In making this journey at night we introduced ourselves to the thoroughly7 American institution of sleeping-cars — that is, of cars in which beds are made up for travelers. The traveler may have a whole bed, or half a bed, or no bed at all, as he pleases, paying a dollar or half a dollar extra should he choose the partial or full fruition of a couch. I confess I have always taken a delight in seeing these beds made up, and consider that the operations of the change are generally as well executed as the manoeuvres of any pantomime at Drury Lane. The work is usually done by negroes or colored men, and the domestic negroes of America are always light-handed and adroit8. The nature of an American car is no doubt known to all men. It looks as far removed from all bed-room accommodation as the baker’s barrow does from the steam engine into which it is to be converted by Harlequin’s wand. But the negro goes to work much more quietly than the Harlequin; and for every four seats in the railway car he builds up four beds almost as quickly as the hero of the pantomime goes through his performance. The great glory of the Americans is in their wondrous9 contrivances — in their patent remedies for the usually troublous operations of life. In their huge hotels all the bell ropes of each house ring on one bell only; but a patent indicator10 discloses a number, and the whereabouts of the ringer is shown. One fire heats every room, passage, hall, and cupboard, and does it so effectually that the inhabitants are all but stifled11. Soda-water bottles open themselves without any trouble of wire or strings12. Men and women go up and down stairs without motive13 power of their own. Hot and cold water are laid on to all the chambers14; though it sometimes happens that the water from both taps is boiling, and that, when once turned on, it cannot be turned off again by any human energy. Everything is done by a new and wonderful patent contrivance; and of all their wonderful contrivances, that of their railroad beds is by no means the least. For every four seats the negro builds up four beds — that is, four half beds, or accommodation for four persons. Two are supposed to be below, on the level of the ordinary four seats, and two up above on shelves which are let down from the roof. Mattresses15 slip out from one nook and pillows from another. Blankets are added, and the bed is ready. Any over-particular individual — an islander, for instance, who hugs his chains — will generally prefer to pay the dollar for the double accommodation. Looking at the bed in the light of a bed — taking, as it were, an abstract view of it — or comparing it with some other bed or beds with which the occupant may have acquaintance, I cannot say that it is in all respects perfect. But distances are long in America; and he who declines to travel by night will lose very much time. He who does so travel will find the railway bed a great relief. I must confess that the feeling of dirt, on the following morning, is rather oppressive.
From Windsor, on the Canada side, we passed over to Detroit, in the State of Michigan, by a steam ferry. But ferries in England and ferries in America are very different. Here, on this Detroit ferry, some hundred of passengers, who were going forward from the other side without delay, at once sat down to breakfast. I may as well explain the way in which disposition16 is made of one’s luggage as one takes these long journeys. The traveler, when he starts, has his baggage checked. He abandons his trunk — generally a box, studded with nails, as long as a coffin17 and as high as a linen18 chest — and, in return for this, he receives an iron ticket with a number on it. As he approaches the end of his first installment19 of travel and while the engine is still working its hardest, a man comes up to him, bearing with him, suspended on a circular bar, an infinite variety of other checks. The traveler confides20 to this man his wishes, and, if he be going farther without delay, surrenders his check and receives a counter-check in return. Then, while the train is still in motion, the new destiny of the trunk is imparted to it. But another man, with another set of checks, also comes the way, walking leisurely21 through the train as he performs his work. This is the minister of the hotel-omnibus institution. His business is with those who do not travel beyond the next terminus. To him, if such be your intention, you make your confidence, giving up your tallies22, and taking other tallies by way of receipt; and your luggage is afterward23 found by you in the hall of your hotel. There is undoubtedly24 very much of comfort in this; and the mind of the traveler is lost in amazement25 as he thinks of the futile26 efforts with which he would struggle to regain27 his luggage were there no such arrangement. Enormous piles of boxes are disclosed on the platform at all the larger stations, the numbers of which are roared forth28 with quick voice by some two or three railway denizens29 at once. A modest English voyager, with six or seven small packages, would stand no chance of getting anything if he were left to his own devices. As it is, I am bound to say that the thing is well done. I have had my desk with all my money in it lost for a day, and my black leather bag was on one occasion sent back over the line. They, however, were recovered; and, on the whole, I feel grateful to the check system of the American railways. And then, too, one never hears of extra luggage. Of weight they are quite regardless. On two or three occasions an overwrought official has muttered between his teeth that ten packages were a great many, and that some of those “light fixings” might have been made up into one. And when I came to understand that the number of every check was entered in a book, and re-entered at every change, I did whisper to my wife that she ought to do without a bonnet31 box. The ten, however, went on, and were always duly protected. I must add, however, that articles requiring tender treatment will sometimes reappear a little the worse from the hardships of their journey.
I have not much to say of Detroit — not much, that is, beyond what I have to say of all the North. It is a large, well-built, half-finished city lying on a convenient waterway, and spreading itself out with promises of a wide and still wider prosperity. It has about it perhaps as little of intrinsic interest as any of those large Western towns which I visited. It is not so pleasant as Milwaukee, nor so picturesque32 as St. Paul, nor so grand as Chicago, nor so civilized33 as Cleveland, nor so busy as Buffalo. Indeed, Detroit is neither pleasant nor picturesque at all. I will not say that it is uncivilized; but it has a harsh, crude, unprepossessing appearance. It has some 70,000 inhabitants, and good accommodation for shipping34. It was doing an enormous business before the war began, and, when these troublous times are over, will no doubt again go ahead. I do not, however, think it well to recommend any Englishman to make a special visit to Detroit who may be wholly uncommercial in his views, and travel in search of that which is either beautiful or interesting.
From Detroit we continued our course westward35 across the State of Michigan, through a country that was absolutely wild till the railway pierced it, Very much of it is still absolutely wild. For miles upon miles the road passes the untouched forest, showing that even in Michigan the great work of civilization has hardly more than been commenced. One thinks of the all but countless36 population which is, before long, to be fed from these regions — of the cities which will grow here, and of the amount of government which in due time will be required — one can hardly fail to feel that the division of the United States into separate nationalities is merely a part of the ordained37 work of creation as arranged for the well-being38 of mankind. The States already boast of thirty millions of inhabitants — not of unnoticed and unnoticeable beings requiring little, knowing little, and doing little, such as are the Eastern hordes39, which may be counted by tens of millions, but of men and women who talk loudly and are ambitious, who eat beef, who read and write, and understand the dignity of manhood. But these thirty millions are as nothing to the crowds which will grow sleek40, and talk loudly, and become aggressive on these wheat and meat producing levels. The country is as yet but touched by the pioneering hand of population. In the old countries, agriculture, following on the heels of pastoral, patriarchal life, preceded the birth of cities. But in this young world the cities have come first. The new Jasons, blessed with the experience of the Old-World adventurers, have gone forth in search of their golden fleeces, armed with all that the science and skill of the East had as yet produced, and, in settling up their new Colchis, have begun by the erection of first class hotels and the fabrication of railroads. Let the Old World bid them God speed in their work. Only it would be well if they could be brought to acknowledge from whence they have learned all that they know.
Our route lay right across the State to a place called Grand Haven41, on Lake Michigan, from whence we were to take boat for Milwaukee, a town in Wisconsin, on the opposite or western shore of the lake. Michigan is sometimes called the Peninsular State, from the fact that the main part of its territory is surrounded by Lakes Michigan and Huron, by the little Lake St. Clair and by Lake Erie. It juts42 out to the northward43 from the main land of Indiana and Ohio, and is circumnavigable on the east, north, and west. These particulars, however, refer to a part of the State only; for a portion of it lies on the other side of Lake Michigan, between that and Lake Superior. I doubt whether any large inland territory in the world is blessed with such facilities of water carriage.
On arriving at Grand Haven we found that there had been a storm on the lake, and that the passengers from the trains of the preceding day were still remaining there, waiting to be carried over to Milwaukee. The water however — or the sea, as they all call it — was still very high, and the captain declared his intention of remaining there that night; whereupon all our fellow-travelers huddled44 themselves into the great lake steamboat, and proceeded to carry on life there as though they were quite at home. The men took themselves to the bar-room, and smoked cigars and talked about the war with their feet upon the counter; and the women got themselves into rocking-chairs in the saloon, and sat there listless and silent, but not more listless and silent than they usually are in the big drawing-rooms of the big hotels. There was supper there precisely45 at six o’clock — beef-steaks, and tea, and apple jam, and hot cakes, and light fixings, to all which luxuries an American deems himself entitled, let him have to seek his meal where he may. And I was soon informed, with considerable energy, that let the boat be kept there as long as it might by stress of weather, the beef-steaks and apple jam, light fixings and heavy fixings, must be supplied at the cost of the owners of the ship. “Your first supper you pay for,” my informant told me, “because you eat that on your own account. What you consume after that comes of their doing, because they don’t start; and if it’s three meals a day for a week, it’s their look out.” It occurred to me that, under such circumstances, a captain would be very apt to sail either in foul46 weather or in fair.
It was a bright moonlight night — moonlight such as we rarely have in England — and I started off by myself for a walk, that I might see of what nature were the environs of Grand Haven. A more melancholy47 place I never beheld48. The town of Grand Haven itself is placed on the opposite side of a creek49, and was to be reached by a ferry. On our side, to which the railway came and from which the boat was to sail, there was nothing to be seen but sand hills, which stretched away for miles along the shore of the lake. There were great sand mountains and sand valleys, on the surface of which were scattered50 the debris51 of dead trees, scattered logs white with age, and boughs52 half buried beneath the sand. Grand Haven itself is but a poor place, not having succeeded in catching53 much of the commerce which comes across the lake from Wisconsin, and which takes itself on Eastward54 by the railway. Altogether, it is a dreary55 place, such as might break a man’s heart should he find that inexorable fate required him there to pitch his tent.
On my return I went down into the bar-room of the steamer, put my feet upon the counter, lit my cigar, and struck into the debate then proceeding56 on the subject of the war. I was getting West, and General Fremont was the hero of the hour. “He’s a frontier man, and that’s what we want. I guess he’ll about go through. Yes, sir.” “As for relieving General Fre-mont,” (with the accent always strongly on the “mont,”) “I guess you may as well talk of relieving the whole West. They won’t meddle57 with Fre-mont. They are beginning to know in Washington what stuff he’s made of.” “Why, sir, there are 50,000 men in these States who will follow Fre-mont, who would not stir a foot after any other man.” From which, and the like of it in many other places, I began to understand how difficult was the task which the statesmen in Washington had in hand.
I received no pecuniary58 advantage whatever from that law as to the steamboat meals which my new friend had revealed to me. For my one supper of course I paid, looking forward to any amount of subsequent gratuitous59 provisions. But in the course of the night the ship sailed, and we found ourselves at Milwaukee in time for breakfast on the following morning.
Milwaukee is a pleasant town, a very pleasant town, containing 45,000 inhabitants. How many of my readers can boast that they know anything of Milwaukee, or even have heard of it? To me its name was unknown until I saw it on huge railway placards stuck up in the smoking-rooms and lounging halls of all American hotels. It is the big town of Wisconsin, whereas Madison is the capital. It stands immediately on the western shore of Lake Michigan, and is very pleasant. Why it should be so, and why Detroit should be the contrary, I can hardly tell; only I think that the same verdict would be given by any English tourist. It must be always borne in mind that 10,000 or 40,000 inhabitants in an American town, and especially in any new Western town, is a number which means much more than would be implied by any similar number as to an old town in Europe. Such a population in America consumes double the amount of beef which it would in England, wears double the amount of clothes, and demands double as much of the comforts of life. If a census61 could be taken of the watches, it would be found, I take it, that the American population possessed62 among them nearly double as many as would the English; and I fear also that it would be found that many more of the Americans were readers and writers by habit. In any large town in England it is probable that a higher excellence63 of education would be found than in Milwaukee, and also a style of life into which more of refinement64 and more of luxury had found its way. But the general level of these things, of material and intellectual well-being — of beef, that is, and book learning — is no doubt infinitely65 higher in a new American than in an old European town. Such an animal as a beggar is as much unknown as a mastodon. Men out of work and in want are almost unknown. I do not say that there are none of the hardships of life — and to them I will come by-and-by — but want is not known as a hardship in these towns, nor is that dense66 ignorance in which so large a proportion of our town populations is still steeped. And then the town of 40,000 inhabitants is spread over a surface which would suffice in England for a city of four times the size. Our towns in England — and the towns, indeed, of Europe generally — have been built as they have been wanted. No aspiring67 ambition as to hundreds of thousands of people warmed the bosoms68 of their first founders69. Two or three dozen men required habitations in the same locality, and clustered them together closely. Many such have failed and died out of the world’s notice. Others have thriven, and houses have been packed on to houses, till London and Manchester, Dublin and Glasgow have been produced. Poor men have built, or have had built for them, wretched lanes, and rich men have erected70 grand palaces. From the nature of their beginnings such has, of necessity, been the manner of their creation. But in America, and especially in Western America, there has been no such necessity and there is no such result. The founders of cities have had the experience of the world before them. They have known of sanitary71 laws as they began. That sewerage, and water, and gas, and good air would be needed for a thriving community has been to them as much a matter of fact as are the well-understood combinations between timber and nails, and bricks and mortar72. They have known that water carriage is almost a necessity for commercial success, and have chosen their sites accordingly. Broad streets cost as little, while land by the foot is not as yet of value to be regarded, as those which are narrow; and therefore the sites of towns have been prepared with noble avenues and imposing73 streets. A city at its commencement is laid out with an intention that it shall be populous74. The houses are not all built at once, but there are the places allocated75 for them. The streets are not made, but there are the spaces. Many an abortive76 attempt at municipal greatness has so been made and then all but abandoned. There are wretched villages, with huge, straggling parallel ways, which will never grow into towns. They are the failures — failures in which the pioneers of civilization, frontier men as they call themselves, have lost their tens of thousands of dollars. But when the success comes, when the happy hit has been made, and the ways of commerce have been truly foreseen with a cunning eye, then a great and prosperous city springs up, ready made as it were, from the earth. Such a town is Milwaukee, now containing 45,000 inhabitants, but with room apparently77 for double that number; with room for four times that number, were men packed as closely there as they are with us.
In the principal business streets of all these towns one sees vast buildings. They are usually called blocks, and are often so denominated in large letters on their front, as Portland Block, Devereux Block, Buel’s Block. Such a block may face to two, three, or even four streets, and, as I presume, has generally been a matter of one special speculation78. It may be divided into separate houses, or kept for a single purpose, such as that of a hotel, or grouped into shops below, and into various sets of chambers above. I have had occasion in various towns to mount the stairs within these blocks, and have generally found some portion of them vacant — have sometimes found the greater portion of them vacant. Men build on an enormous scale, three times, ten times as much as is wanted. The only measure of size is an increase on what men have built before. Monroe P. Jones, the speculator, is very probably ruined, and then begins the world again nothing daunted79. But Jones’s block remains80, and gives to the city in its aggregate81 a certain amount of wealth. Or the block becomes at once of service and finds tenants82. In which case Jones probably sells it, and immediately builds two others twice as big. That Monroe P. Jones will encounter ruin is almost a matter of course; but then he is none the worse for being ruined. It hardly makes him unhappy. He is greedy of dollars with a terrible covetousness83; but he is greedy in order that he may speculate more widely. He would sooner have built Jones’s tenth block, with a prospect84 of completing a twentieth, than settle himself down at rest for life as the owner of a Chatsworth or a Woburn. As for his children, he has no desire of leaving them money. Let the girls marry. And for the boys — for them it will be good to begin as he begun. If they cannot build blocks for themselves, let them earn their bread in the blocks of other men. So Monroe P. Jones, with his million of dollars accomplished85, advances on to a new frontier, goes to work again on a new city, and loses it all. As an individual I differ very much from Monroe P. Jones. The first block accomplished, with an adequate rent accruing86 to me as the builder, I fancy that I should never try a second. But Jones is undoubtedly the man for the West. It is that love of money to come, joined to a strong disregard for money made, which constitutes the vigorous frontier mind, the true pioneering organization. Monroe P. Jones would be a great man to all posterity87 if only he had a poet to sing of his valor88.
It may be imagined how large in proportion to its inhabitants will be a town which spreads itself in this way. There are great houses left untenanted, and great gaps left unfilled. But if the place be successful, if it promise success, it will be seen at once that there is life all through it. Omnibuses, or street cars working on rails, run hither and thither89. The shops that have been opened are well filled. The great hotels are thronged90. The quays91 are crowded with vessels92, and a general feeling of progress pervades93 the place. It is easy to perceive whether or no an American town is going ahead. The days of my visit to Milwaukee were days of civil war and national trouble, but in spite of civil war and national trouble Milwaukee looked healthy.
I have said that there was but little poverty — little to be seen of real want in these thriving towns — but that they who labored95 in them had nevertheless their own hardships. This is so. I would not have any man believe that he can take himself to the Western States of America — to those States of which I am now speaking — Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, or Illinois, and there by industry escape the ills to which flesh is heir. The laboring96 Irish in these towns eat meat seven days a week, but I have met many a laboring Irishman among them who has wished himself back in his old cabin. Industry is a good thing, and there is no bread so sweet as that which is eaten in the sweat of a man’s brow; but labor94 carried to excess wearies the mind as well as body, and the sweat that is ever running makes the bread bitter. There is, I think, no task-master over free labor so exacting97 as an American. He knows nothing of hours, and seems to have that idea of a man which a lady always has of a horse. He thinks that he will go forever. I wish those masons in London who strike for nine hours’ work with ten hours’ pay could be driven to the labor market of Western America for a spell. And moreover, which astonished me, I have seen men driven and hurried, as it were forced forward at their work, in a manner which, to an English workman, would be intolerable. This surprised me much, as it was at variance98 with our — or perhaps I should say with my — preconceived ideas as to American freedom. I had fancied that an American citizen would not submit to be driven; that the spirit of the country, if not the spirit of the individual, would have made it impossible. I thought that the shoe would have pinched quite on the other foot. But I found that such driving did exist, and American masters in the West with whom I had an opportunity of discussing the subject all admitted it. “Those men’ll never half move unless they’re driven,” a foreman said to me once as we stood together over some twenty men who were at their work. “They kinder look for it, and don’t well know how to get along when they miss it.” It was not his business at this moment to drive — nor was he driving. He was standing99 at some little distance from the scene with me, and speculating on the sight before him. I thought the men were working at their best; but their movements did not satisfy his practiced eye, and he saw at a glance that there was no one immediately over them.
But there is worse even than this. Wages in these regions are what we should call high. An agricultural laborer100 will earn perhaps fifteen dollars a month and his board, and a town laborer will earn a dollar a day. A dollar may be taken as representing four shillings, though it is in fact more. Food in these parts is much cheaper than in England, and therefore the wages must be considered as very good. In making, however, a just calculation it must be borne in mind that clothing is dearer than in England, and that much more of it is necessary. The wages nevertheless are high, and will enable the laborer to save money, if only he can get them paid. The complaint that wages are held back, and not even ultimately paid, is very common. There is no fixed101 rule for satisfying all such claims once a week, and thus debts to laborers102 are contracted, and when contracted are ignored. With us there is a feeling that it is pitiful, mean almost beyond expression, to wrong a laborer of his hire. We have men who go in debt to tradesmen perhaps without a thought of paying them; but when we speak of such a one who has descended103 into the lowest mire104 of insolvency105, we say that he has not paid his washerwoman. Out there in the West the washerwoman is as fair game as the tailor, the domestic servant as the wine merchant. If a man be honest he will not willingly take either goods or labor without payment; and it may be hard to prove that he who takes the latter is more dishonest than he who takes the former; but with us there is a prejudice in favor of one’s washerwoman by which the Western mind is not weakened. “They certainly have to be smart to get it,” a gentleman said to me whom I had taxed on the subject. “You see, on the frontier a man is bound to be smart. If he aint smart, he’d better go back East, perhaps as far as Europe; he’ll do there.” I had got my answer, and my friend had turned the question; but the fact was admitted by him, as it had been by many others.
Why this should be so is a question to answer which thoroughly would require a volume in itself. As to the driving, why should men submit to it, seeing that labor is abundant, and that in all newly-settled countries the laborer is the true hero of the age? In answer to this is to be alleged106 the fact that hired labor is chiefly done by fresh comers, by Irish and Germans, who have not as yet among them any combination sufficient to protect them from such usage. The men over them are new as masters, masters who are rough themselves, who themselves have been roughly driven, and who have not learned to be gracious to those below them. It is a part of their contract that very hard work shall be exacted, and the driving resolves itself into this: that the master, looking after his own interest, is constantly accusing his laborer of a breach107 of his part of the contract. The men no doubt do become used to it, and slacken probably in their endeavors when the tongue of the master or foreman is not heard. But as to that matter of non-payment of wages, the men must live; and here, as elsewhere, the master who omits to pay once will hardly find laborers in future. The matter would remedy itself elsewhere, and does it not do so here? This of course is so, and it is not to be understood that labor as a rule is defrauded108 of its hire. But the relation of the master and the man admit of such fraud here much more frequently than in England. In England the laborer who did not get his wages on the Saturday, could not go on for the next week. To him, under such circumstances, the world would be coming to an end. But in the Western States the laborer does not live so completely from hand to mouth. He is rarely paid by the week, is accustomed to give some credit, and, till hard pressed by bad circumstances, generally has something by him. They do save money, and are thus fattened109 up to a state which admits of victimization. I cannot owe money to the little village cobbler who mends my shoes, because he demands and receives his payment when his job is done. But to my friend in Regent Street I extend my custom on a different system; and when I make my start for continental110 life I have with him a matter of unsettled business to a considerable extent. The American laborer is in the condition of the Regent Street bootmaker, excepting in this respect, that he gives his credit under compulsion. “But does not the law set him right? Is there no law against debtors111?” The laws against debtors are plain enough as they are written down, but seem to be anything but plain when called into action. They are perfectly112 understood, and operations are carried on with the express purpose of evading113 them. If you proceed against a man, you find that his property is in the hands of some one else. You work in fact for Jones, who lives in the street next to you; but when you quarrel with Jones about your wages, you find that according to law you have been working for Smith, in another State. In all countries such dodges114 are probably practicable. But men will or will not have recourse to such dodges according to the light in which they are regarded by the community. In the Western States such dodges do not appear to be regarded as disgraceful. “It behoves a frontier man to be smart, sir.”
Honesty is the best policy. That is a doctrine115 which has been widely preached, and which has recommended itself to many minds as being one of absolute truth. It is not very ennobling in its sentiment, seeing that it advocates a special virtue116, not on the ground that that virtue is in itself a thing beautiful, but on account of the immediate60 reward which will be its consequence. Smith is enjoined117 not to cheat Jones, because he will, in the long run, make more money by dealing118 with Jones on the square. This is not teaching of the highest order; but it is teaching well adapted to human circumstances, and has obtained for itself a wide credit. One is driven, however, to doubt whether even this teaching is not too high for the frontier man. Is it possible that a frontier man should be scrupulous119 and at the same time successful? Hitherto those who have allowed scruples120 to stand in their way have not succeeded; and they who have succeeded and made for themselves great names, who have been the pioneers of civilization, have not allowed ideas of exact honesty to stand in their way. From General Jason down to General Fremont there have been men of great aspirations121 but of slight scruples. They have been ambitious of power and desirous of progress, but somewhat regardless how power and progress shall be attained122. Clive and Warren Hastings were great frontier men, but we cannot imagine that they had ever realized the doctrine that honesty is the best policy. Cortez, and even Columbus, the prince of frontier men, are in the same category. The names of such heroes is legion; but with none of them has absolute honesty been a favorite virtue. “It behoves a frontier man to be smart, sir.” Such, in that or other language, has been the prevailing123 idea. Such is the prevailing idea. And one feels driven to ask one’s self whether such must not be the prevailing idea with those who leave the world and its rules behind them, and go forth with the resolve that the world and its rules shall follow them.
Of filibustering124, annexation125, and polishing savages126 off the face of creation there has been a great deal, and who can deny that humanity has been the gainer? It seems to those who look widely back over history, that all such works have been carried on in obedience127 to God’s laws. When Jacob by Rebecca’s aid cheated his elder brother, he was very smart; but we cannot but suppose that a better race was by this smartness put in possession of the patriarchal scepter. Esau was polished off, and readers of Scripture128 wonder why heaven, with its thunder, did not open over the heads of Rebecca and her son. But Jacob, with all his fraud, was the chosen one. Perhaps the day may come when scrupulous honesty may be the best policy, even on the frontier. I can only say that hitherto that day seems to be as distant as ever. I do not pretend to solve the problem, but simply record my opinion that under circumstances as they still exist I should not willingly select a frontier life for my children.
I have said that all great frontier men have been unscrupulous. There is, however, an exception in history which may perhaps serve to prove the rule. The Puritans who colonized129 New England were frontier men, and were, I think, in general scrupulously130 honest. They had their faults. They were stern, austere131 men, tyrannical at the backbone132 when power came in their way, as are all pioneers, hard upon vices30 for which they who made the laws had themselves no minds; but they were not dishonest.
At Milwaukee I went up to see the Wisconsin volunteers, who were then encamped on open ground in the close vicinity of the town. Of Wisconsin I had heard before — and have heard the same opinion repeated since — that it was more backward in its volunteering than its neighbor States in the West. Wisconsin has 760,000 inhabitants, and its tenth thousand of volunteers was not then made up; whereas Indiana, with less than double its number, had already sent out thirty-six thousand. Iowa, with a hundred thousand less of inhabitants, had then made up fifteen thousand. But neverthless to me it seemed that Wisconsin was quite alive to its presumed duty in that respect. Wisconsin, with its three-quarters of a million of people, is as large as England. Every acre of it may be made productive, but as yet it is not half cleared. Of such a country its young men are its heart’s blood. Ten thousand men, fit to bear arms, carried away from such a land to the horrors of civil war, is a sight as full of sadness as any on which the eye can rest. Ah me, when will they return, and with what altered hopes! It is, I fear, easier to turn the sickle133 into the sword than to recast the sword back again into the sickle!
We found a completed regiment134 at Wisconsin consisting entirely135 of Germans. A thousand Germans had been collected in that State and brought together in one regiment, and I was informed by an officer on the ground that there are many Germans in sundry136 other of the Wisconsin regiments137. It may be well to mention here that the number of Germans through all these Western States is very great. Their number and well-being were to me astonishing. That they form a great portion of the population of New York, making the German quarter of that city the third largest German town in the world, I have long known; but I had no previous idea of their expansion westward. In Detroit nearly every third shop bore a German name, and the same remark was to be made at Milwaukee; and on all hands I heard praises of their morals, of their thrift138, and of their new patriotism139. I was continually told how far they exceeded the Irish settlers. To me in all parts of the world an Irishman is dear. When handled tenderly he becomes a creature most lovable. But with all my judgment140 in the Irishman’s favor, and with my prejudices leaning the same way, I feel myself bound to state what I heard and what I saw as to the Germans.
But this regiment of Germans, and another not completed regiment, called from the State generally, were as yet without arms, accouterments, or clothing. There was the raw material of the regiment, but there was nothing else. Winter was coming on — winter in which the mercury is commonly twenty degrees below zero — and the men were in tents with no provision against the cold. These tents held each two men, and were just large enough for two to lie. The canvas of which they were made seemed to me to be thin, but was, I think, always double. At this camp there was a house in which the men took their meals, but I visited other camps in which there was no such accommodation. I saw the German regiment called to its supper by tuck of drum, and the men marched in gallantly141, armed each with a knife and spoon. I managed to make my way in at the door after them, and can testify to the excellence of the provisions of which their supper consisted. A poor diet never enters into any combination of circumstances contemplated142 by an American. Let him be where he will, animal food is with him the first necessary of life, and he is always provided accordingly. As to those Wisconsin men whom I saw, it was probable that they might be marched off, down South to Washington, or to the doubtful glories of the Western campaign under Fremont, before the winter commenced. The same might have been said of any special regiment. But taking the whole mass of men who were collected under canvas at the end of the autumn of 1861, and who were so collected without arms or military clothing, and without protection from the weather, it did seem that the task taken in hand by the Commissariat of the Northern army was one not devoid143 of difficulty.
The view from Milwaukee over Lake Michigan is very pleasing. One looks upon a vast expanse of water to which the eye finds no bounds, and therefore there are none of the common attributes of lake beauty; but the color of the lake is bright, and within a walk of the city the traveler comes to the bluffs144 or low round-topped hills, from which we can look down upon the shores. These bluffs form the beauty of Wisconsin and Minnesota, and relieve the eye after the flat level of Michigan. Round Detroit there is no rising ground, and therefore, perhaps, it is that Detroit is uninteresting.
I have said that those who are called on to labor in these States have their own hardships, and I have endeavored to explain what are the sufferings to which the town laborer is subject. To escape from this is the laborer’s great ambition, and his mode of doing so consists almost universally in the purchase of land. He saves up money in order that he may buy a section of an allotment, and thus become his own master. All his savings145 are made with a view to this independence. Seated on his own land he will have to work probably harder than ever, but he will work for himself. No task-master can then stand over him and wound his pride with harsh words. He will be his own master; will eat the food which he himself has grown, and live in the cabin which his own hands have built. This is the object of his life; and to secure this position he is content to work late and early and to undergo the indignities146 of previous servitude. The government price for land is about five shillings an acre — one dollar and a quarter — and the settler may get it for this price if he be contented147 to take it not only untouched as regards clearing, but also far removed from any completed road. The traffic in these lands has been the great speculating business of Western men. Five or six years ago, when the rage for such purchases was at its height, land was becoming a scarce article in the market. Individuals or companies bought it up with the object of reselling it at a profit; and many, no doubt, did make money. Railway companies were, in fact, companies combined for the purchase of land. They purchased land, looking to increase the value of it fivefold by the opening of a railroad. It may easily be understood that a railway, which could not be in itself remunerative148, might in this way become a lucrative149 speculation. No settler could dare to place himself absolutely at a distance from any thoroughfare. At first the margins150 of nature’s highways, the navigable rivers and lakes, were cleared. But as the railway system grew and expanded itself, it became manifest that lands might be rendered quickly available which were not so circumstanced by nature. A company which had purchased an enormous territory from the United States government at five shillings an acre might well repay itself all the cost of a railway through that territory, even though the receipts of the railway should do no more than maintain the current expenses. It is in this way that the thousands of miles of American railroads have been opened; and here again must be seen the immense advantages which the States as a new country have enjoyed. With us the purchase of valuable land for railways, together with the legal expenses which those compulsory151 purchases entailed152, have been so great that with all our traffic railways are not remunerative. But in the States the railways have created the value of the land. The States have been able to begin at the right end, and to arrange that the districts which are benefited shall themselves pay for the benefit they receive.
The government price of land is 125 cents, or about five shillings an acre; and even this need not be paid at once if the settler purchase directly from the government. He must begin by making certain improvements on the selected land — clearing and cultivating some small portion, building a hut, and probably sinking a well. When this has been done — when he has thus given a pledge of his intentions by depositing on the land the value of a certain amount of labor, he cannot be removed. He cannot be removed for a term of years, and then if he pays the price of the land it becomes his own with an indefeasible title. Many such settlements are made on the purchase of warrants for land. Soldiers returning from the Mexican wars were donated with warrants for land — the amount being 160 acres, or the quarter of a section. The localities of such lands were not specified153, but the privilege granted was that of occupying any quarter-section not hitherto tenanted. It will, of course, be understood that lands favorably situated154 would be tenanted. Those contiguous to railways were of course so occupied, seeing that the lines were not made till the lands were in the hands of the companies. It may therefore be understood of what nature would be the traffic in these warrants. The owner of a single warrant might find it of no value to him. To go back utterly155 into the woods, away from river or road, and there to commence with 160 acres of forest, or even of prairie, would be a hopeless task even to an American settler. Some mode of transport for his produce must be found before his produce would be of value — before, indeed, he could find the means of living. But a company buying up a large aggregate of such warrants would possess the means of making such allotments valuable and of reselling them at greatly increased prices.
The primary settler, therefore — who, however, will not usually have been the primary owner — goes to work upon his land amid all the wildness of nature. He levels and burns the first trees, and raises his first crop of corn amid stumps156 still standing four or five feet above the soil; but he does not do so till some mode of conveyance has been found for him. So much I have said hoping to explain the mode in which the frontier speculator paves the way for the frontier agriculturist. But the permanent farmer very generally comes on the land as the third owner. The first settler is a rough fellow, and seems to be so wedded157 to his rough life that he leaves his land after his first wild work is done, and goes again farther off to some untouched allotment. He finds that he can sell his improvements at a profitable rate and takes the price. He is a preparer of farms rather than a farmer. He has no love for the soil which his hand has first turned. He regards it merely as an investment; and when things about him are beginning to wear an aspect of comfort, when his property has become valuable, he sells it, packs up his wife and little ones, and goes again into the woods. The Western American has no love for his own soil or his own house. The matter with him is simply one of dollars. To keep a farm which he could sell at an advantage from any feeling of affection — from what we should call an association of ideas — would be to him as ridiculous as the keeping of a family pig would be in an English farmer’s establishment. The pig is a part of the farmer’s stock in trade, and must go the way of all pigs. And so is it with house and land in the life of the frontier man in the Western States.
But yet this man has his romance, his high poetic158 feeling, and above all his manly159 dignity. Visit him, and you will find him without coat or waistcoat, unshorn, in ragged160 blue trowsers and old flannel161 shirt, too often bearing on his lantern jaws162 the signs of ague and sickness; but he will stand upright before you and speak to you with all the ease of a lettered gentleman in his own library. All the odious163 incivility of the republican servant has been banished164. He is his own master, standing on his own threshold, and finds no need to assert his equality by rudeness. He is delighted to see you, and bids you sit down on his battered165 bench without dreaming of any such apology as an English cottier offers to a Lady Bountiful when she calls. He has worked out his independence, and shows it in every easy movement of his body. He tells you of it unconsciously in every tone of his voice. You will always find in his cabin some newspaper, some book, some token of advance in education. When he questions you about the old country he astonishes you by the extent of his knowledge. I defy you not to feel that he is superior to the race from whence he has sprung in England or in Ireland. To me I confess that the manliness166 of such a man is very charming. He is dirty, and, perhaps, squalid. His children are sick and he is without comforts. His wife is pale, and you think you see shortness of life written in the faces of all the family. But over and above it all there is an independence which sits gracefully167 on their shoulders, and teaches you at the first glance that the man has a right to assume himself to be your equal. It is for this position that the laborer works, bearing hard words and the indignity168 of tyranny; suffering also too often the dishonest ill usage which his superior power enables the master to inflict169.
“I have lived very rough,” I heard a poor woman say, whose husband had ill used and deserted170 her. “I have known what it is to be hungry and cold, and to work hard till my bones have ached. I only wish that I might have the same chance again. If I could have ten acres cleared two miles away from any living being, I could be happy with my children. I find a kind of comfort when I am at work from daybreak to sundown, and know that it is all my own.” I believe that life in the backwoods has an allurement171 to those who have been used to it that dwellers172 in cities can hardly comprehend.
From Milwaukee we went across Wisconsin, and reached the Mississippi at La Crosse. From hence, according to agreement, we were to start by steamer at once up the river. But we were delayed again, as had happened to us before on Lake Michigan at Grand Haven.
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1
procrustean
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| adj.强求一致的 | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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indicator
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| n.指标；指示物，指示者；指示器 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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mattresses
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| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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installment
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| n.(instalment)分期付款；(连载的)一期 | |
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confides
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的第三人称单数 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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tallies
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| n.账( tally的名词复数 )；符合；（计数的）签；标签v.计算，清点( tally的第三人称单数 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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juts
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| v.（使）突出( jut的第三人称单数 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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48
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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49
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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50
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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51
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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52
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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54
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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58
pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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gratuitous
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| adj.无偿的，免费的；无缘无故的，不必要的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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census
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| n.(官方的)人口调查，人口普查 | |
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62
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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64
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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founders
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| n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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75
allocated
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| adj. 分配的 动词allocate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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abortive
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| adj.不成功的，发育不全的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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81
aggregate
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| adj.总计的，集合的；n.总数；v.合计；集合 | |
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82
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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83
covetousness
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84
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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85
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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86
accruing
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| v.增加( accrue的现在分词 )；（通过自然增长）产生；获得；（使钱款、债务）积累 | |
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87
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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88
valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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89
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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90
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
quays
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| 码头( quay的名词复数 ) | |
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92
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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93
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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94
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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95
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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96
laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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97
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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98
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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99
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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100
laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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101
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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102
laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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103
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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104
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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105
insolvency
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| n.无力偿付，破产 | |
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106
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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107
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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108
defrauded
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| v.诈取，骗取( defraud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
fattened
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| v.喂肥( fatten的过去式和过去分词 )；养肥（牲畜）；使（钱）增多；使（公司）升值 | |
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110
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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111
debtors
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| n.债务人，借方( debtor的名词复数 ) | |
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112
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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113
evading
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| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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114
dodges
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| n.闪躲( dodge的名词复数 )；躲避；伎俩；妙计v.闪躲( dodge的第三人称单数 )；回避 | |
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115
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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116
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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117
enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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119
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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120
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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121
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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122
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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123
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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124
filibustering
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| v.阻碍或延宕国会或其他立法机构通过提案( filibuster的现在分词 )；掠夺 | |
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125
annexation
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| n.吞并，合并 | |
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126
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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127
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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128
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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129
colonized
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| 开拓殖民地，移民于殖民地( colonize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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131
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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132
backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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133
sickle
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| n.镰刀 | |
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134
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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135
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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136
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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137
regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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138
thrift
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| adj.节约，节俭；n.节俭，节约 | |
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139
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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140
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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141
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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142
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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143
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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144
bluffs
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| 恐吓( bluff的名词复数 )； 悬崖； 峭壁 | |
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145
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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146
indignities
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| n.侮辱，轻蔑( indignity的名词复数 ) | |
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147
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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148
remunerative
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| adj.有报酬的 | |
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149
lucrative
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| adj.赚钱的，可获利的 | |
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150
margins
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| 边( margin的名词复数 )； 利润； 页边空白； 差数 | |
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151
compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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152
entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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153
specified
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| adj.特定的 | |
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154
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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155
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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156
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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157
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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158
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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159
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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160
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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161
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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162
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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163
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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164
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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165
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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166
manliness
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| 刚毅 | |
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167
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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168
indignity
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| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
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169
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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170
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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171
allurement
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| n.诱惑物 | |
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172
dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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