I have said that we eased our conscience by following the patriotic footsteps of George Washington. We struck the sacred trail in the first hour of our cruise when, running down the Allegheny we scudded under the decrepit Forty-third street bridge and past the historic point that once was separated from the mainland and was known as Wainwright's Island. From this point until the end of the journey we were constantly on ground intimately associated with the life of Washington. Indeed if it had not been for the enterprise of Washington the cruise never would have been possible; if it had not been for Washington the Chesapeake and Ohio canal would not have been projected, and without this pioneer waterway the valley of the upper Potomac would be a solitary wilderness. The Baltimore and Ohio railroad only followed its aquatic pacemaker and was pushed westward over the identical route Washington had laid out for his canal to connect the waters of the Potomac with those of the tributaries of the Ohio, the eastern link of the intercontinental route which he dreamed would some day connect the Atlantic seaboard with the great lakes, and the Mississippi valley. The Lake Erie and Ohio river ship canal is but a revival of Washington's gigantic project. "The Father of His Country" was a century and a half ahead of the times in his comprehension of the transportation problem. The history of the construction of this canal is a commercial romance replete with many a fascinating chapter involving personal peril, adventures, triumphs, failures and political intrigue; for four bloody years during the Civil war its right of way was held alternately by the Union and the Confederate armies, and many a grim tragedy was enacted there; today it is one of the few places in the country where the oldtime canal boat is to be seen in practical operation. But the story of the canal will come further along. It is essential in the narrative of the initial cruise of "Sometub" because its towpath, worn by 20 successive progenies of mules, is the path that paradoxically leads far, far away from the beaten path of modern travel. On Saturday evening, July 15th, we reached Cumberland. Rain was falling but this did not deter us from launching "Sometub" in the waters of the canal. We had made up our minds that rain must be disregarded--and subsequent experience proved that this step toward resignation to the elements was well taken. Before the voyage was three days old we realized that Jupiter Pluvius was a stowaway with us. For 100 miles we were the harbingers of showers, the advance agents of thunder, lightning, rain and cloudbursts.