Shippensburg is a place more recently founded than the last, but has, notwithstanding, contracted something like the rust of time. Wooden {44} erections soon acquire a weather-beaten appearance. The subsidence of log houses discloses chinks, shewing that they are well ventilated in summer, but not the most comfortable lodgments for the winter.
At Chambersburg the coach halted during the night. The rough roads already surmounted, and the report of worse still before us, determined two of the passengers, besides myself, to walk, as an easier mode of travelling over the mountains. Chambersburg is 143 miles from Philadelphia, and 155 from Pittsburg; and lies in the intersection of the roads from York, Baltimore, and Philadelphia. Several branches of what has been very properly called the current of emigration, being here united, strangers from the eastern country, and from Europe, are passing in an unceasing train. An intelligent gentleman, at this place, informed me, that this stream of emigration has flowed more copiously this year, than at any former period; and that the people now moving westward, are ten times more numerous than they were, ten years ago. His computation is founded on the comparative amount of the stage-coach business, and on careful observation. This astonishing statement is, in some degree, countenanced by a late notice in a New York newspaper, that stated the number of emigrants which arrived in that port during the week, ending the 31st of August last, to be 2050. The gentleman alluded to, says, that shades of character, sensibly different from one another, are forming in the western States. He represents the Kentuckians to be a high-toned people, who frequently announce their country, as if afraid of being mistaken for inhabitants of Ohio State; and the Ohians, as having less pride of country, being less assuming in their {45} demeanour, but not less agreeable in conversation, nor less punctual in business transactions. Were it not for the intelligence of my penetrating informant, and for his great intercourse with travellers, I would certainly not have remarked the supposed distinction of these provincial characters. If the difference really exists, it will be difficult to assign any moral cause that is adequate; unless it be the keeping slaves in Kentucky, a species of stock not permitted by the constitution of Ohio.
September 22. We found a waggoner who agreed to carry our travelling necessaries to Pittsburg. For my portmanteau, weighing about fourteen pounds, he charged three dollars, alleging the trouble that attends putting small articles within doors every night. This is an instance of one man measuring his demand by the urgent situation of another. The jolting that waggons undergo in this rugged country, render it indispensable that baggage be packed with the utmost care.
The two young gentlemen with whom I started, are Americans, good walkers, and cheerful companions.
One mile to the north of Chambersburg the road ascends a steep hill of slate clay, the first stratified substance that I have seen overlaying the limestone. The soil on the summit is so excessively poor, that I am surprised to see such ground cultivated in this country.
Several taverns by the road are log-houses constructed by laying squared trees horizontally, in a quadrangular position, in a way similar to that in which house-joiners pile up boards to be dried. As the erection advances, the last laid or uppermost log is notched on the upper side, near both ends, for the reception of the next cross pieces. {46} The interstices are filled up with lime or clay, and the roofs are of shingles, or thin boards. Frame houses consist of erect posts, set in sills or horizontal foundation beams. Over the tops of the posts other horizontal pieces are laid, forming the summit of the wall. The outside of the posts are covered over with thin boards, ranged horizontally, the upper one uniformly overlaying the edge of that immediately under it. The inside is most commonly lined with lathing and plaster, but the last piece of finery is frequently dispensed with.
Near Baker’s tavern, six miles from Chambersburg, the waggon wheels have uncovered a fine slate clay, fit to be used as slate pencils. The same kind of substance is to be seen in the adjoining stream.
Around Campbell’s Town, seven miles from Chambersburg, the land is bleak, and apparently poor; to the north-west an extended high ridge exposes to view a large tract of romantic wood scenery.
At thirteen miles from Chambersburg is Loudon, a few houses only, two of them taverns, situated at the foot of the ridge just mentioned, which is called the Cove Mountain. A new road is formed over it. The ascent is winding and gradual, so that seven miles are occupied in surmounting the formidable barrier. The darkness of the night, and the great quantity of timber on both sides, rendered this part of our journey very gloomy. Not a sound was to be heard but that of the Catadid, a large green insect, whose note resembles its name, as nearly as it can any articulate sound. Near the top of the hill stands a miserable log tavern filled with movers, a name for settlers removing to the western country. At the summit, we were accosted in the Irish accent. The individual {47} told us that he was so much exhausted, that he could not proceed farther, and that he had laid himself down among the trees.[31]
At Macconnel’s Town, we knocked at the door of a tavern, heard a noise within, which convinced us that the people were astir, but not willing to hear us. On making louder applications, the landlord saluted us, “Who’s there?” With some reluctance he let us in, grumbling at the lateness of our arrival, it being ten minutes past ten o’clock. He affected to be unwilling to let us have supper; but while he was refusing, a female commenced cooking for us.