Our boat was older and shorter than many, only about sixty feet long, and fourteen or fifteen wide. It was singular for having been gaily painted by its Portuguese Captain. Most of its length was occupied by a low cabin. Within were long settees on either side, men’s and women’s sections divided by a curtain, and a kitchen in its center.

The crew consisted of Bartolomeu Lavrador, the captain, who insisted on being addressed as “Bart,” his wife Ines, their son João or John, about my age, and daughter Matilde, slightly younger. There were a number of younger children so active that it was difficult to even count them. John told me with pride that his father, a carpenter, had come to this country first, saved every cent he could, bought and repaired the boat, which had been a derelict, and then sent for Inez.

We were not long on board before Bart signaled a little steam boat, called a “tug.” It took us in tow and put us at the head of a line of fright barges and a “line boat,” which is a passenger conveyance without the appointments of a packet. The tug towed us through a large area of water, past innumerable docks crowded with warehouses and piled with goods. These were alive with men, wagons and horses. The curses reaching our ears made a few of the ladies blush. I did not, as I had heard similar profanity in Manhattan.

All my life I had heard jocular references to "Clinton’s Ditch." I had also heard that the canal was an engineering marvel and an American Wonder of the World – a source of national pride. Still, in my imagination, it was a ditch like any other but longer, wider and perhaps deeper. I was somewhat surprised, then, when the tug pulled us through a gate with imposing doors into a smaller body of water. I supposed the gate to be a defensive work, perhaps to defend the canal from the British fleet.

Imagine my surprise, then when the gate closed behind us, and the water in the basin began slowly to rise – lifting all the boats with it. Mr. Mott, seeing my surprise, explained that we were in “Lock Number 1” and that there were eighty-three such “locks” on the canal. Their purpose was to raise and lower the barges – because Lake Erie was not at the same level as the Hudson River. Besides, there were ridges and prominences to be crossed. By the time he finished his explanation, a gate at the far end had opened, and we were being towed into the next section.

There the little tug detached from us, stopped at each barge to collect its fee, and steamed back whence it came. In its place, teams were attached to each barge. Since we were a packet boat, we got a team of three horses. The line boat behind us got two and the freight barges one or two horses or mules.

Once our team was harnessed, Captain Bart gathered us together and explained that many of the bridges over the canal were exceedingly low. If we were on deck, we should get down as we passed under them. This was very important as some years ago a woman had fallen asleep on another boat and had been crushed between a low bridge and the cabin roof.

So we proceeded along the canal. Our boat made five miles an hour and quickly left the others behind. The men returned to playing cards, and the women gathered in their circles sewing and conversing. I had no sewing, so I sat near the front taking in the sights and teaching Sandy French. When he was not duty, John, the captain’s son, often joined us. Occasionally, we would be interrupted by the call “Low Bridge!” and find a need to double over, or even lay down. After about six hours we reached a station where fresh horses awaited. It was but the work of a moment to exchange them and their driver, called a “hoggee.”

As the sun lowered in the sky, an unfamiliar but delicious aroma wafted from the kitchen as Ines and Matilde prepared to introduce us to Culinária Portuguesa. About 8:00, the boat’s bell sounded, calling us to supper. The curtain dividing the men’s and women’s sections had been removed and a table running the length of the cabin in place.

The table was set with silver plate, although nothing to compare to that at Stanwix Hall. The difference was more than made up by the hearty fare Matilde placed before us. We began with a crusty corn and rye bread called broa (that they pronounce bro-e), butter, and a soup called caldo verde, made from potato, onions, garlic, greens and a kind of sausage. Some turned up their noses at these unfamiliar offerings, but changed their minds after a few tentative bites. Large jugs of red wine were spaced along the table. Most of us enjoyed them, despite sour looks from the advocates of temperance. We went on to a spicy main dish of cod fish and tomatoes, and ended with cheeses and a kind of rice pudding with cinnamon. Everyone was well-sated, and complimented Ines and Matilde.

It was quite late when we finished supping. So, the crew, including the smaller children, worked to clear the table and prepare the cabin for sleeping. The table was taken down and the curtain separating the sexes replaced. The settees converted to cots. Boards and bedding were placed above them making three levels of beds on each side.

Once we were preparing for bed, Mary M’Clintock took me to one side and lectured me on the Biblical prohibition against men dressing as women, and, by implication, against women dressing as men. She intimated that while the disguises Sandy and I employed might save our earthly lives, they could cost us eternal souls – which were far more important.

I gave her the respectful hearing an elder deserved, and agreed that our souls were indeed most important. Nor, I did not voice any of the many points of rebuttal that occurred to me. I did explain that changing Sandy into male attire now would be a serious risk, and she begrudgingly agreed. I thanked her for her advice and concern, and hoped to myself that ended the matter.

While our conversation, and the restraint it required, made me restless, the wine and rhythmic clopping of the tow teem brought on a restful repose.

We woke to the aroma of fresh bread and strong coffee. After our morning ablutions, Matilde drew aside the curtain. Those who wished took hot coffee and a small cinnamon custard tart out to watch a glorious dawn. Meanwhile, the cabin was prepared for our morning meal. We again had fresh bread, this time with butter, jam, slices of cheese and ham, and jugs of milk still warm from the cow.

The fresh milk surprised me until I learned that farm wives stationed themselves along the towpath to sell their produce. After Matilde bought a basket of eggs and vegetables, she told me that her mother varied the menu to suit their purchases.

Thinking I might learn to prepare the dishes Ines served, I followed Matilde to the kitchen to watch her mother. There I saw an astonishing variety of herbs and spices – most of which I had not heard of. Ines was kind enough to let me taste and smell a broad selection. I decided her art would require a full apprenticeship, not just a few shared days. Still, I learned the use of a few of her herbs and spices.

So our days went. For some incomprehensible reason John took pleasure in my company and seemed to spend most of his free time with me – especially if Sandy was otherwise engaged.

One night, while I was abed, the boat lurched and came to a halt. Hearing muted voices, I arose, put on my dress and went on deck to see what had occurred. The hoggees were exchanging tow teams by lantern light on an otherwise black night. John was at the rudder. I went to stand by him and observe. As there was a chill in the night, he put his cloak over my shoulders and pulled me close. Perhaps his feelings toward me were more than friendship?

I was reflecting on my plainness, John’s behavior and my feelings toward the opposite sex when I discerned what may have been a movement on the foredeck. Unsure of what, if anything I had seen. I excused myself and went forward to investigate.