CHAPTER XIII.
LOCATE IN THE VILLAGE OF ROCHESTER.
I continued to labor in the employ of Mr.O.Comstock, whose son, Zeno, was married during the year 1816, and purchased a farm on the site of the present flourishing village of Lockport, to which he moved his family and effects; but from a mistaken supposition that the Erie Canal, which was then under contemplation, would take a more southern route, he was induced to sell his farm in Hartland, which has proved a mine of wealth to the more fortunate purchaser.
In the winter of that year, I was sent by my employer to Hartland with a sleigh-load of produce, and passed through the village of Rochester, which I had never before seen.

It was a very small, forbidding looking place at first sight, with few inhabitants, and surrounded by a dense forest.
I recollect that while pursuing my journey, I overtook a white man driving a span of horses, who contended that I had not a right to travel the public highway as other men did, but that it was my place to keep behind him and his team.

Being in haste I endeavored to pass him quietly, but he would not permit it and hindered me several hours, very much to my annoyance and indignation.

This was, however, but a slight incident indicating the bitter prejudice which every man seemed to feel against the negro.

No matter how industrious he might be, no matter how honorable in his dealings, or respectful in his manners,--he was a "nigger," and as such he must be treated, with a few honorable exceptions.
This year also, my father died in the village of Palmyra, where, as I have before mentioned, he received injuries from which he never entirely recovered.