By occasional remarks, I gathered that the girls had been to an “Eastern” boarding-school, that particular feature in civilization not yet flourishing in the Northwestern States. It seemed to us that we could trace in the dialect of the several members of this family, the gradations and peculiarities that denote the origin and habits of individuals. Thus, the grandmother was not quite as Western in her forms of speech as her matronly daughter, while the grandchildren evidently spoke under the influence of boarding-school correction, or like girls who had been often lectured on the subject “First rate,” and “Yes, sir,” and “That's a fact,” were often in the mouth of the pleasing mother, and even the grandmother used them all, though not as often as her daughter, while the young people looked a little concerned and surprised, whenever they came out of the mouth of their frank-speaking mother. That these persons were not of a very high social class was evident enough, even in their language. There was much occasion to mention New York, we found, and they uniformly called it “the city.” By no accident did either of them happen to use the expression that she had been “in town,” as one of us would be apt to say. “He's gone to the city,” or “She's in the city,” are awkward phrases, and tant soit peu vulgar; but even our pretty young boarding-school eleves would use them. We have a horror of the expression “city,” and are a little fastidious, perhaps, touching its use.
But these little peculiarities were spots on the sun. The entire family, taken as a whole, was really charming; and long before the hour for retiring came, we had become much interested in them all. We found there was a fifth person belonging to this party, who did not make his appearance that night. From the discourse of these females, however, it was easy to glean the following leading facts: This fifth person was a male; he was indisposed, and kept his berth; and he was quite aged. Several nice little dishes were carried from the table into his state-room that evening, by one or the other of the young sisters, and each of the party appeared anxious to contribute to the invalid's comfort. All this sympathy excited our interest, and we had some curiosity to see this old man, long ere it was time to retire. As for the females, no name was mentioned among them but that of a Mrs. Osborne, who was once or twice alluded to in full. It was “grandma,” and “ma,” and “Dolly,” and “sis.” We should have liked it better had it been “mother,” and “grandmother,” and that the “sis” had been called Betsey or Molly; but we do not wish to be understood as exhibiting these amiable and good-looking strangers as models of refinement. “Ma” and “sis” did well enough, all things considered, though “mamma” would have been better if they were not sufficiently polished to say “mother.”
We had a pleasant night of it, and all the passengers appeared next morning with smiling faces. It often blows heavily on that lake, but light airs off the land were all the breezes we encountered. We were among the first to turn out, and on the upper deck forward, a place where the passengers are fond of collecting, as it enables them to look ahead, we found a single individual who immediately drew all of our attention to himself. It was an aged man, with hair already as white as snow. Still there was that in his gait, attitudes, and all his movements which indicated physical vigor, not to say the remains, at least, of great elasticity and sinewy activity. Aged as he was, and he must have long since passed his fourscore years, his form was erect as that of a youth. In stature he was of rather more than middle height, and in movements deliberate and dignified. His dress was quite plain, being black, and according to the customs of the day. The color of his face and hands, however, as well as the bold outlines of his countenance, and the still keen, restless, black eye, indicated the Indian.
Here, then, was a civilized red man, and it struck us at once, that he was an ancient child of the forest, who had been made to feel the truths of the gospel. One seldom hesitates about addressing an Indian, and we commenced a discourse with our venerable fellow-passenger, with very little circumlocution or ceremony.
“Good-morning, sir,” we observed—“a charming time we have of it, on the lake.”
“Yes—good time—” returned my red neighbor, speaking short and clipped, like an Indian, but pronouncing his words as if long accustomed to the language.
“These steamboats are great inventions for the western lakes, as are the railroads for this vast inland region. I dare say you can remember Lake Erie when it was an unusual thing to see a sail of any sort on it; and now, I should think, we might count fifty.”
“Yes—great change—great change, friend!—all change from ole time.”
“The traditions of your people, no doubt, give you reason to see and feel all this?”
The predominant expression of this red man's countenance was that of love. On everything, on every human being toward whom he turned his still expressive eyes, the looks he gave them would seem to indicate interest and affection. This expression was so decided and peculiar, that we early remarked it, and it drew us closer and closer to the old chief, the longer we remained in his company. That expression, however, slightly changed when we made this allusion to the traditions of his people, and a cloud passed before his countenance. This change, nevertheless, was as transient as it was sudden, the benevolent and gentle look returning almost as soon as it had disappeared. He seemed anxious to atone for this involuntary expression of regrets for the past, by making his communications to me as free as they could be.