The road continued fine, nine miles, to a rivulet called Big Chickey, which I crossed over on an Indian bridge, which is a high tree cut down so as to fall across the stream from bank to bank, and then its branches lopped off. The banks being high, and the bridge long and narrow, my nerves were so discomposed when I reached the middle, that I had like to have fallen off, but balancing and tottering, I at length reached the end.
Two miles further I had to cross another Indian bridge over Little Chickey creek, which I did boldly, without any difficulty; which is one proof of the use of practice and experience.
The road now became very bad, the turnpike intended from Lancaster to Harrisburgh not being as yet finished any further.[1] The country also is not so highly improved as in the neighbourhood of Lancaster, the inhabitants still residing in their original small log houses, though they have generally good and spacious stone barns.
After four hours walking, I arrived at Elizabethtown eighteen miles from Lancaster,[2] and stopped at the sign of General Wayne, where for a five penny bit (six cents and a quarter) I got a bowl of excellent egg punch, and a crust of bread.
It is surprising that at so short a distance from Lancaster, the necessaries of life should be at least a third cheaper, which on enquiry I found them here.
This village contains about thirty tolerable houses—has
- ↑ This turnpike is now completed, I am informed, as far as Middleton, and another extends from Lancaster to York, and is progressing on that route to Chambersburgh.—Cramer.
- ↑ The site of Elizabethtown was secured by an Indian trader in 1746, who sold it seven years later to Barnabas Hughes. The latter, a noted tavern-keeper, laid out the town and named it in honor of his wife. On the highway between Lancaster and Harrisburg, Elizabethtown soon became an important stopping place, the original log-cabin tavern having been extant until 1835.—Ed.
