of the red bird, who awoke us at early dawn with his grateful welcome to the returning day.[94]
From hence to Clarksburgh in Virginia is only seventy-five miles.
{116} CHAPTER XVII
Old town creek, and a floating mill—Take two passengers,
both curious characters—Laughable anecdote of a
panick—Some of the customs of the backwoodsmen—Their
fondness for, and mode of fighting—Their disregard
of being maimed, illustrated by an anecdote—Le
Tart's falls—Graham's station—Jones's rocks.
Proceeding on Saturday 25th July at 5 in the morning—at six we were three miles below Neisanger's, abreast of Old town creek on the right, and a floating mill owned by an Irishman named Pickets. These kind of mills are of a very simple construction—the whole machinery being in a flat, moored to the bank, and the stones being put in motion by the current. They have but little power, not being capable of grinding more than from fifteen to twenty bushels of wheat per day.
We were here hailed by two men who offered to work their passage to the falls. We took them on board, and one proved to be one Buffington, son to the owner of Buffington's island, from whom Pickets had purchased his farm and mill, and the other was an eccentrick character, being an old bachelor, without any fixed place of abode, residing sometimes with one farmer and sometimes with another, between Marietta and Galliopolis, and making a good deal of money by speculating in grain, horses, hogs, cattle, or any thing he can buy cheap and sell dear.
Buffington was a very stout young man, and was going to the falls to attend a gathering (as they phrase it in this
