CHAPTER III.
WESTWARD, HO!
“I’ll go where you want me to go, dear Lord,
Over mountain, or plain or sea;
I’ll say what you want me to say, dear Lord;
I’ll be what you want me to be.”
—M. Brown.
The only route to British Columbia then travelled, except the terrible overland journey, attempting to make which so many perished, was that via New York, by sea to the Isthmus of Panama, thence to San Francisco, and on to Victoria.
After bidding adieu to home, friends and acquaintances, I left Woodstock on February 25th, 1862. The journey in some respects was a sad one. It was at the time of the American Civil War, and at every station, after crossing the Niagara River, hundreds of men came on board going to “the front,” leaving behind on the platform their mothers, sisters, sweethearts and wives, many never to meet again. These scenes revived in my own heart the pain of my recent parting with loved ones.
That winter was a terrible one, marked by many heavy snowfalls. In New York State the train passed between high banks of heaped up snow.