I met at Buffalo a discharged clerk from a house in New York who was a native of Vermont, and was seeking employment. Neither of us knew what to do or where to go. We had been living at the Mansion House several days and on one Sunday morning we walked down to the wharf and saw a schooner there with her captain on her deck. I asked him if he was the captain and where he was bound. He said he was the captain, that he was bound to Chicago, that his schooner was a new one, etc. I asked the price of fare in cabin with board to Chicago. He replied $20. I turned to my friend Whitcombe and said, “Let us go to Chicago; we may as well go to one place as another.” He replied, “I will go with you.” I asked the captain when he sailed. He said, “At nine o’clock tomorrow A. M. if the wind is fair.” I said, “Book us as passengers and we will be on board in season.” We sailed June second. No steamboats had sailed for the upper lakes then, nor until some days later. There was no railroad west of Syracuse. The harbor was full of ice. Before leaving Buffalo, I arranged with a merchant who knew me and who was from Vermont (the father of Frank Fenton of Beloit) to furnish me with provisions if on my arrival at Chicago I should find any sale for them. We were four weeks and two days on the lakes, with head winds and rough weather most of the time. Captain Clement was a very agreeable gentleman, young like his passengers, and very social. Our voyage was so much enjoyed by me as to have left the most pleasant memories of it, although it was an aimless one. We were drifting into the dark future without any plans, yet we were happy, full of life, had that self-reliance on our own strength and mental endowments that took away all anxiety for the future, and enabled us to enjoy the present. The feeling was a desperate, devil-may-care one. As I look back upon the first year of my western life, I wonder that I did not become a reckless and ruined man. Captain Clement was, after this trip, a large owner of steamboats on the lakes, some of which he commanded; and for several years he has been the treasurer of the North Chicago Rolling Mills and a large stockholder. He landed us in Chicago the night of the third of July, 1837, and we celebrated the Fourth there. Daniel Webster was in Chicago for the first and last time in his life. A delegation from Milwaukee came to Chicago to invite Webster to visit their city. He had left for the East, and I, finding no encouragement to go into business in Chicago, took passage in an old steamer with this delegation to Milwaukee. WHAT I FOUND IN CHICAGO