“Oh hapless our fate was, each one and all,

For we were wreck-ed on the Erie Canal,”

Old Ballad.

On an evening in the month of July, 1836, I embarked at Lockport, in company with some fourteen passengers, on board an Erie Canal packet, destined for Rochester. It will be remembered that this was during the great migrating period in the United States, when all nations and pursuits had representatives on our principal travelling routes. Our party was no sooner aboard than the “bold captain” gave the word, the horses were got “under weigh,” the feathers set, and all hands called to pick out their shelf—a six foot-by-one convenience, suspended by cords—upon which they stowed away passengers for the night. Babel never heard a greater confusion of tongues than this call set wagging. But above them all was heard the silver tone of a travelling exquisite, piping out:—

“I-aw am first, cap'en, really,—I claim pwior choice, I do, dem if I don't.”

Happening to be first on the register, it was accorded, and the captain suggested a locker berth, as the most comfortable.

“No! no!—dem,—beg you-a pawden, cap'en,” shouted the exquisite, “some gwos, fat individual, might get on the upa shelf and bweak down,—I should be mangled howibly.”

“Be jabers, I'd like to hev the squazin of him, me-silf,” said a burly Irishman.

“They'd better spill a leettle smellin' stuff on the pesky animal, or he'll spile before mornin',” chimed in a Yankee.

After sundry remarks, at the exquisite's expense, and considerable confusion, all were duly ticketed for the night, and commenced piling themselves away like pledges in a pawnbroker's shop. Jonathan and the Irishman carelessly spread themselves upon a couple of long cane-bottomed settees, which occupied the centre of the cabin, and, in a very brief space of time, the company hushed into silence, save an occasional short blessing bestowed upon the short berths. When all appeared to have dropped into forgetfulness, the head of a way-passenger was thrust into the cabin entrance, with the inquiry—

“Is there any berths here?”

“Sure, this is the gintlemen's cabin,” answered the Irishman.

“Well, I want to know if there's any berths here?” reiterated the inquirer.

“Divil a chance for wan here,” was the response; “don't I tell ye this is the gintlemen's cabin?”

This conversation partially aroused the sleepers, who inquired of the Emeralder what was the row?

“Some botherin' docthur,” was the sleepily muttered reply.

All soon again relapsed into quiet;—snore began to answer snore, in “high and boastful blowing,” and I turned my back to the lamp for the purpose of making a somnolent effort, individually. After tossing and turning for some time, I found that the plentiful supper taken at Lockport had entered a veto against sleep for me, and every effort failed to accomplish more than a drowsy lethargy, which still left the senses partially awake. A strange bumping noise aided to keep me in this state, and I was labouring to assign a cause for the sound, when a voice distinctly cried out—

“It's no use a pumpin', captin', and I won't! She may sink and be dern'd!”

The concluding part of this remark started my senses into activity, and, after an effort, I turned round on my foot-wide couch, and took a survey of my “sleeping partners,” to observe how the voice had affected them; but not a muscle moved—all were chorussing beautifully the lays of dream-land. The certainty' of our “sinking and be dern'd,” was soon apparent, for the light of the lamp, suspended from the ceiling of the cabin, soon began to be reflected from the floor—the waters were quietly stealing upon the unconscious sleepers. My first impulse was to sound the alarm, but, fortunately, possessing a “top shelf,” and conscious that we could sink but a few feet, I held my peace until the water should increase its depth, being sure of fun when I gave the signal.

A pair of boots now commenced a very fair forward-two to a boot-jack which was busily engaged in executing a chassez before a nodding hat,—stockings were wriggling about, as if pleased with the fun, and, in a few minutes more, all was a scene of life among the sleepers' “unconsidered trifles” of wardrobe carelessly cast upon the floor. The water having reached within a few inches of the slumbering pair upon the cane-bottomed settees, I sounded the alarm, by shouting—“Murder! boat's sinking! hurrah! help!” Off tumbled the Irishman and Yankee—splash—dash—flounder and exclamation!

“Holy Virgin! what's this?” inquired Pat.

“Cre-a-tion and the deluge!” shouted Jonathan “Good gwacious!” piped in the dandy.

Down hopped the tenants of the shelves, like bodies in a family vault at the general rising—up again they hopped, light as spirits and twice as natural, the instant their pedal extremities touched the water.

“Take it cool, gentlemen,” shouted a westerner, from a top berth, “these are the canal extras.”

A lady, at this moment, parted the curtains of their cabin—the Emeralder, with true gallantry, seized her in his arms, with a shout of “Riscue the ladies!” and bore her out on deck. Jonathan, not to be outdone by a foreigner, stood ready for the second, but her weight (only two hundred pounds) put a stumper on his gallantry. Yankee ingenuity, however, overcame the difficulty,—by making a bridge of the cane settees, the ladies were safely conducted from their watery quarters.

It was a funny scene on deck, that night, and little ceremony was observed in making a toilet. None, however, seemed to take the matter seriously but the dandy—he had lost all his beautifying essentials, in the confusion, and was almost frightened to death at his hair-breadth 'scape. Jonathan was offering him some crumbs of comfort, to induce him to make a purchase for his future safety.

“I'll tell you what, Mister,” says Jonathan, “jest buy one of my everlastin'-no-drownin'-dry-and-water-tight-life-presarvers, and when you git it fixed right, it'll keep you so dry you'll have to sprinkle yourself to stick together.”