In a steamboat bound for the rough regions of the Western desert I did not look for a congregation of petits maitres in manner, or Sybarites in habit; nor was I much disappointed in my expectations—for, of the whole number of passengers, there were not more than two or three who, measured by the European standard, could be classed as gentlemen. Though disposed to make allowance for the rawness of western American society, and for the moderate quantum of polish one has a right to expect in the public conveyances of any country, I must admit that it required all my self-restraint to veil the disgust that I felt at the noisome habits of the greater part of the company to which I was for the time hopelessly nailed.

In counterpoise to the above-vented complaint, I was much struck by the good nature, orderly conduct, and respect towards each other shown by so numerous a company of males, confined within so small a space for so long and tedious a period; and I could not help feeling that, with a like number of English or Irish passengers of the same grade, thrown together by accident, some disputes or disturbances would have very probably occurred. The American appears to be the most patient of all creatures travelling by sea or by land.

Spirits, porter even champagne was to be had at its bar—cabin passengers applying at the counter facing the saloon, and deck passengers at a small window opening towards the deck. The former were in general very moderate in their spirituous wants; but of the latter I cannot say so much. Among many minor bibbers, I noted one hickory-faced old fellow, who paid for nineteen “drinks” in one day. . . . Although among a business people, the chief conversation naturally enough hinged upon trade, dollars and individual bargaining, and I had to listen to many a boast of over-reaching skill, yet there were some amongst the party whose humorous banterings and amusing descriptions of personal exploits, couched in the unique lingo which is now so well known in England, completely withdrew my attention from my book, and caused an uncontrollable fit of laughter, which, if noticed at all, was probably put down to the credit of my author.

Early each morning the saloon was a scene of shaving on a grand scale.

An easy arm-chair, with a rest made expressly to receive the patient’s head at a convenient angle of incidence, stood ready, and a negro porter was generally in attendance to give his customers a touch of his black art; but if the legitimate tonsor happened to be absent, mutual abrasion became the order of the day; and, in such case, some rather funny scenes occurred, and jokes as rough as their chin were good-humoredly bandied by the actors. “I guess I’ve got a considerable strong crop for you, this morning,” remarked the third mate of our vessel to a deck passenger who was about to lather him. “Yes, by Ch—t! and a full acre of it, too,” rejoined the other, sustaining the agricultural metaphor, and dabbing away manfully at the massive jaw before him. “I reckon I’ll have to scald you like a hog before them bristles will come away.” The matutinal salutations, too, were occasionally very characteristic. “Well, sir, how do you come on this morning?” “First rate.” “That’s prime, I like to see you clever.” Or, after breakfast, “How do you get along, mister, by this time?” “Pretty stiff, thank ye; I feel kind o’ middlin’ independent since I fed my face.”

The despatch of meals, for which the Americans by their own admission are so notorious, is, on board these steamboats, most annoying. This haste is very excusable and intelligible at a city public table where the diner probably hurries back to his office to add another dollar to his heap; but on a long and tedious voyage time hangs heavy, and dinner might, without subjecting the traveller to a charge of gluttony, assist him in killing an hour or two very agreeably. By Jove, sir, in a quarter of an hour, one hundred bodies, without fear of fish-bones or suffocation, have “greatly daring, dined.” I timed one of my fellow cormorants, and in eight minutes, by Shrewsbury or any other clock, beef, fish, ham, apple-sarce (so pronounced always, and always served up, except with roasted goose or pork), potatoes, cheese, punkin pie (pumpkin), and their diligent absorber, had severally and collectively vanished.

“You are rather late,” said I to a gentleman in gray homespun, who took his seat beside me about ten minutes after the signal for dinner had been given. “Yes,” replied he, “I should never a know’d it if I hadn’t seen a chap come on deck picking his teeth”. . . . The main argument for all this hurry seems to arise from the rapid succession of meals in the grand cabin, which is the refectory of the ship. No sooner is the cabin passengers’ dinner ended than another table is spread for any one who can afford a quarter dollar; after which a third is laid for the hungry stewards and waiters, the situation of whose appetites during the progress of the two preceding feasts may be imagined, but cannot be described.

The following day being Sunday, we had no sooner cleared out of a picturesque little bay of the Manitou Isle (Isle of the Great Spirit) with a fresh supply of firewood than prayers were announced in the cabin. All the passengers, fore and aft, were congregated, and a respectable but roughly-clad old man, with a week’s gray beard on his face, volunteered to officiate. He was a deck passenger, and a Baptist preacher, as I understood. After offering up several excellent prayers, he discoursed sensibly enough on the consolations of religion; not, however, without the usual accompaniment of extempore preaching, repetition and tautology. Some of the worthy pastor’s expressions, too, such as death-bed repentance being “not worth a cent” and his concluding sentence, “which is the devout wish of your humble and obedient servant. Amen!,” sounded rather too familiar for the dignity of the pulpit.

On the other hand, the old man possessed a pleasing voice, and was fluent in his delivery and earnest in his calling. I believe every soul in the vessel except the officer of the watch and the man at the wheel was present, and all were most attentive. At one period of the service the minister read the first verse of a hymn, and, adding the usual exhortation “Let us sing,” looked round, as if for assistance. After a long and rather awkward pause, an old gentleman in a distant corner cleared his voice and struck up a well-known air, a clear female pipe joined him from an opposite part of the cabin, the choir gradually swelled, and in the end the song of praise was very respectably performed. After prayers I went on deck, and, for the first time on fresh water, found myself fairly out of sight of land on all sides. The wind blew fresh, the weather was bright and cloudless, and the water, as I looked from the taffrail, was as blue as ocean. It was almost impossible to believe that we were not indeed ploughing the salt-sea wave.

The morning of the 30th September found us running along the eastern shore of Illinois—yet another province of the great continent laid open to our view. And at ten o’clock we anchored in Milwaukee Bay—a pretty-looking but unsafe harbour. The infant town is well situated on an elevated crescent of land above a small river; and, like most infants, looks particularly well at a distance. . . . Before we retired to our berths this last night of our voyage, a certificate of satisfaction with our captain was got up, and signed by the passengers; and upon adding the words “British Army” to my name, I observed an obvious increase of courtesy in the manners of many of my fellow-travellers.