One fracas was ludicrous, although I could not but regret the result. It is well known, that the inhabitants of the several western States are called by certain nicknames. Those of Michigan are called wolverines; of Indiana, hooshers; of Illinois, suckers; of Ohio, buckeyes; of Kentucky, corn-crackers; of Missouri, pukes, &c. To call a person by his right nickname, is always taken in good part, and gives no offence; but nothing is more offensive than to mis-nickname—that is, were you to call a hoosher a wolverine, his blood would be up in a moment, and he would immediately show fight.—Now it so happened that the mate, who was a regular built buckeye, had a dispute with a wood hand, who was about half drunk, and refused to wood. The mate stood on the lower deck, and he on the deck above; and in the course of the wrangle, he had called him some terrible hard names, which he bore with becoming fortitude and forbearance. At length, the wood hand called him a "d—d old puke!" This was too much—unendurable. He fired in a moment—rushed up and floored him in a twinkling—dragged him down by his collar, thrust him ashore, and left him in the woods.
But the steamboat, the steamboat! For noise and confusion, give me the Mississippi steamboat. They all have powerful high-pressure engines; the escape pipe is large, and at every breath they make a tremendous noise. They "talk big," and swiftly dash through the water. It is indeed a grand display, to see the steamboats pass. In "a voice of thunder" they come—the wheels lash the water—and the prows cut the stream—and the waves roll in violent commotion for hundreds of yards behind them. And then, the noise of the engine, and hurry and bustle of the passengers within:—an excellent place to cure one of the ennui.
On board our boat, we had a number of very intelligent and agreeable gentlemen—Kentuckians, Tennesseans, Mississippians, &c. I wish these western people would be a little more exact in speaking the English language. Some inaccuracies I observed; and if this book ever reaches them, they will not be offended, but obliged to me for these suggestions. In the first place, they use the word which instead of what. Ask a question, and if they do not understand you, they reply "which?"—Another phrase, "I have saw," instead of "I have seen," is often used. Then there is "a right smart chance," applied to almost every thing; and "tote in the plunder," instead of "bring in the baggage." But the word heap has too much by far heaped upon its shoulders. "A heap better," "a heap easier," and "a heap of ladies," are phrases often heard. I may be a little sensitive, but the word heap is very disagreeable, and I wish it was expunged from the English vocabulary. All these expressions are not used by many literary men in this country, but they are indeed, quite too common.
They have some peculiarities in the calling of money. A New-England ninepence is called a bit; and the four-pence-half-penny bears the name of pickaroon. In travelling from New-Hampshire to Virginia some years ago, I was somewhat amused at the different names given to the same piece of money. My four-pence-half-penny became at New-York a sixpence, at Philadelphia a fip, and at Virginia it became a four-pence-half-penny again. But all these singularities and inconveniences will soon be done away, and money will universally bear its legal title, dollars and cents.
There is an independent frankness in these western people that I admire. It is a kind of individuality of character—every one appears to act out himself, without reference to others. At the north, people are too apt to follow the multitude, or a particular file leader; and by them, shape their opinions and actions. In order to tell whether they will do a particular act, they must look about them, and ascertain what others will say of it. The politician must conform to the usages of his party, whatever they may be. He must think as they think, and act as they act, whether it be agreeable to the dictates of his own conscience or not. The pious lady must be exactly in the fashion—conform to certain leaders—be charitable by rule—and kind, in the most approved mode. If any one has the boldness to take an independent course, in fashion, politics or religion, he is looked upon with suspicion, as a dangerous innovator, and must not be tolerated. The dogs of war are let loose upon him, and he is hunted down for entertaining an opinion of his own. In this manner, individual character becomes swallowed up and lost in that of the multitude.
But in this region, nature is true to herself. The useless and cumbersome shackles of custom and party are thrown aside with disdain; and the individual walks forth in his own native freedom and independence. He does not shape his course by what his neighbors may say, do or think; but acts according to the dictates of his own heart, and from his own opinion of right and wrong. He is charitable, kind and hospitable—not in a grudging, supercilious manner; or in a way calculated to display himself; but with such an air of open-hearted welcome, as to make the recipient feel at ease, and doubles the value of the kindness bestowed. How can man be niggardly and mean, among the teeming prairies and stately forests of the West, where nature herself, by showering down her blessings with a bountiful hand, teaches him also to be liberal!
And I have often to myself reversed the question and asked, how can northern people be other than inhospitable and niggardly, living in such a crabbed climate, and on such a barren soil. They cannot, in general, afford to be liberal; and were it otherwise, the severe labor and economy—the continual dealing in small things—the constant rack of brains, to find some method to turn a penny to advantage—that must be gone through with, to gain a large estate, seem to drive out of the head of the possessor all notions of liberality, and tend to steel the heart against noble acts of kindness. That which costs much, and is rarely obtained, is highly valued, and not lightly parted with. We are not well educated in the school of hospitality. We awkwardly perform its teachings—seldom with gracefulness and a hearty welcome.