[Subsection]

You now find me here, a few miles from the great Mississippi, in a little town, picturesquely situated among hills beside a little river, called Five River, which, with many sinuosities, winds through the glens. The town is supported by its lead mines, which are general in this highland district; by mining, smelting, and the export of this heavy, dark metal. A leaden sky hung over the town as I entered it, and I see in the street old madams waddling about in dull gray-colored cloaks and old bonnets, very much like poor old madams in shabby bonnets and cloaks in the streets of Stockholm in gray autumn weather; gentlemen too, or semi-gentlemen, in ragged coats--but less annoyed by them than they would be with us. Every thing looks dolefully gray; and it is as cold as it is in November with us. Yesterday it was quite otherwise. Yesterday was a most glorious summer day.

It rained when at dawn I left Blue Mound, but soon afterward cleared up; the wind chased the clouds across the immense plain, and the play of light and shadow over it, and those glorious views--I can not express how much I enjoyed that day's journey! The road along that high prairie-land was hard and level as the roads with us in summer. The diligence in which I sat, for the most part alone, rolled lightly across the plain, and seemed to fly over it, approaching every moment nearer to the giant river, the western goal of my journey. The wind was as warm as with us in July; and these western views, which increased in grandeur the nearer we approached the great river, produced an unspeakable effect. I never experienced any thing similar produced by a natural object.

As the day wore on the roads became worse, and late in the evening I arrived, excessively weary, at the little town of Waterville, if I rightly remember the name. It   [p. 647]   was very dark, although the sky was brilliant with stars. I was hungry and tired, and wished to remain all night at the hotel, partly that I might rest, and partly that I might perform the remainder of the journey by daylight, and thus see the great giant plain.

But the hotel was occupied by gentlemen who were now assembled here in convention on educational questions, and were just at this moment in session. There was no room for me; and when I spoke of my fatigue, and my reluctance to travel by night along roads which frequently were no roads at all, and upon which the diligence was overturned six times in the week, the landlord replied by telling me about the great and important Convention which was sitting in the city, and of the remarkable men who were assembled here on that occasion, and who were lodged in his house. He was so important, and so full of the great Convention, and the members of which were lodged in his house, that he had neither ear nor heart for the poor, weary traveling lady, who prayed for a little room merely for one night. I talked of the home of yesterday; and he talked about the parsonage, and between the two there was no comparison. "This hotel," said he, "was properly no hotel for ladies, but merely for gentlemen." There was, however, another hotel in the town, and he offered me a guide to show me the way.

But this also was occupied by the distinguished members of he Convention. "And in any case, I must travel by night, as the diligence did not go to Galena at any other time. I might depend upon having, to-night, the most steady driver; the night was beautiful, and--I should get very safely and very well to Galena!" So said the landlord.

As this meeting of the distinguished men of the great Convention was likely to last till late at night, and as the diligence was going to set off immediately, I had no hope of being able to speak with any of them, and to ask from them that politeness and hospitality which the landlord   [p. 648]   of the hotel was so wholly deficient in. I was compelled to set off.

"My good friend," said I, beseechingly, to the driver of the diligence, "I am a stranger from a distant country, and I am alone. Promise not to overturn me!"

"That I can not promise you, ma'am," replied he; "but I will promise to do my best to bring you safely to the end of your journey."

It was a rational answer, and was spoken in a voice which inspired me with confidence. I took my seat in the diligence, and left the first inhospitable, unfriendly place which I had found in America. There were three or four gentlemen in the diligence; I was the only lady. It was so dark that I could not see their countenances; but their voices and their inquiries told me that they were young and of an uneducated class.

"Are you scared, Miss Bremer?"

"Are you afraid, ma'am?" and so on, were the exclamations with which they immediately overwhelmed me, in a good-tempered and cheerful, but somewhat rude style. I replied to their questions by the monosyllable "No!" and was then left in peace. I was not, however, without uneasiness as regarded the nocturnal journey. I had heard of the diligence being lately overturned, of one lady having broken an arm; of another receiving so severe an injury in the side that she still lay sick in consequence of it at Galena; of a gentleman who received a blow on the head that left him insensible for several hours, and various other such occurrences.

Several of the young men were unknown to each other, but they soon became acquainted. One of them was going to be the schoolmaster somewhere not far from the Mississippi. He stammered woefully, and his pronunciation was broad and like the bleating of a sheep. One of the other gentlemen asked him whether he could solve a mathematical problem "in water." The schoolmaster   [p. 649]   seemed to be completely nonplused by this question, and his new teacher began to describe the experiment to him circumstantially, in a way which certainly would very much have amused Fabian Wrede. The schoolmaster put various questions which showed that he was not at all familiar with this water art, and when, soon after, he left the diligence his teacher exclaimed, "Ar'n't he green for a schoolmaster?" and all burst out into laughter. They were evidently green altogether, though harmless and good-tempered. They began singing negro songs, and sang "Oh Susanna," "Dandy Jem from Caroline," and others very well, and in character. After this they slept. The night was beautiful and clear, and the road not so very bad; the driver evidently good and careful. Once only did we stick fast, and then the young fellows were obliged to get out and help us along.

About half past twelve we arrived at our journey's end without any disaster. All the world of Galena seemed to be fast asleep; even at the hotel all was silent and dark.

The porter of the "American House," an old man with a strongly-marked English countenance, bushy eyebrows, prominent nose and chin, with an expression of humor and something gentlemanlike in his aspect and demeanor, came out with a candle in his hand, and very soon took me and my effects in charge. He showed me into a nice little room; but when I looked to see if the door would lock I found that the key would not turn. On this discovery, I called to my old gentleman and showed him my difficulty. He replied that I need only set my little portmanteau against the door to secure it. "That was all that I needed for my security," he said. But when I insisted upon it that this was not enough to satisfy me, he began working at the lock, till at length the double lock suddenly shot out, and the door was fast. That was very good, so far; but now, when he wished to unlock it to depart, it was just as immovable as before. He turned and   [p. 650]   turned, and could not move it the least in the world. The old gentleman and I were locked in the room, for there was no other means of egress but by this door. Very agreeable this!

At this discovery he made such a comical grimace that I could not help bursting out into a hearty peal of laughter; and when he, during a few minutes, had exerted all his art and all his strength to no purpose, and the door remained as firmly closed as ever, I tried what I could do. And, first, I examined the lock very minutely, and was not long in discovering a little spring, upon which I pressed my finger, and immediately the bolt sprang back, and opening the large door, I allowed the old gentleman to escape, who did not look much less pleased than I did to have got so well out of this adventure.

Later. I was here interrupted by a visit and the necessity to go out into "the ladies' parlor." A handsome young lady was sitting there, and singing so false, that it tortured me to the very soul to hear her; nor did she seem as if she would ever come to an end. A young gentleman, who sat beside her and turned over the leaves of the music, must have been altogether without an ear, or altogether over head and ears in love.

I heard an interesting account from a married couple whom I received in my room, and who are just now come from the wilderness beyond the Mississippi, of the so-called Squatters, a kind of white people who constitute a portion of the first colonists of the Western country. They settle themselves down here and there in the wilderness, cultivate the earth, and cultivate freedom, but will not become acquainted with any other kind of cultivation. They pay no taxes, and will not acknowledge either law or church. They live in families, have no social life, but are extremely peaceable, and no way guilty of any violation of law. All that they desire is to be at peace, and to have free elbow-room. They live very amicably with the Indians, not so well with the American whites. When   [p. 651]   these latter come with their schools, their churches, and their shops, then the Squatters withdraw themselves further and still further into the wilderness, in order to be able, as they say, to live in innocence and freedom. The whole of the Western country beyond the Mississippi, and as far as the Pacific Ocean, is said to be inhabited by patches with these Squatters, or tillers of the land, the origin of whom is said to be as much unknown as that of the Clay-eaters of South Carolina and Georgia. Their way of life has also a resemblance. The Squatters, however, evince more power and impulse of labor; the Clay-eaters subject the life of nature. The Squatters are the representatives of the wilderness, and stand as such in stiff opposition to cultivation.