocks, where is the
first riffle in the Ohio. We "take" it with a swoop, the white-capped
waves dancing about us in a miniature rapid. Then we are in the open
country, and for the first time find what the great river is like.
The character of the banks, for some distance below Pittsburg, differs
from that of the Monongahela. The hills are lower, less precipitous,
more graceful. There is a delightful roundness of mass and shade.
Beautiful villas occupy commanding situations on hillsides and
hilltops; we catch glimpses of spires and cupolas, singly or in
groups, peeping above the trees; and now and then a pretty suburban
railway station. The railways upon either bank are