The “coachee” or stage-wagon, in which Harriott travelled over this route, was typical of the region and was not supplanted on this road twenty years later, although by that time more modern ones had been put on the line between New York and Boston, and New York and Philadelphia. The body of the coachee was rather long in proportion to its breadth. It had four seats, each holding three passengers, who faced towards the horses. “From the height of the seat,” writes a traveller of the time, “it is open all round, and the roof is supported by slender shafts rising up at the corners and sides; in wet weather a leathern apron is let down at the sides and back, to protect the inmates.” The wagon had no door; the passengers got in by the front, stepping over the seats as they went backward. It was said that these coaches had no outside seats on top, as did those in England, because the vehicle lurched and jolted so violently that passengers sitting on them would have been thrown off. The heavier boxes and trunks were fastened behind, upon the frame of the carriage, but smaller articles and the mail-bag were huddled under the seats, to the great annoyance of the passengers, who were frequently forced “to sit with their knees up to their mouths or with their feet insinuated between two trunks, where they are most lovingly compressed whenever the vehicle makes a lurch into a rut.” The body of the wagon was suspended upon two stout leathern straps passing lengthwise under it and strongly secured before and behind. When these straps gave way, as they sometimes did, the driver selected a stout rail from a neighboring fence. The passengers by united effort thrust in this substitute for a spring and the conveyance jolted on. At the end of his first day’s journey, Harriott found that the coach in which he was going to proceed had been overturned and broken to pieces, so that he was obliged to stop three days at German Flats Town. As he continued on his way to Fort Schuyler (Utica) he found himself in a rich country with many new settlers, but as the road steadily became worse and worse, although, as he says, he and his fellow-travellers “alighted safe from broken bones, [they were] most miserably bruised from head to foot.” At Whitestown, he stayed several days watching with interest the allotment of land to settlers and visiting the remnant of the Six Nations, some sixteen hundred in number, all that were left of that fierce confederacy that so long had held this region against the white men.