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Programming Exercise 7-2

// main module
Module main()
// Local variables
Declare Integer countA, manyA=300, rateA=20
Declare Integer countB, manyB=500, rateB=15
Declare Integer countC, manyC=200, rateC=10

// Get count A
Set countA = getSeats(“A”, manyA)

// Get count B
Set countB = getSeats(“B”, manyB)

// Get count C
Set countC = getSeats(“C”, manyC)

// Show income
Call showIncome(countA, rateA, countB, rateB, countC, rateC)

End Module

// The getSeats function gets number of seats sold

Function Integer getSeats(String Which, Integer most)
Declare Integer inputAmount
// enter count
Display “Enter number of “, Which, “ seats sold: “
Input inputAmount
// validate rate
While inputAmount < 0 OR inputAmount > most
Display “Quantity must be between 0 and “,most, “!”
Display “Enter a valid quantity.”
Input inputAmount
End While
return inputAmount
End Function

// The showIncome module shows income from sales of seats

Module showIncome(Integer countA, rateA, countB, rateB, countC, rateC)
Declare Integer totalIncome = 0, totalSection

Set totalSection = countA * rateA

Set totalIncome = totalIncome + totalSection
Display “Income from “, countA, “ section A seats is $”, totalSection
Set totalSection = countB * rateB
Set totalIncome = totalIncome + totalSection
Display “Income from “, countB, “ section B seats is $”, totalSection
Set totalSection = countC * rateC
Set totalIncome = totalIncome + totalSection
Display “Income from “, countC, “ section C seats is $”, totalSection
Display “Total Income is $”, totalIncome

End Module

©2013 Pearson Education, Inc. Upper Saddle River, NJ. All Rights Reserved.
 getSeats
main() (Which, most)

Declare Declare
countA, manyA=300, rateA=20 inputAmount
countB, manyB=500, rateB=15
countC, manyC=200, rateC=10

Display
“Enter number of “,
Set countA = Which, “ seats sold: “
getSeats(“A”, manyA)

Input
inputAmount

Set countB =
getSeats(“B”, manyB)

Display “Rate must

inputAmount < 0 False
Set countC = be between 0 and “
OR
getSeats(“C”, manyC) most
inputAmount > most
“! Enter a valid rate.”

True
getSeats Input
(Which, most) inputAmount
Return
inputAmount

End

showIncome
(countA, rateA,
countB, rateB,
countC, rateC)
A B

Declare Set totalSection =

Set totalSection =
totalIncome = 0, countC * rateC
countB * rateB
totalSection

Set totalSection =
Set totalIncome = Set totalIncome =
countA * rateA
totalIncome + totalIncome +
totalSection totalSection

Set totalIncome =
totalIncome + Display “Income from “, Display “Income from “,
totalSection countB, “ section B countC, “ section C
seats is $”, totalSection seats is $”, totalSection

Display “Income from “, B Display “Total Income

countA, “ section A is $”, totalIncome
seats is $”, totalSection

A End

©2013 Pearson Education, Inc. Upper Saddle River, NJ. All Rights Reserved.
Other documents randomly have
different content
A
COUNTRY store keeper at Little Orleans, who dealt in everything
from women's "fashionable gowns" to fresh fish and from "near
beer" to gasoline, enabled us to continue our voyage without delay.
From him we purchased a supply of gasoline, oil and tobacco—three
important items for the "engine room." When the motor is out of
order the consumption of tobacco is particularly heavy.
In the twilight we passed the village of Pearre and at dark drew
up alongside the dock of the Woodmont Hunting and Fishing Club.
Dinner was late this night but the weather was perfect and no
fashionable restaurant could have offered more inviting surroundings
for the diner with an appetite whetted by a day of toil in the great
outdoors. We sat in the boat and used the dock for a table. And we
would not have exchanged the privilege for the finest mahogany
ever turned out!
We were in Dixie now, sure enough. On the clubhouse porch up
on the hill a party of young people were holding a dance which was
enlivened by singing oldtime songs that recalled our presence in the
beloved Southland. As two tired voyagers dropped off to slumber
they heard the sweet strains of an inspiring melody that floated on
the still night air far across the Potomac hills—
For life and death, for woe and weal,
Thy peerless chivalry reveal,
And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,
Maryland, my Maryland!
 III.

"T
HE HEART OF MARYLAND" is quite as elusive, geographically,
as the phrase is trite. After being lulled to sleep at Woodmont
by the old wartime song and awakened on a sunny morning by the
carols of thrush and mockingbird, we felt that the enchanted land of
romance in the old Cavalier commonwealth must indeed be near at
hand.
We made no haste to leave the hospitable dock at Woodmont.
The day was ideal and our camera was chaffing under long idleness.
I had passed this point a score of times on daylight trains of the
Baltimore and Ohio railroad and longed for an opportunity to tarry
here. On our voyage in "Sometub" we realized the oft-repeated wish
and made the most of it.
A heartless motor, however, robbed the "heart of Maryland" of
much of its heartsomeness—for us. Leaving Woodmont about the
middle of the forenoon on Wednesday, July 19, we ran past the
ancient settlement of Sir John's Run, proceeded on under the
shadow of Round Mountain, in Maryland, and picturesque Lover's
Leap, in West Virginia, and glided into the prosperous looking town
of Hancock shortly after 2 o'clock. Hancock gained fame in the
winter of 1861-62 when Stonewall Jackson, from the hills south of
the Potomac, deigned to throw a few shells into this Maryland
village. It was not a sanguinary battle, but at that early period in the
war it was considered a bold thing for the Confederate leader to do,
and for the time being disturbed the "alls-quiet-along-the-Potomac"
that had become stereotyped in the reports of the military situation
farther down the stream. At Hancock a short spur of the Baltimore
and Ohio runs up to Berkley Springs, a watering place that boasts of
patronage by Virginia aristocrats back in George Washington's time.
 Resolved that we would forego the luxury of luncheon on board,
we tied up under the highway bridge, left "Sometub" in charge of
the toll-keeper and strolled into town. At the hotel we were too late
for dinner and were told that the dining room would not be open for
the service of supper until 6 o'clock. In desperation we sought a
restaurant—and in two minutes regretted that we had not prepared
our own luncheon on the boat.

Picturesque Water Mill Beside the Potomac

Isn't it peculiar how the smallest trifles will alter the most
elaborate plans? A trifling ham sandwich in a two by four restaurant
caused us to evacuate Hancock forthwith. We had intended to
remain here a day or longer, run over to Berkley Springs and
perhaps go fishing. Instead we left town so precipitately that we
forgot to stop at the postoffice and ask if our mail had been
forwarded.
A
FEW miles east of Hancock is a wide-water a mile long in the
canal known as Little Pool, the channel being about the width of
the Monongahela river at the Smithfield street bridge. From Hancock
to this point we were obliged to stop frequently on account of grass
that clogged the propeller, and on entering Little Pool the obstruction
was so great that it was necessary to get out and tow several
hundred yards. When clear water was regained the motor began to
show signs of balking, and after a heart-rending effort to repair it on
the towpath, we threw the thing into the boat and paddled our way
through the rural hamlet of Millstone where housewives, milking
their cows on the bank of the canal, stared at us pityingly as we
labored by. Cow stables and pig stys on the berm bank offered no
mooring place in the town, and we plied the paddle until we reached
a secluded stretch of woodland where we could be alone in our
chagrin over the obstinacy of the motor.
When we lighted our lantern we were annoyed for the first time
by a swarm of mosquitoes. We had been warned before the trip that
these insects on the canal were related to the Jersey "man-eaters"
and would make life miserable on our cruise. We were prepared for
their ravages, but fortunately a little breeze sprang up after nightfall
and they gave us no more trouble. They were the only militant
mosquitoes that we saw between Cumberland and Georgetown.
As if gloating over our discomfiture in having lost our motive
power, a double-bass bullfrog started in to make the night hideous.
His favorite singing dias was in the pool right under the bow of the
boat. When a stone was thrown in his direction he retreated into
deep water, but invariably returned. Late in the night I hit upon the
expedient of pouring a pint of 30-cent gasoline on the water. The
croaker croaked no more.
In the morning a little tinkering was rewarded by the motor
showing signs of renewing operations and we started in high hopes,
but after a few hundred rods it was apparent that we were making
little speed and we limped into the tiny hamlet of Ernestville where
we stopped for supplies and fresh water. Ernestville is a poor
shopping center and fresh water and kerosene were about all we
could obtain.
Along this stretch of the canal it is paralleled for a considerable
distance by the old National Pike, which on this particular morning
was thronged by automobile tourists. As they sped by we knew that
they would be in Hagerstown in an hour. We wondered if we would
reach there in a day. It was apparent now that we must take our
crippled motor to a garage and Hagerstown was the nearest point
where we could obtain the services of a mechanic skilled in repairing
marine engines. To reach Hagerstown from the canal we decided to
stop at Williamsport and this was now our goal.

B
IG POOL is a widewater where the canal broadens into a
beautiful lake nearly a mile wide and more than a mile long. Our
balky motor pushed us into this big sheet of water and then stopped
with a derisive screech. It was the ultimatum of a dry bearing and it
was inexorable. While we were floundering in the breeze and trying
to paddle ashore, a motorboat came alongside and its occupants
inspected our equipment. "Sometub" they liked immensely, but the
engine perplexed them. We were looking for neither advice nor
sympathy and the stranger who acted very superior and said, "I
have a Koban," didn't improve his favor in our eyes.
Then into our lives came a heroic figure. Just at that moment he
appeared the greatest man in the world—philanthropist, navigator,
philosopher! He was the skipper of Canal Boat No. 18 which swept
majestically down the pool. His boat appeared as big and formidable
as the new superdreadnaught Pennsylvania. Dexterous work with
the paddle enabled us to get in its lee. Up there on his quarterdeck
stood the skipper. I since believe that he must have resembled
Noah, but to we two—we felt like castaways—he was indeed a
mighty admiral. But he was the admiral of a friendly power and amid
all his dignity there was a benign expression also of stern
consideration for a brother mariner in distress. We gazed at him and
his noble craft in mute appeal.
"Ketch the line!"
Like spent swimmers grasping for a straw, we seized the line and
made it fast. For the second time "Sometub" was humiliated by
being towed by a prosaic freight boat.
 Above—Upper Level at Four Locks
Below—Old-Time Mill

Two miles an hour is top speed for a laden canal boat and No.
18's tired mules kept well inside this limit. At the end of the towline
we nosed along in perfect complacency. We chatted with the skipper,
admired the scenery, examined our maps of the route, chaffed the
villagers, ate our luncheon, jogged the motor, read a little, took short
naps and made ourselves absolutely comfortable. Our only effort
was to keep on the shady side of the boat, for the weather was the
hottest we had endured. As a remedy for tired nerves I can testify to
the curative qualities of canalboating.
The skipper was a man of parts. He had run the canal for more
than 20 years. He had walked every inch of the towpath from
Cumberland to Washington every hour of the day and night and he
declared that he could pace those 184 miles with his eyes
blindfolded. He recognized every hill and house and tree and could
tell their history. He knew all the neighborhood gossip, and all the
neighbors knew him.
Toward the end of the drowsy afternoon we floated into the little
village of Four Locks which takes its name from the fact that a chain
of four locks are here. No. 18 cast us off and we prepared to paddle
through. To our surprise the motor condescended to run. At the time
I was ready to believe that it heard the mule driver's sublime cussing
and was frightened into obedience.
With the motor running again we soon passed No. 18 and snorted
off around a sharp bend, through Two Locks where we were lowered
into the waters of the Potomac. I say "snorted" advisedly. "Sometub"
exhibited colt-like behavior when unleashed from the slow-moving
canal craft. The towpath follows the northern bank of the river and
the boats hug the shore closely, but we careened far out into the
stream. "Sometub" had found a nautical playground more spacious
than it had ever enjoyed before.
 After a two-mile run on the river we entered another lock and
once more were confined to the comparatively narrow channel of
the canal. We found all conditions favorable and at sunset we
crossed the great stone aqueduct over the winding Conococheague
and a few minutes later tied up at the Williamsport lock.
I was now on familiar ground. Eleven years before I had visited
historic Williamsport in quest of newspaper "feature stories," and a
decade had witnessed but little change in the place. In the early
days of the Federal government Williamsport was a pretentious
bidder as the seat for the national capital. In the Civil War it was a
sort of Pryzmyl, having been taken and retaken by the armies of
both the north and the south, but the town itself was of no
importance except as the key to strategic positions beyond. Here in
June, 1863, the vanguard of Lee's conquering legions crossed the
Potomac when they swept down the Shenandoah and crossed
triumphantly into Pennsylvania, and here less than a month later
their ragged columns made a bold stand against Meade's victorious
forces while the retreating Confederates waited for the flood to
subside so that they could withdraw into Virginia. Along the street
that leads down to the river are many of the old houses whose walls
resounded with the tread of those valiant armies—Union and
Confederate. In those houses, too, many a soldier suffered the
agony of wounds received in the desperate charges at Gettysburg.
Of those southern heroes who raced with death from that immortal
field, scores gave up their lives here in sight of their native Virginia
hills.
Williamsport today is another of those outposts for supplying
alcoholic drinks to bleary-eyed pilgrims from West Virginia and in
consequence does not afford hotel accommodations for the ordinary
traveler. After trying in vain to get dinner, we boarded a trolley car
and 40 minutes later reached Hagerstown where we stopped for the
night, enjoying the solid luxury of a "room with bath connecting."
A
MONG Hagerstown's well known business men is Mr. Walter E.
Pattison, a former Pittsburgher. We sent him a grape-vine
telegram of our advent in town and on coming down from breakfast
in the morning he hailed us with a motorcar and an invitation for a
drive through Greater Hagerstown. We accepted with alacrity,
remembering the tedious hours of the previous day, and made no
objection when the chauffeur cut up didoes with the Maryland speed
limit.
Mr. Pattison accompanied us to Williamsport in the afternoon to
see "Sometub" and to join a little reunion with Col. George W.
McCardell, the veteran editor of the Williamsport Leader. Editor
McCardell had been looking for me for eleven years and we were
somewhat in doubt as to the outcome of the interview. The reason
for his desire to lay hands on me was, as nearly as I can remember,
the following paragraph which was printed over my name in the
Pittsburgh Gazette in the summer of 1905:

The Williamsport Leader is more than a journalistic enterprise

—it is a well founded institution. It is the oracle of rockribbed
Democracy, the unflinching champion of pure Jeffersonism and
unfaltering Andyjacksonism.... The editor will take two pairs of
Maryland frying-size chickens on subscription, but of his Virginia
subscribers he requires three pairs in advance because, he says,
the Maryland pullets are better and more tender.

I resolved to meet the editor and finish the argument. Mr. Pattison
led the way to a new and prosperously attractive sanctum. It was
publication day—Friday—and Col. McCardell, after a strenuous week,
stood with folded arms beside an imposing stone with type still wet
from the day's "run." My wife, who embodies the traditions of five
generations of the editor's brand of politics but who stood ready to
defend the quality of Virginia chicken against the world, was the first
to enter the den of the journalistic lion. It was a clever ruse on Mr.
Pattison's part, for first of all Col. McCardell is a chivalrous southern
gentleman. Why, of course, Virginia fried chicken is the finest in the
land. And Virginia women compose the very flower of American
womanhood. Their presence here is welcomed like the May-time
sunshine. The Potomac ripples softly when they cross the river and
in the trees on the Maryland shore the summer zephyrs sing sweet
benisons to the fair daughters of the Old Dominion.
And when I entered the feud of eleven years had vanished. I
could only blush and bow my acknowledgements.
With fond good-byes to Col. McCardell and Mr. Pattison we
departed in the mid-afternoon bound for Mercerville by twilight in
the hope that we would have the following day to spend on
Antietam battlefield. But we had not reckoned with the elements.
Four miles below Williamsport a terrific storm burst upon us. So
sudden was the tempest that we were obliged to tie to the towpath
bank to prevent the furious gales of wind from capsizing the boat.
For a few minutes it seemed that our canopy would be torn to
tatters. Our lines gave way and I climbed out to steady the heaving
craft. Then it rained in such torrents that it momentarily took away
my breath. Vivid flashes of lightning and deafening thunder followed
in instant succession. The wind wrenched big sycamores from their
roots and they crashed across the miry towpath like jackstraws
thrown by an angry giant. The storm lasted more than an hour but a
steady patter of rain followed. Our supplies stored under the deck
and protected by the poncho were dry, but our clothes were dripping
and the temperature had turned chill and raw. Darkness was coming
on and we prepared to tie up for the night. How bright and warm
looked the blue flame from the canned alcohol while we boiled our
coffee!
It was a gloomy outlook, but southern hospitality which proved
the silver lining to every dark cloud on our cruise, once more
intervened. A farmer rode down the towpath and invited us to go to
his house for the night. Our good Samaritan was Mr. J. H. Wine,
whose home nestles snugly under the mountain beside the canal.
We accepted with haste that we hoped would indicate our extreme
gratitude and soon had our dripping duds spread out on the backs of
chairs before the range in the spacious kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Wine
tendered us the guest room and we sought slumber early. Only the
outdoor enthusiast would have been worthy of the frugal breakfast
in the morning. We thanked our good hosts and prepared to depart.
The question of remuneration for favors invariably was spurned by
the hospitable people on the canal.
The sun came out gloriously and we hoped to reach Mercerville
by noon. We did, but there the motor balked again and we spent
two hours trying to fix it. We gave up the thought of visiting
Antietam and about the time the shadows began to lengthen,
started solemnly toward Shepherdstown, five honest miles down the
canal. We paddled and towed alternately, making even slower
progress than in the wake of No. 18. Darkness came on and we
were still on the lonely path. About 9 o'clock we reached a lock and
were told that Shepherdstown was still a mile beyond. A storm was
gathering and the lockmaster invited us to tie up and spend the
night in his house notwithstanding that it would place several
members of his large family at an inconvenience. We agreed to leave
the boat, but insisted on going to Shepherdstown where we could
find a hotel and a garage mechanic.

A
GAINST the protests of the lockmaster and his wife we lighted
our lantern and started down the lonely towpath. Black clouds
obscured the sky and we stumbled along at times having difficulty in
keeping on the path. Flashes of lightning and rumbling thunder
betokened a storm that would rival the one on the previous night.
Our lantern's flickering light only intensified the darkness but the
lightning frequently assisted us when its glare illuminated the entire
landscape.
In our race with the storm we were the first under the wire.
Fleeing across the bridge over the Potomac we breathlessly climbed
the hill and along a dark street to the center of the town whither we
had been directed to the hotel. Suddenly we rounded a corner into
an electric-lighted thoroughfare and stood before the entrance of the
Rumsey House. Our clothes were wrinkled and we were splashed
with mud from head to foot. We still carried our lighted lantern and
the crowd at the hotel gazed at us with expressions twixt curiosity
and amazement. The proprietor was moved to commiseration.
"Come in here, you-all, right away," he said.
 IV.

T
HE hallowed notes of church chimes awakened us on our first
morning in Shepherdstown and before the day was an hour older
we felt grateful to the motor for compelling our stop-over in this
quaint community. Geographically Shepherdstown is in West Virginia,
but politically, socially and traditionally it leans toward the Old
Dominion. It lies in Jefferson county at the foot of the beautiful
Shenandoah valley and is essentially southern. Its whole atmosphere
and the sympathy of its people belong distinctly to Piedmont
Virginia. It is the Alsace-Lorraine of America.
Next to Alexandria, Shepherdstown is perhaps the oldest
important settlement in the Potomac valley. It is one of the few old
towns in the country that has not been defaced by too much present
day progress. Shepherdstown has always been a substantial
prosperous place and does not affect the gewgaws of the new rich
municipality. In some respects it resembles Concord, Massachusetts.
Its streets have many features in common with the thoroughfares of
the old-time New England towns. In many of the residences are
preserved some of the most striking characteristics of chaste colonial
architecture.
It was a restful place to spend Sunday and in the evening we
joined the villagers in a stroll through the shady streets and out on
the bluff overlooking the Potomac. Here on the edge of the cliffs on
a natural base of limestone rock is an imposing shaft lately erected
to the memory of James Rumsey, Shepherdstown pioneer and
inventor of the steamboat. Rumsey, you know, was the Langley of
steam navigation. While Prof. Langley originated the idea of the
heavier than air system of aeronautic transportation, his aeroplane,
upon which experiments were made on this same Potomac river, was
not perfected to the point of standing the practical test. Two bicycle
mechanics in Dayton, Ohio, were destined to make a crowning
achievement where the scientist had failed. Posterity will demand
that the Wright brothers share their fame with Langley.

Antietam Battlefield at Dunker Church (right) and Cornfield (left)

Across Hagerstown Pike

Although Robert Fulton is popularly credited with the invention of

the steamboat, he only perfected the work which was started by
Rumsey in the waters of the Potomac at Shepherdstown in
September, 1784. In the presence of George Washington a boat
which ascended the stream by mechanical appliances was exhibited
by Rumsey 23 years before Fulton's Clermont made its memorable
voyage on the Hudson.
The house in which Rumsey lived is one of the historic landmarks
of Shepherdstown. The inventor went to Europe and built a new
boat which made a successful trip on the Thames in December,
1792. A few weeks later sudden death in the very prime of life cut
short Rumsey's career.
In the Civil War Shepherdstown endured the agony but shared
little of the glory of battle. It is about eight miles north of Harper's
Ferry and less than four miles west of Antietam. Skirmishes took
place here early in the war and in September, 1862, it saw Stonewall
Jackson's famous foot cavalry sprint through this corner of Jefferson
county in his encircling movement for the capture of Harper's Ferry.
A week later echoes of the guns engaged in the bloody work at
Antietam reverberated against the hills around Shepherdstown and
on the afternoon of that 17th day of September hundreds of
mutilated men were carried into the village and committed to the
care of the townspeople.
The wounded were Confederate soldiers and from the majority of
homes in Shepherdstown had gone fathers, sons, brothers to fight
under Lee or Jackson. Marie Blunt, one of the heroic women who
assisted caring for the wounded, in describing that melancholy day,
said:
"We went about our work with pale faces and trembling hands,
yet trying to appear composed for the sake of our patients, who
were much excited. We could hear the incessant explosions of
artillery, the shrieking whistling of the shells, and the sharper,
deadlier, more thrilling roll of musketry: while every now and then
the echo of some charging cheer would come, borne by the wind,
and as the human voice pierced that demoniacal clangor we would
catch our breath and listen, and try not to sob, and turn back to
forlorn hospitals, to the suffering at our feet and before our eyes,
while imagination fainted at the thought of those other scenes
hidden from us beyond the Potomac.
"On our side of the river there were noise, confusion, dust;
throngs of stragglers; horsemen galloping about; wagons blocking
each other, and teamsters wrangling; and a continued din of
shouting, swearing and rumbling, in the midst of which men were
dying, fresh wounded arriving, surgeons amputating limbs and
dressing wounds, women going in and out with bandages, lint,
medicines, food. An everpresent sense of anguish, dread, pity, and, I
fear, hatred—these are my recollections of Antietam."

L
EAVING our invalid motor in care of a garage mechanic we
boarded a Norfolk & Western train Monday morning to visit
Antietam battlefield. It is a ride of less than 10 minutes from
Shepherdstown to the station of Antietam which is adjacent to the
village of Sharpsburg. The half a century that has passed since the
war has witnessed but slight change here. Nearly all the houses are
of the antebellum type. The woods have been cleared at various
places over the field, but otherwise the landscape has changed but
little when compared with wartime photographs and sketches of the
battle.
A walk through the town and the national cemetery brought us to
the Hagerstown pike which parallels the battle lines on the northern
half of the field. Threatening weather called for haste and I was
obliged to forego the pleasure of a ramble to familiar scenes around
the picturesque Burnside bridge which I had photographed 11 years
before. We were interested in two parts of the field—the line of
Anderson's Confederate division and the position occupied by Hooker
on the Union right. In locating the former we soon found ourselves
in Piper's lane and walked down to the gray stone barn which stands
as solid today as on that Wednesday afternoon when Hill and
Sumner struggled for the mastery of this blood-drenched farmstead.
Less than a mile beyond is the little whitewashed Dunker church
which marks the key to Stonewall Jackson's position. It stands in the
woods at the west side of the Hagerstown pike at the intersection of
the Smoketown road. On the east side of the pike was the famous
cornfield where the Union soldiers under Hooker and Mansfield
engaged in deadly combat with Jackson's men. In an area covering a
few acres the losses on both sides in less than four hours' fighting
on the morning of September 17th probably exceeded 5,000 killed
and wounded.
All the important positions occupied by the troops on both sides
have been marked by tablets erected by the Federal government
and many memorials have been placed by the various states. One of
the most interesting monuments is that of the State of Maryland to
her sons—Union and Confederate—who perished at Antietam. It
stands on a knoll a short distance east of the pike opposite the
Dunker church.
At 11 o'clock on Tuesday morning, July 25, our motor having
been pronounced "cured," we slipped "Sometub's" moorings and
after adieus to hospitable friends in Shepherdstown, started on the
second half of our journey. A mile and a half below the town we
passed the ford over which Lee's army retreated from Antietam and
saw the cliff where the Corn Exchange regiment came to grief in its
pursuit of the Confederates. A little farther on we noted what we
supposed was the site of Camp McAuley where the One Hundred
and Fifty-fifth Pennsylvania regiment from Pittsburgh spent many a
chilly bivouac in the autumn of 1862.
The scenery on the canal between Shepherdstown and Harper's
Ferry is not rivaled anywhere in the country for its variety, abounding
in pastoral beauty, historic interest and sublime grandeur. Our motor,
being on its good behavior, the trip was uneventful. Across the river
among the trees we descried the little hamlet of Falling Waters
where occurred one of the first conflicts of the Civil War. We glided
over Antietam creek through a picturesque aqueduct and continued
for miles on through the trees at the base of the lofty cliffs of
Maryland Heights.
After several stops to catch the pictures that presented
themselves at every turn, we reached the lock opposite Harper's
Ferry about 4 o'clock in the afternoon. We threw "Sometub's" line to
a picket fence beside the canal and hastened across to the town to
call at the postoffice to receive an accumulation of 10 days' mail that
had been forwarded from point to point all the way from Hancock.
This is a late day to describe Harper's Ferry. Thomas Jefferson
more than 100 years ago wrote a description of the place and stole
the thunder from his successors for all time to come. In October,
1859, old John Brown in a different manner gave fresh fame to the
locality, and on a gallows over the hills at Charles Town paid the
penalty with his life. Harper's Ferry got into the headlines soon after
Fort Sumter was fired upon and kept in the limelight till the very
close of the war. Since that time the Baltimore and Ohio railroad has
appropriated the old town, mountains, rivers, scenery, historic
associations and all and has overlooked no opportunity to exploit its
beauty and its traditions.
We had expected to have a veritable field day here with our
camera, but when we came from the postoffice clouds rolled down
from the mountains like great avalanches of snowy feathers, the
village grew misty and rain began to fall. With no immediate
prospect of clear weather we decided to continue our voyage. It
would be heresy, however, not to present a picture of Harper's Ferry,
and we are indebted to Mr. J. Hampton Baumgartner, of the
Baltimore and Ohio railroad, for the one presented here. The railroad
has acted the pious antiquarian in preserving this historic shrine and
the fame of the sacred spot is perpetuated largely through the
services of this corporation. Railroads more frequently are ruthless
vandals in their treatment of historic landmarks, but not so with the
Baltimore and Ohio. This portion of the railroad is itself a talisman of
history worthy of every patriotic American's interest and study.
 Harper's Ferry, from Maryland Heights

Rain was falling in torrents when we unleashed "Sometub" from

the picket fence and started through the lock. By the time the one-
armed locktender had opened the gates and we chugged out under
the Baltimore and Ohio bridge at the entrance of the Maryland
Heights tunnel the storm had grown to the proportions of a
cloudburst. We found ourselves in a canyon of concrete with a sharp
curve ahead. It was a perilous place to meet a canal boat and we
continued on through the blinding storm. At the end of the canyon
we moored to the towpath bank for a time, but with darkness
approaching and the rain continuing unabated, we resolved to
resume the voyage.
At dusk we reached Brunswick. Everything above board on the
boat, including ourselves was drenched. Scrambling out on the
towpath I waded through the mud to inquire of the locktender for a
place to tie up. Despite the rain, we had decided to spend the night
on "Sometub." We had become so attached to the little craft by this
time that it seemed like ingratitude to go to a comfortable hotel and
leave it out there in the storm and the night.
But this was not to be.
 V.

T
HERE must have been something about the appearance of our
outfit or ourselves, or both, on the arrival of the bedraggled
"Sometub" at Brunswick calculated to awaken the deepest sympathy
of the kind-hearted folk who watched us approach through the chilly
rain. When I asked the lockmaster for a suitable place to tie up for
the night he pointed to a dilapidated dock on the berm bank
adjacent to an ancient and densely populated pig pen.
"It would be very fine, except for the neighbors," I told him. "Pigs
have a habit of getting up too early in the morning to suit us." This
was not quite the reason for our objection to mooring beside a pig
pen, but I aimed to be diplomatic. Perhaps they might be his pigs.
"Crackey!" exclaimed the lockmaster, "You-all don't intend to spend
the night in that boat, do you?"
"Yes," I answered. "We have the most comfortable cabin you ever
saw."
Before the lockmaster could answer another man, who hastened
over from the railroad yards, at once assumed the role of
superintendent of the harbor, collector of the port, quarantine officer
or whatever you would choose to call him. He spoke with the air of a
person clothed with absolute authority.
"Yes, yes; tie up over there and I'll——" he began.
"I have just told the lockmaster that I'll not tie up over there," I
interposed. But our new friend disregarded me entirely and
continued:
"——I'll have an automobile here in five minutes to take you and
the missus up to the hotel. Your boat will be safe till morning. Come
from Pittsburgh, eh? How in Sam Hill did you get into the canal? I
used to work in Pittsburgh, but that was a good while ago. Pretty big
place now, I suppose—"
He was true to his word. An automobile oozed through the mud
and the chauffeur announced that he was ready to take "the lady
and gentleman to the hotel." In the presence of such an example of
prompt service we reconsidered our resolution to spend the night in
the boat and taking our baggage, we went to the hotel in our
khakis. The people in the lobby must have thought that unkempt
members of a band of gypsies had invaded the place when we
rushed through to our room. However, the opinions of bystanders as
to the appearance of our traveling duds gave us little concern. We
put on dry clothes and in a few minutes it was announced that the
dining room had been opened for our especial benefit. The young
wife of the proprietor cooked and served a bountiful repast. She
must have felt repaid for the effort by the manner in which we
dispatched all the good things she had prepared.
The rain lasted through the night but Wednesday, July 26th,
dawned with clear skies. We prepared to depart early, but first
stocked "Sometub" with provisions and fuel, Brunswick being the last
large town on the canal on the way to Washington. Before us for a
distance of nearly 50 miles lay a stretch of sparsely settled country.
From Brunswick to Point of Rocks the Baltimore and Ohio railroad
runs close beside the towpath and in the early morning, "Sometub"
was greeted several times by passengers on the observation cars of
the Royal Blue express trains which dashed by at a mile-a-minute
speed. We wondered if the people who were fluttering handkerchiefs
and waving hats envied us. It was while riding on the observation
car several years ago on this same route that we had planned our
voyage. In its realization we regretted that more vacation tourists
could not share the pleasure of our trip over the mountains—by
water. We did not stop to consider that the majority of summer
travelers desire speed, luxury and the least discomfort and would
balk at the petty annoyances we endured through an obstinate
motor and the omniesence of Jupiter Pluvius.
Under the shadow of old Catoctin mountain we passed the Point
of Rocks, famous in the Civil War as the place where Lee's army
crossed for the invasion of Maryland in the Antietam campaign. A
few miles beyond the course of the river turns from southeast to
southwest and we sheered off sharply from the railroad. We crossed
on the famous stone aqueduct over the Monocacy river. The
character of the scenery changed quite as preceptibly as the
direction of the stream. Through the drooping branches of the trees
we saw on the north the rugged outlines of old Sugar Loaf peak and
across the Potomac the undulating ridge of the southern spur of
Catoctin, and when heights faded in the blue haze of a midsummer
day, we bade farewell to the mountains. Henceforth our way ran
through the lowlands down to the sea, the hills and river bluffs
reaching an altitude of only a few hundred feet.
At Edwards Ferry we saw the wooded face of Ball's Bluff which
gave name to a Civil War conflict which was second only to Bull Run
in causing discomfiture to the people of the North. In this little fight
the country lost a notable figure in the person of General Edward D.
Baker, first United States senator from Oregon.
For miles along this portion of our route we ran without seeing a
human habitation. A dense strip of woodland concealed the river
from view and bluffs or marshy thickets interposed between the
canal and the country to the north. Occasionally through the trees
we caught a fleeting glimpse of beautiful meadows and cornfields of
the Maryland farmlands, but these vistas were rare.
At White's Ferry, where on September 5th, 1862, Stonewall
Jackson's army forded the Potomac, and while singing "My
Maryland," marched gallantly on toward Frederick, we stopped under
the highway bridge that spans the canal to replenish our supply of
gasoline. Leaning over the rail of the bridge stood a native whose
face was obscured by the shadow of a straw hat of immense brim.
Over his shoulder was a fishing-pole of a length of thirty feet or
more. He ignored our salutation when we approached, but after we
had drifted under the bridge he crossed to the rail on the other side
and inquired:
"Stranger, whar did you put that tub in this ditch?"
"Cumberland."
"By crackey!" And he sauntered down the road.
The history of this "ditch" is a commercial romance closely linked
with the political developments of the last one hundred and fifty
years. During the period immediately preceding the Revolutionary
War Washington devoted his chief attention toward the opening of
the west to colonization and for a cheap transportation route
foresaw that navigation on the waters of the upper Potomac would
offer a direct outlet for the products of the agricultural regions of the
western country to the Atlantic seaboard. The alarm from Lexington
in 1775, of course, put an end to all immediate plans for the internal
improvement among the colonies, but after Burgoyne had been cut
off at Saratoga and Cornwallis had been bagged at Yorktown, Gen
Washington again turned his attention to the transportation problem.
Before peace was restored he left the camp of the patriot army at
Newburg and inspected the future route of the Erie canal through
the Mohawk valley.
Washington shrewdly divined that a canal between Lake Erie near
Niagara, connecting it with the Mohawk and the Hudson would open
up a route that would be a dangerous competitor to the southern
colonies in their trade with the west. Soon after he was relieved
from his military duties he made a tour of exploration with a view of
locating a route connecting the Potomac with the Ohio and the Great
Lakes. His journal sets forth clearly his wonderful farsightedness and
broad comprehension of the situation. Here is Washington's report of
his transportation line from Detroit to Alexandria, Va.: (The spelling
is Washington's).
 To Cuyahoga River 125 Miles
Up same to Portage 60 Miles
Portage to Bever Ck 8 Miles
Down Bever Ck to the Ohio 85 Miles
Up the Ohio to Fort Pitt 25 Miles
Mouth of Yohiogany 15 Miles
Falls to Ditto 50 Miles
Portage 1 Mile
Three Forks or Turkey foot 8 Miles
Ft. Cumberland or Wills Creek 30 Miles
Alexandria 200 Miles
Total 607 Miles
Bear in mind that the "mouth of the Yohiogany" is now
McKeesport, that the "falls to ditto" indicates Ohio Pyle and that
"Three Forks" means the present locality of Confluence, and
compare the distances with present day surveys. They will not vary a
mile on the entire stretch. Ask the eminent engineers of the Lake
Erie & Ohio River Canal if they can add much to Washington's ideas.
Their answer will give you added reasons for celebrating on the
22nd of next February.
In February, 1785, the laws were passed by the legislatures of
Maryland and Virginia authorizing the formation of a company for
the improvement of the Potomac river and books for the subscription
of stock were opened at once. The total shares were 403 and the
capital of the new Potomac Company was 40,300 pounds.
Washington was elected its president and James Rumsey, the
inventor, whose monument we saw at Shepherdstown, was general
manager. In the summer of 1785 the work of blasting rock and other
obstructions was begun between Great Falls and Harper's Ferry.
The work was prosecuted with vigor, but during the winter of
1786-87 there came a hint of labor troubles. Common laborers were
paid 32 shillings (about $8.00) a month "with the usual ration except
spirits, and with such reasonable allowance of spirits as the manager
may from time to time think proper." The question of spirits seems
to have been the chief cause of the trouble, for it is recorded that
the company contracted for the supply of rum at "two shillings per
gallon." It must have been the same kind of stuff that is peddled
across the river to "dry" Virginians today.
In 1787 Washington withdrew from active work in the company to
accept the presidency of the Republic. His retirement sealed the fate
of the corporation. Its affairs languished for years and in 1823 was
declared defunct.
In the same year—1823 a date since famous for the promulgation
of the Monroe doctrine—the navigation project was again revived in
the Maryland legislature. It was estimated that the proposed work of
cutting a canal from tide-water (Washington, D. C.) up the Potomac,
across the mountains to a branch of the Ohio, and down the same,
at $1,500,000, of which Virginia, Maryland and the District of
Columbia were each to subscribe one-third. The Chesapeake and
Ohio Canal Company was incorporated by the Maryland legislature in
1825 with a capital stock of $6,000,000, Congress having previously
made an appropriation of $30,000 for preliminary surveys. The route
selected for the canal alarmed the citizens of Baltimore. They saw
that it would divert trade from their city. About this time Philip E.
Thomas, a Baltimore banker, and George Brown, an enterprising
resident of that city, took earnest counsel between themselves to
save the traffic for their town. On the 19th of February, 1827, they
held a meeting with their townsmen which was destined to become
memorable in the whole history of transportation.
 Tom Thumb—B. & O. 1830

Up in Quincy, Mass., and in Maunch Chaunk, Pa., for a year or two

wagons had been operated on rails, and Mr. Thomas inquired of his
confreres why a "rail road" would not be practicable from Baltimore
to the Ohio. The whole world knows the answer: On February 28,
1828, a charter was granted to the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad
Company, Mr. Thomas resigned the presidency of the Machanics'
Bank in Baltimore to become the head of the first American railway
system.

T
HEN began a memorable commercial race between canal and
railroad. Their prospective routes were parallel and both sought
the same destination—the Ohio river at Pittsburgh. Early in 1826
both companies were in the field surveying for their respective
highways. On the fourth of July succeeding celebrations were
planned by the rival corporations. In Washington on that day
President John Quincy Adams, the members of his cabinet, foreign
ambassadors, survivors of the Revolutionary War and a great throng
of citizens proceeded up the Potomac to Great Falls where the first
spadeful of earth in the construction of the canal was turned by the
President of the United States.
Over in Baltimore at the same hour the venerable Charles Carroll
of Carrollton, the only surviving signer of the Declaration of
Independence lifted a spadeful of earth in placing the foundation
stone to commemorate the commencement of the building of the
Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. The railroad was completed to the
Maryland shore opposite Harper's Ferry in 1834 and was opened to
operation December 1, the work on the canal at that time having
proceeded more rapidly, despite injunctions, financial
embarrassments and a multitude of obstacles that interfered with
the work. The canal finally was completed to Cumberland February
17, 1851.
In the meantime the railroad had struggled to success in spite of
similar obstacles. The Baltimore and Ohio was opened to the public
May 22, 1830, and was received with approbation of the public. At
this time the line extended from Baltimore to Ellicott's Mills, a
distance of 12 miles. It was advertised that "brigades of cars left
Baltimore at 6 and 10 a. m. and 3 and 4 p. m." These "brigades" of
cars first were hauled by horses and mules and later a brother of
President Thomas invented a car which moved by sails. The
superintendent of motive power, nevertheless, was enterprising and
steam was soon applied. As early as 1831 the company offered a
prize of $4,000 for the best locomotive offered for trial on the road.
It is a curious fact that a watchmaker of York, Pa., built the first
practicable models.
One of these, the "Atlantic," on August 25, 1835, drew the first
train into Washington amid the applause of President Andrew
Jackson and a distinguished assemblage. This "grasshopper"
locomotive was in use a generation later when it hauled the
vanguard of Union soldiers to save the national capital in 1861. It
developed a speed of 30 miles an hour which was regarded as
suicidal in the early days of railroading. Although superannuated, the
"Atlantic" is still in a good state of preservation and can be operated
under its own power.
The canal and railroad are no longer competitors. The bonds of
the former company are held by the railroad. The canal is in
operation during the season of navigation and more than 100 boats
are engaged in providing low-priced transportation for coal from
Cumberland to the seaboard. On the railroad "brigades of cars" are
seen at intervals of a few minutes dashing along behind locomotives
that weight more than twenty times that of the little old "Atlantic."

"Atlantic" Engine—B. & O. 1832

 VI.

T
HROUGH the sultry afternoon of Wednesday, July 25th,
"Sometub" ran for hours under the willows that fringe the
Maryland meadows in Montgomery county. Across the river the
Virginia shore presented an endless panorama of wooded hills that
grew less rugged in their outlines as we proceeded down the
stream. At sunset we were running through a marshy region and
decided to keep on rather than invite malaria by spending the night
on the border of a swamp. We were happy when, in the receding
twilight, we espied the hills of Seneca creek and knew by consulting
our topographical maps that we would have a more healthy mooring
place. At Seneca a widewater covers about ten acres and under a
big sycamore tree beside the little lake we tied "Sometub," preparing
dinner on our "canned heat" range and serving it on our poncho
which was spread on the soft, green turf.
The dying embers of a campfire were visible across an arm of the
lake and after dinner we went to pay a neighborly call. Beside the
fire was a tiny "pup" tent supported by two canoe paddles. On our
approach three young men greeted us. A week before, they told us,
they had started out from their homes in Washington on a fishing
trip up the river. In the Potomac the bass were not biting but the
mosquitoes were and betwixt hope and desperation they had turned
into the canal. Now they were having fairly good luck and were
comfortable.
Our new friends punctilously returned the call. One of the youths
was the son of a naval officer and expressed much interest in
"Sometub," and its unique cabin arrangement. We sat in the lantern
light till midnight swapping motorboat experiences for fish stories. In
this we had the better of the deal.
 Thursday dawned clear and hot. Our neighbors, the fishermen,
were out before sunrise and had breakfasted on their catch of perch,
catfish and "sunnies" before we were stirring. Old Sol drank up the
dew within a few minutes after his appearance over the Virginia hills
and we made an excursion into a blackberry thicket where we picked
a dish of luscious fruit for breakfast. It was our last berry feast of the
season. After reciprocating photographs of our respective "camps,"
we headed for Seneca lock and were lowered through it by members
of a troop of Washington Boy Scouts who volunteered their
assistance to the lockmaster.
At noon we reached Great Falls. Here are 13 locks in a series of
two, seven chambers in the first and six in the second. The actual
time in making the descent was considerably less than two hours.
We stopped at the first lock, and upon payment of a small fee to the
lockmaster, were admitted to the private park surrounding the Great
Falls of the Potomac. Crossing a swinging bridge to an island in the
river we obtained a magnificent view of the cataract. The stream
was at flood stage and the scene rivaled the rapids of the lower
Niagara.
In the late summer and autumn of 1861 the Union and
Confederate pickets frequently exchanged compliments at short
range from behind the rocks and boulders along this stretch of the
Potomac. If you have any friends among the survivors of the
Pennsylvania Reserves, ask them to tell you of their experiences
during the open season for snipers in those exciting days.
In the middle of the afternoon we passed Cabin John bridge and
moored "Sometub" at the lock at the foot of Glen Echo park. In the
shade of the trees everything looked cool and refreshing and we
decided to spend the evening with friends in Washington, but a few
minutes after we stepped off the boat we realized that it was the
hottest day of the summer. The lockmaster's wife invited us to go
into her house and assigned us "spare rooms" to change our clothes.
Going to Washington by trolley, we found the heat in the city almost
intolerable after our fortnight in the open air of the mountains. After
dinner in town against the protests of friends we returned to the
boat and were lulled to slumber by the music in the dancing pavilion
of the park.

J
UPITER PLUVIUS had been on hand at the beginning of the
voyage and now at its close he was in evidence again. Rain
interrupted us at breakfast and continued through the forenoon.
Disregarding the showers we started on the last lap of our cruise
and at 11 o'clock reached Lock No. 1, or, according to our count, No.
75 from Cumberland. We surrendered our waybill with the request
that the canal company would return it to us to keep as a souvenir.
After a pleasant chat to the lockmaster during which time we took
refuge from a particularly annoying shower, "Sometub" was lowered
to the Georgetown level. A few minutes later the lofty towers
supporting the arials of the naval radio station at Arlington were
visible and rounding a majestic curve to the eastward, we beheld the
fantastic skyline of the National Capital.
 "BACK HOME"

Threading our way between a fleet of canal boats, tugs, skiffs and
nondescript craft we reached the coal wharf in Georgetown and ran
"Sometub" into the mud at the ancient lock which connects the
canal with Rock creek, its outlet into the waters of the Potomac. The
waterfront at Georgetown is no prepossessing place and the attitude
of the bystanders was not calculated to lead the boatman to leave
his property unguarded. Asking the obliging lockmaster to "keep an
eye" on "Sometub" I went up a side street to the office of the
Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Company to report our arrival and to
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