To-day I visited Ascot. Race-courses are similar every where, and present the same objects; good horses, cruel riders, knowing men, dupes, jockeys, gamblers, and a large assemblage of mixed company. But this is a gayer scene than most others; and every epithet, appropriate to a course, diminutive or otherwise, must be in the superlative degree when applied to Ascot. This is the general, and often the only impression that most men carry away with them.
Mr. Slick, who regards these things practically, called my attention to another view of it.
“Squire,” said he, “I’d a plaguy sight sooner see Ascot than any thing else to England. There ain’t nothin’ like it. I don’t mean the racin’, because they can’t go ahead like us, if they was to die for it. We have colts that can whip chain lightnin’, on a pinch. Old Clay trotted with it once all round an orchard, and beat it his whole length, but it singed his tail properly as he passed it, you may depend. It ain’t its runnin’ I speak of, therefore, though that ain’t mean nother; but it’s got another featur’, that you’ll know it by from all others. Oh it’s an everlastin’ pity you warn’t here, when I was to England last time. Queen was there then; and where she is, of coarse all the world and its wife is too. She warn’t there this year, and it sarves folks right. If I was an angelyferous queen, like her, I wouldn’t go nowhere till I had a tory minister, and then a feller that had a “trigger-eye” would stand a chance to get a white hemp-neckcloth. I don’t wonder Hume don’t like young England; for when that boy grows up, he’ll teach some folks that they had better let some folks alone, or some folks had better take care of some folks’ ampersands that’s all.
“The time I speak of, people went in their carriages, and not by railroad. Now, pr’aps you don’t know, in fact you can’t know, for you can’t cypher, colonists ain’t no good at figurs, but if you did know, the way to judge of a nation is by its private carriages. From Hyde Park corner to Ascot Heath, is twenty odd miles. Well, there was one whole endurin’ stream of carriages all the way, sometimes havin’ one or two eddies, and where the toll-gates stood, havin’ still water for ever so far. Well, it flowed and flowed on for hours and hours without stoppin’, like a river; and when you got up to the race-ground, there was the matter of two or three tiers of carriages, with the hosses off, packed as close as pins in a paper.
“It costs near hand to twelve hundred dollars a-year to keep up a carriage here. Now for goodness’ sake jist multiply that everlastin’ string of carriages by three hundred pounds each, and see what’s spent in that way every year, and then multiply that by ten hundred thousand more that’s in other places to England you don’t see, and then tell me if rich people here ain’t as thick as huckleberries.”
“Well, when you’ve done, go to France, to Belgium, and to Prussia, three sizeable places for Europe, and rake and scrape every private carriage they’ve got, and they ain’t no touch to what Ascot can show. Well, when you’ve done your cypherin’, come right back to London, as hard as you can clip from the race-course, and you won’t miss any of ‘em; the town is as full as ever, to your eyes. A knowin’ old coon, bred and born to London, might, but you couldn’t.
“Arter that’s over, go and pitch the whole bilin’ of ‘em into the Thames, hosses, carriages, people, and all; and next day, if it warn’t for the black weepers and long faces of them that’s lost money by it, and the black crape and happy faces of them that’s got money, or titles, or what not by it, you wouldn’t know nothin’ about it. Carriages wouldn’t rise ten cents in the pound in the market. A stranger, like you, if you warn’t told, wouldn’t know nothin’ was the matter above common. There ain’t nothin’ to England shows its wealth like this.
“Says father to me when I came back, ‘Sam,’ sais he, ‘what struck you most?’
“‘Ascot Races,’ sais I.
“‘Jist like you,’ sais he. ‘Hosses and galls is all you think of. Wherever they be, there you are, that’s a fact. You’re a chip of the old block, my boy. There ain’t nothin’ lake ‘em; is there?’
“Well, he was half right, was father. It’s worth seein’ for hosses and galls too; but it’s worth seein’ for its carriage wealth alone. Heavens and airth, what a rich country it must be that has such a show in that line as England. Don’t talk of stock, for it may fail; or silver-smiths’ shops, for you can’t tell what’s plated; or jewels, for they may be paste; or goods, for they may be worth only half nothin’; but talk of the carriages, them’s the witnesses that don’t lie.
“And what do they say? ‘Calcutta keeps me, and China keeps me, and Bot’ney Bay keeps me, and Canada keeps me, and Nova Scotia keeps me, and the whales keep me, and the white bears keep me, and every thing on the airth keeps me, every thing under the airth keeps me. In short, all the world keeps me.’”
“No, not all the world, Sam,” said Mr. Hopewell; “there are some repudiative States that don’t keep me; and if you go to the auction rooms, you’ll see some beautiful carriages for sale, that say, ‘the United States’ Bank used to keep me,’ and some more that say, ‘Nick Biddle put me down.’”
“Minister, I won’t stand that,” said Mr. Slick. “I won’t stay here and hear you belittle Uncle Sam that way for nothin’. He ain’t wuss than John Bull, arter all. Ain’t there no swindle-banks here? Jist tell me that. Don’t our liners fetch over, every trip, fellers that cut and run from England, with their fobs filled with other men’s money? Ain’t there lords in this country that know how to “repudiate” as well as ring-tail-roarers in ourn. So come now, don’t throw stones till you put your window-shutters to, or you may stand a smart chance of gettin’ your own glass broke, that’s a fact.’
“And then, Squire, jist look at the carriages. I’ll bet you a goose and trimmin’s you can’t find their ditto nowhere. They are carriages, and no mistake, that’s a fact. Look at the hosses, the harness, the paint, the linin’s, the well-dressed, lazy, idle, infarnal hansum servants, (these rascals, I suspicion, are picked out for their looks), look at the whole thing all through the piece, take it, by and large, stock, lock, and barrel, and it’s the dandy, that’s a fact. Don’t it cost money, that’s all? Sumtotalize it then, and see what it all comes to. It would make your hair stand on eend, I know. If it was all put into figure, it would reach clean across the river; and if it was all put into dollars, it would make a solid tire of silver, and hoop the world round and round, like a wheel.
“If you want to give a man an idea of England, Squire, tell him of Ascot; and if you want to cram him, get old Multiplication-table Joe H— to cast it up; for he’ll make it come to twice as much as it railly is, and that will choke him. Yes, Squire, stick to Ascot.”
A cunning man is generally a suspicious one, and is as often led into error himself by his own misconceptions, as protected from imposition by his habitual caution.
Mr. Slick, who always acted on a motive, and never on an impulse, and who concealed his real objects behind ostensible ones, imagined that everybody else was governed by the same principle of action; and, therefore, frequently deceived himself by attributing designs to others that never existed but in his own imagination.
Whether the following story of the gander pulling was a fancy sketch of the Attache, or a narrative of facts, I had no means of ascertaining. Strange interviews and queer conversations he constantly had with official as well as private individuals, but as he often gave his opinions the form of an anecdote, for the purpose of interesting his hearers, it was not always easy to decide whether his stories were facts or fictions.
If, on the present occasion, it was of the latter description, it is manifest that he entertained no very high opinion of the constitutional changes effected in the government of the colonies by the Whigs, during their long and perilous rule. If of the former kind, it is to be lamented that he concealed his deliberate convictions under an allegorical piece of humour. His disposition to “humbug” was so great, it was difficult to obtain a plain straightforward reply from him; but had the Secretary of State put the question to him in direct terms, what he thought of Lord Durham’s “Responsible government,” and the practical working of it under Lord Sydenham’s and Sir Charles Bagot’s administration, he would have obtained a plain and intelligible answer. If the interview to which he alludes ever did take place, (which I am bound to add, is very doubtful, notwithstanding the minuteness with which it is detailed), it is deeply to be regretted that he was not addressed in that frank manner which could alone elicit his real sentiments; for I know of no man so competent to offer an opinion on these subjects as himself.
To govern England successfully, it is necessary to know the temper of Englishmen. Obvious as this appears to be, the frequent relinquishment of government measures, by the dominant party, shows that their own statesmen are sometimes deficient in this knowledge.
Mr. Slick says, that if Sir James Graham had consulted him, he could have shown him how to carry the educational clauses of his favourite bill This, perhaps, is rather an instance of Mr. Slick’s vanity, than a proof of his sagacity. But if this species of information is not easy of attainment here, even by natives, how difficult must it be to govern a people three thousand miles off, who differ most materially in thought, word, and deed, from their official rulers.
Mr. Slick, when we had not met during the day, generally visited me at night, about the time I usually returned from a dinner-party, and amused me by a recital of his adventures.
“Squire,” said he, “I have had a most curious capur to-day, and one that will interest you, I guess. Jist as I was a settin’ down to breakfast this mornin’, and was a turnin’ of an egg inside out into a wine-glass, to salt, pepper and batter it for Red-lane Alley, I received a note from a Mister Pen, saying the Right Honourable Mr. Tact would be glad, if it was convenient, if I would call down to his office, to Downin’ Street, to-day, at four o’clock. Thinks says I to myself, ‘What’s to pay now? Is it the Boundary Line, or Creole Case, or Colonial Trade, or the Burnin’ of the Caroline, or Right o’ Sarch? or what national subject is on the carpet to-day? Howsundever,’ sais I, ‘let the charge be what it will, slugs, rifle-bullets, or powder, go I must, that’s a fact.’ So I tips him a shot right off; here’s the draft, Sir; it’s in reg’lar state lingo.
“Well, when the time comes, I rigs up, puts on the legation coat, calls a cab, and downs to Downing Street, and looks as dignified as I cleverly knew how.
“When I enters the outer door, I sees a man in an arm-chair in the entry, and he looked like a buster, I tell you, jist ready to blow up with the steam of all the secrets he had in his byler.
“‘Can I see Mr. Tact?’ sais I.
“‘Tell you directly,’ sais he, jist short like; for Englishmen are kinder costive of words; they don’t use more nor will do, at no time; and he rings a bell. This brings in his second in command; and sais he, ‘Pray walk in here, if you please, Sir,’ and he led me into a little plain, stage-coach-house lookin’ room, with nothin’ but a table and two or three chairs in it; and says he, ‘Who shall I say, Sir?’
“‘The Honourable Mr. Slick,’ sais I, ‘Attache of the American Legation to the court of Saint Jimses’ Victoria.’
“Off he sot; and there I waited and waited for ever so long, but he didn’t come back. Well, I walked to the winder and looked out, but there was nothin’ to see there; and then I turned and looked at a great big map on the wall, and there was nothin’ I didn’t know there; and then I took out my pen-knife to whittle, but my nails was all whittled off already, except one, and that was made into a pen, and I didn’t like to spile that; and as there wasn’t any thing I could get hold of, I jist slivered a great big bit off the leg of the chair, and began to make a toothpick of it. And when I had got that finished, I begins to get tired; for nothin’ makes me so peskilly oneasy as to be kept waitin’; for if a Clockmaker don’t know the valy of time, who the plague does?
“So jist to pass it away, I began to hum ‘Jim Brown.’ Did you ever hear it, Squire? it’s a’most a beautiful air, as most all them nigger songs are. I’ll make you a varse, that will suit a despisable colonist exactly.
“Airth and seas! If you was to sing that ‘ere song there, how it would make ‘em stare; wouldn’t it? Such words as them was never heerd in that patronage office, I guess; and yet folks must have often thort it too; that’s a fact.
“I was a hummin’ the rael ‘Jim Brown,’ and got as far as:
when I stopped right in the middle of it, for it kinder sorter struck it me warn’t dignified to be a singin’ of nigger-catches that way. So says I to myself, ‘This ain’t respectful to our great nation to keep a high functionary a waitin’ arter this fashion, is it? Guess I’d better assart the honour of our republic by goin’ away; and let him see that it warn’t me that was his lackey last year.’
“Well, jist as I had taken the sleeve of my coat and given my hat a rub over with it, (a good hat will carry off an old suit of clothes any time, but a new suit of clothes will never carry off an old hat, so I likes to keep my hat in good order in a general way). Well, jist as I had done, in walks the porter’s first leftenant; and sais he, ‘Mr. Tact will see you, Sir.’
“‘He come plaguy near not seein’ of me, then,’ sais I; ‘for I had jist commenced makin’ tracks as you come in. The next time he sends for me, tell him not to send till he is ready, will you? For it’s a rule o’ mine to tag arter no man.’
“The critter jist stopped short, and began to see whether that spelt treason or no. He never heerd freedom o’ speech afore, that feller, I guess, unless it was somebody a jawin’ of him, up hill and down dale; so sais I, ‘Lead off, my old ‘coon, and I will foller you, and no mistake, if you blaze the line well.’
“So he led me up stairs, opened a door, and ‘nounced me; and there was Mr. Tact, sittin’ at a large table, all alone.
“‘How do you do, Mr. Slick,’ says he. ‘I am very glad to see you. Pray be seated.’ He really was a very gentlemanlike man, was Squire Tact, that’s a fact. Sorry I kept you waitin’ so long,’ sais he, ‘but the Turkish Ambassador was here at the time, and I was compelled to wait until he went. I sent for you, Sir, a-hem!’ and he rubbed his hand acrost his mouth, and looked’ up at the cornish, and said, ‘I sent for you, Sir, ahem!’—(thinks I, I see now. All you will say for half an hour is only throw’d up for a brush fence, to lay down behind to take aim through; and arter that, the first shot is the one that’s aimed at the bird), ‘to explain to you about this African Slave Treaty,’ said he. ‘Your government don’t seem to comprehend me in reference to this Right of Sarch. Lookin’ a man in the face, to see he is the right man, and sarchin’ his pockets, are two very different things. You take, don’t you?’
“‘I’m up to snuff, Sir,’ sais I, ‘and no mistake.’ I know’d well enough that warn’t what he sent for me for, by the way he humm’d and hawed when he began.
“‘Taking up a trunk, as every hotel-keeper does and has a right to do, and examinin’ the name on the brass plate to the eend on’t, is one thing; forcin’ the lock and ransackin’ the contents, is another. One is precaution, the other is burglary.’
“‘It tante burglary,’ sais I, ‘unless the lodger sleeps in his trunk. It’s only—’
“‘Well,’ says he, a colourin’ up, ‘that’s technical. I leave these matters to my law officers.’
“I larnt that little matter of law from brother Eldad, the lawyer, but I guess I was wrong there. I don’t think I had ought to have given him that sly poke; but I didn’t like his talkin’ that way to me. Whenever a feller tries to pull the wool over your eyes, it’s a sign he don’t think high of your onderstandin’. It isn’t complimental, that’s a fact. ‘One is a serious offence, I mean, sais he; ‘the other is not. We don’t want to sarch; we only want to look a slaver in the face, and see whether he is a free and enlightened American or not. If he is, the flag of liberty protects him and his slaves; if he ain’t, it don’t protect him, nor them nother.’
“Then he did a leadin’ article on slavery, and a paragraph on non-intervention, and spoke a little soft sawder about America, and wound up by askin’ me if he had made himself onderstood.
“‘Plain as a boot-jack,’ sais I.
“When that was over, he took breath. He sot back on his chair, put one leg over the other, and took a fresh departur’ agin.
“‘I have read your books, Mr. Slick,’ said he, ‘and read ‘em, too, with great pleasure. You have been a great traveller in your day. You’ve been round the world a’most, haven’t you?’
“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘I sharn’t say I hante.’
“‘What a deal of information a man of your observation must have acquired.’ (He is a gentlemanly man, that you may depend. I don’t know when I’ve see’d one so well mannered.)
“‘Not so much, Sir, as you would suppose,’ sais I.
“‘Why how so?’ sais he.
“‘Why,’ sais I, ‘the first time a man goes round the world, he is plaguy skeered for fear of fallin’ off the edge; the second time he gets used to it, and larns a good deal.’
“‘Fallin’ off the edge!’ sais he; ‘what an original idea that is. That’s one of your best. I like your works for that they are original. We have nothin’ but imitations now. Fallin’ off the the edge, that’s capital. I must tell Peel that; for he is very fond of that sort of thing.’
“He was a very pretty spoken man, was Mr. Tact; he is quite the gentleman, that’s a fact. I love to hear him talk; he is so very perlite, and seems to take a likin’ to me parsonally.”
Few men are so open to flattery as Mr. Slick; and although “soft sawder” is one of the artifices he constantly uses in his intercourse with others, he is often thrown off of his guard by it himself. How much easier it is to discover the weaknesses of others than to see our own!
But to resume the story.
“‘You have been a good deal in the colonies, haven’t you?’ said he.
“‘Considerable sum,’ sais I. Now, sais I to myself, this is the rael object he sent for me for; but I won’t tell him nothin’. If he’d a up and askt me right off the reel, like a man, he’d a found me up to the notch; but he thort to play me off. Now I’ll sarve him out his own way; so here goes.
“‘Your long acquaintance with the provinces, and familiar intercourse with the people,’ sais he, ‘must have made you quite at home on all colonial topics.’
“‘I thought so once,’ sais I; ‘but I don’t think so now no more, Sir.’
“‘Why how is that?’ sais he.
“‘Why, Sir,’ sais I, ‘you can hold a book so near your eyes as not to be able to read a word of it; hold it off further, and get the right focus, and you can read beautiful. Now the right distance to see a colony, and know all about it, is England. Three thousand miles is the right focus for a political spy-glass. A man livin’ here, and who never was out of England, knows twice as much about the provinces as I do.’
“‘Oh, you are joking,’ sais he.
“Not a bit,’ sais I. ‘I find folks here that not only know every thing about them countries, but have no doubts upon any matter, and ask no questions; in fact, they not only know more than me, but more than the people themselves do, what they want. It’s curious, but it’s a fact. A colonist is the most beautiful crittur in natur to try experiments on, you ever see; for he is so simple and good-natured he don’t know no better; and so weak, he couldn’t help himself if he did. There’s great fun in making these experiments, too. It puts me in mind of “Gander Pulling;” you know what this is, don’t you?’
“‘No,’ he said. ‘I never heard of it. Is it an American sport?’
“‘Yes,’ sais I, ‘it is; and the most excitin’ thing, too, you ever see.’
“‘You are a very droll man. Mr Slick,’ said he, ‘a very droll man indeed. In all your books there is a great deal of fun; but in all your fun, there is a meanin’. Your jokes hit, and hit pretty hard, too, sometimes. They make a man think as well as laugh. But, describe this Gander Pulling.’
“‘Well, I’ll tell you how it is,’ sais I. ‘First and foremost, a ring-road is formed, like a small race-course; then, two great long posts is fixed into the ground, one on each side of the road, and a rope made fast by the eends to each post, leavin’ the middle of the rope to hang loose in a curve. Well, then they take a gander and pick his neck as clean as a babby’s, and then grease it most beautiful all the way from the breast to the head, till it becomes as slippery as a soaped eel. Then they tie both his legs together with a strong piece of cord, of the size of a halyard, and hang him by the feet to the middle of the swingin’ rope, with his head downward. All the youngsters, all round the county, come to see the sport, mounted a horseback.
“‘Well, the owner of the goose goes round with his hat, and gets so much a-piece in it from every one that enters for the “Pullin’;” and when all have entered, they bring their hosses in a line, one arter another; and at the words, ‘Go ahead!’ off they set, as hard as they can split; and as they pass under the goose, make a grab at him; and whoever carries off the head, wins.
“‘Well, the goose dodges his head and flaps his wings, and swings about so, it ain’t no easy matter to clutch his neck; and when you do, it’s so greasy, it slips right through the fingers, like, nothin’. Sometimes it takes so long, that the hosses are fairly beat out, and can’t scarcely raise a gallop; and then a man stands by the post, with a heavy loaded whip, to lash ‘em on, so that they mayn’t stand under the goose, which ain’t fair. The whoopin’, and hollerin’, and screamin’, and bettin’, and excitement, beats all; there ain’t hardly no sport equal to it. It’s great fun to all except the poor goosey-gander.
“‘The game of colony government to Canady, for some years back, puts me in mind of that exactly. Colonist has had his heels put where his head used to be, this some time past. He has had his legs tied, and his neck properly greased, I tell you; and the way every parliament man, and governor, and secretary, gallops round and round, one arter another, a grabbin’ at poor colonist, ain’t no matter. Every new one on ‘em that comes, is confident he is a goin’ to settle it; but it slips through his hand, and off he goes, properly larfed at.
“‘They have pretty nearly fixed goosey colonist, though; he has got his neck wrung several times; it’s twisted all a one side, his tongue hangs out, and he squeaks piteous, that’s a fact. Another good grab or two will put him out o’ pain; and it’s a pity it wouldn’t, for no created critter can live long, turned wrong eend up, that way. But the sport will last long arter that; for arter his neck is broke, it ain’t no easy matter to get the head off; the cords that tie that on, are as thick as your finger. It’s the greatest fun out there you ever see, to all except poor goosey colonist.
“‘I’ve larfed ready to kill myself at it. Some o’ these Englishers that come out, mounted for the sport, and expect a peerage as a reward for bringin’ home the head and settlin’ the business for colonist, do cut such figurs, it would make you split; and they are all so everlastin’ consaited, they won’t take no advice. The way they can’t do it is cautionary. One gets throwed, another gets all covered with grease, a third loses his hat, a fourth gets run away with by his horse, a fifth sees he can’t do it, makes some excuse, and leaves the ground afore the sport is over; and now and then, an unfortunate critter gets a hyste that breaks his own neck. There is only one on ‘em that I have see’d out there, that can do it right.
“It requires some experience, that’s a fact. But let John Bull alone for that; he is a critter that thinks he knows every thing; and if you told him he didn’t, he wouldn’t believe you, not he. He’d only pity your ignorance, and look dreadful sorry for you. Oh if you want to see high life, come and see “a colonial gander pulling.”
“‘Tying up a goose, Sir, is no great harm,’ sais I, ‘seein’ that a goose was made to be killed, picked and devoured, and nothin’ else. Tyin’ up a colonist by the heels is another thing. I don’t think it right; but I don’t know nothin’; I’ve had the book too close to my eyes. Joe H—e, that never was there, can tell you twice as much as I can about the colonies. The focus to see right, as I said afore, is three thousand miles off.’
“‘Well,’ sais he, ‘that’s a capital illustration, Mr. Slick. There is more in that than meets the ear. Don’t tell me you don’t know nothin’ about the colonies; few men know so much as you do. I wish to heavens you was a colonist,’ sais he; ‘if you were, I would offer you a government.’
“‘I don’t doubt it,’ sais I; ‘seein’ that your department have advanced or rewarded so many colonists already.’ But I don’t think he heard that shot, and I warn’t sorry for it; for it’s not right to be a pokin’ it into a perlite man, is it?
“‘I must tell the Queen that story of the Gander Pulling,’ sais he; ‘I like it amazingly. It’s a capital caricature. I’ll send the idea to H. B. Pray name some day when you are disengaged; I hope you will give me the pleasure of dining with me. Will this day fortnight suit you?’
“‘Thank you,’ sais I, ‘I shall have great pleasure.’
“He railly was a gentlemany man that. He was so good natured, and took the joke so well, I was kinder sorry I played it off on him. I hante see’d no man to England I affection so much as Mr. Tact, I swear! I begin to think, arter all, it was the right of sarchin’ vessels he wanted to talk to me about, instead of sarchin’ me, as I suspicioned. It don’t do always to look for motives, men often act without any. The next time, if he axes me, I’ll talk plain, and jist tell him what I do think; but still, if he reads that riddle right, he may larn a good deal, too, from the story of “the Gander Pulling,” mayn’t he?”
The foregoing sketch exhibits a personal trait in Mr. Slick’s character, the present a national one. In the interview, whether real or fanciful, that he alleges to have had with one of the Secretaries of State, he was not disposed to give a direct reply, because his habitual caution led him to suspect that an attempt was made to draw him out on a particular topic without his being made aware of the object. On the present occasion, he exhibits that irritability, which is so common among all his countrymen, at the absurd accounts that travellers give of the United States in general, and the gross exaggerations they publish of the state of slavery in particular.
That there is a party in this country, whose morbid sensibility is pandered to on the subject of negro emancipation there can be no doubt, as is proved by the experiment made by Mr. Slick, recorded in this chapter.
On this subject every man has a right to his own opinions, but any interference with the municipal regulations of another country, is so utterly unjustifiable, that it cannot be wondered at that the Americans resent the conduct of the European abolishionists, in the most unqualified and violent manner.
The conversation that I am now about to repeat, took place on the Thames. Our visits, hitherto, had been restricted by the rain to London. To-day, the weather being fine, we took passage on board of a steamer, and went to Greenwich.
While we were walking up and down the deck, Mr. Slick again adverted to the story of the government spies with great warmth. I endeavoured, but in vain, to persuade him that no regular organized system of espionage existed in England. He had obtained a garbled account of one or two occurrences, and his prejudice, (which, notwithstanding his disavowal, I knew to be so strong, as to warp all his opinions of England and the English), immediately built up a system, which nothing I could say, could at all shake.
I assured him the instances he had mentioned were isolated and unauthorized acts, told in a very distorted manner but mitigated, as they really were, when truly related, they were at the time received with the unanimous disapprobation of every right-thinking man in the kingdom, and that the odium which had fallen on the relators, was so immeasurably greater than what had been bestowed on the thoughtless principals, that there was no danger of such things again occurring in our day. But he was immovable.
“Oh, of course, it isn’t true,” he said, “and every Englishman will swear it’s a falsehood. But you must not expect us to disbelieve it, nevertheless; for your travellers who come to America, pick up here and there, some absurd ontruth or another; or, if they are all picked up already, invent one; and although every man, woman, and child is ready to take their bible oaths it is a bam, yet the English believe this one false witness in preference to the whole nation.
“You must excuse me, Squire; you have a right to your opinion, though it seems you have no right to blart it out always; but I am a freeman, I was raised in Slickville, Onion County, State of Connecticut, United States of America, which is a free country, and no mistake; and I have a right to my opinion, and a right to speak it, too; and let me see the man, airl or commoner, parliamenterer or sodger officer, that dare to report me, I guess he’d wish he’d been born a week later, that’s all. I’d make a caution of him, I know. I’d polish his dial-plate fust, and then I’d feel his short ribs, so as to make him larf, a leetle jist a leetle the loudest he ever heerd. Lord, he’d think thunder and lightnin’ a mint julip to it. I’d ring him in the nose as they do pigs in my country, to prevent them rootin’ up what they hadn’t ought.”
Having excited himself by his own story, he first imagined a case and then resented it, as if it had occurred. I expressed to him my great regret that he should visit England with these feelings and prejudices, as I had hoped his conversation would have been as rational and as amusing as it was in Nova Scotia, and concluded by saying that I felt assured he would find that no such prejudice existed here against his countrymen, as he entertained towards the English.
“Lord love you!” said he, “I have no prejudice. I am the most candid man you ever see. I have got some grit, but I ain’t ugly, I ain’t indeed.”
“But you are wrong about the English; and I’ll prove it to you. Do you see that turkey there?” said he.
“Where?” I asked. “I see no turkey; indeed, I have seen none on board. What do you mean?”
“Why that slight, pale-faced, student-like Britisher; he is a turkey, that feller. He has been all over the Union, and he is a goin’ to write a book. He was at New York when we left, and was introduced to me in the street. To make it liquorish, he has got all the advertisements about runaway slaves, sales of niggers, cruel mistresses and licentious masters, that he could pick up. He is a caterer and panderer to English hypocrisy. There is nothin’ too gross for him to swaller. We call them turkeys; first because they travel so fast—for no bird travels hot foot that way, except it be an ostrich—and second, because they gobble up every thing that comes in their way. Them fellers will swaller a falsehood as fast as a turkey does a grasshopper; take it right down whole, without winkin’.
“Now, as we have nothin’ above particular to do, ‘I’ll cram him’ for you; I will show you how hungry he’ll bite at a tale of horror, let it be never so onlikely; how readily he will believe it, because it is agin us; and then, when his book comes out, you shall see that all England will credit it, though I swear I invented it as a cram, and you swear you heard it told as a joke. They’ve drank in so much that is strong, in this way, have the English, they require somethin’ sharp enough to tickle their palates now. Wine hante no taste for a man that drinks grog, that’s a fact. It’s as weak as Taunton water. Come and walk up and down deck along with me once or twice, and then we will sit down by him, promiscuously like; and as soon as I get his appetite sharp, see how I will cram him.”
“This steam-boat is very onsteady to-day. Sir,” said Mr. Slick; “it’s not overly convenient walking, is it?”
The ice was broken. Mr. Slick led him on by degrees to his travels, commencing with New England, which the traveller eulogised very much. He then complimented him on the accuracy of his remarks and the depth of his reflections, and concluded by expressing a hope that he would publish his observations soon, as few tourists were so well qualified for the task as himself.
Finding these preliminary remarks taken in good part, he commenced the process of “cramming.”
“But oh, my friend,” said he, with a most sanctimonious air, “did you visit, and I am ashamed as an American citizen to ask the question, I feel the blood a tannin’ of my cheek when I inquire, did you visit the South? That land that is polluted with slavery, that land where the boastin’ and crackin’ of freemen pile up the agony pangs on the corroding wounds inflicted by the iron chains of the slave, until natur can’t stand it no more; my heart bleeds like a stuck critter, when I think of this plague spot on the body politic. I ought not to speak thus; prudence forbids it, national pride forbids it; but genuwine feelings is too strong for polite forms. ‘Out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh.’ Have you been there?”
“Turkey” was thrown off his guard, he opened his wallet, which was well stocked, and retailed his stories, many of them so very rich, that I doubted the capacity of the Attache to out-Herod him. Mr. Slick received these tales with evident horror, and complimented the narrator with a well simulated groan; and when he had done, said, “Ah, I see how it is, they have purposely kept dark about the most atrocious features of slavery. Have you never seen the Gougin’ School?”
“No, never.”
“What, not seen the Gougin’ School?”
“No, Sir; I never heard of it.”
“Why, you don’t mean to say so?”
“I do, indeed, I assure you.”
“Well, if that don’t pass! And you never even heerd tell of it, eh?”
“Never, Sir. I have never either seen it or heard of it.”
“I thought as much,” said Mr. Slick. “I doubt if any Britisher ever did or ever will see it. Well, Sir, in South Carolina, there is a man called Josiah Wormwood; I am ashamed to say he is a Connecticut man. For a considerable of a spell, he was a strollin’ preacher, but it didn’t pay in the long run. There is so much competition in that line in our country, that he consaited the business was overdone, and he opened a Lyceum to Charleston South Car, for boxin’, wrestlin’ and other purlite British accomplishments; and a most a beautiful sparrer he is, too; I don’t know as I ever see a more scientific gentleman than he is, in that line. Lately, he has halfed on to it the art of gougin’ or ‘monokolisin,’ as he calls it, to sound grand; and if it weren’t so dreadful in its consequences, it sartinly is amost allurin’ thing, is gougin’. The sleight-of-hand is beautiful. All other sleights we know are tricks; but this is reality; there is the eye of your adversary in your hand; there is no mistake. It’s the real thing. You feel you have him; that you have set your mark on him, and that you have took your satisfaction. The throb of delight felt by a ‘monokolister’ is beyond all conception.”
“Oh heavens!” said the traveller, “Oh horror of horrors! I never heard any thing so dreadful. Your manner of telling it, too, adds to its terrors. You appear to view the practice with a proper Christian disgust; and yet you talk like an amateur. Oh, the thing is sickening.”
“It is, indeed,” said Mr. Slick, “particularly to him that loses his peeper. But the dexterity, you know, is another thing. It is very scientific. He has two niggers, has Squire Wormwood, who teach the wrastlin’ and gouge-sparrin’; but practisin’ for the eye is done for punishment of runaways. He has plenty of subjects. All the planters send their fugitive niggers there to be practised on for an eye. The scholars ain’t allowed to take more than one eye out of them; if they do, they have to pay for the nigger; for he is no sort o’ good after, for nothin’ but to pick oakum. I could go through the form, and give you the cries to the life, but I won’t; it is too horrid; it really is too dreadful.”
“Oh do, I beg of you,” said the traveller.
“I cannot, indeed; it is too shocking. It will disgust you.”
“Oh, not at all,” said Turkey, “when I know it is simulated, and not real, it is another thing.”
“I cannot, indeed,” said Mr. Slick. “It would shock your philanthropic soul, and set your very teeth of humanity on edge. But have you ever seen—the Black Stole?”
“No.”
“Never seen the Black Stole?”
“No, never.”
“Why, it ain’t possible? Did you never hear of it nother?”
“No, never. Well now, do tell!”
“So you never heerd tell of it, nor never sot eyes on it?”
“Certainly never.”
“Well, that bangs the bush, now! I suppose you didn’t. Guess you never did, and never will, nor no other traveller, nother, that ever slept in shoe-leather. They keep dark about these atrocities. Well, the Black Stole is a loose kind of shirt-coat, like an English carter’s frock; only, it is of a different colour. It is black instead of white, and made of nigger hide, beautifully tanned, and dressed as soft as a glove. It ain’t every nigger’s hide that’s fit for a stole. If they are too young, it is too much like kid; if they are too old, it’s like sole leather, it’s so tough; and if they have been whipt, as all on ‘em have a’most, why the back is all cut to pieces, and the hide ruined. It takes several sound nigger skins to make a stole; but when made, it’s a beautiful article, that’s a fact.
“It is used on a plantation for punishment. When the whip don’t do its work, strip a slave, and jist clap on to him the Black Stole. Dress him up in a dead man’s skin, and it frightens him near about to death. You’ll hear him screetch for a mile a’most, so ‘tarnally skeered. And the best of the fun is, that all the rest of the herd, bulls, cows, and calves, run away from him, jist as if he was a panther.”
“Fun, Sir! Do you call this fun?”
“Why sartainly I do. Ain’t it better nor whippin’ to death? “What’s a Stole arter all? It’s nothin’ but a coat. Philosophizin’ on it, Stranger, there is nothin’ to shock a man. The dead don’t feel. Skinnin’, then, ain’t cruel, nor is it immoral. To bury a good hide, is, waste—waste is wicked. There are more good hides buried in the States, black and white, every year, than would pay the poor-rates and state-taxes. They make excellent huntin’-coats, and would make beautiful razor-straps, bindin’ for books, and such like things; it would make a noble export. Tannin’ in hemlock bark cures the horrid nigger flavour. But then, we hante arrived at that state of philosophy; and when it is confined to one class of the human family, it would be dangerous. The skin of a crippled slave might be worth more than the critter was himself; and I make no doubt, we should soon hear of a stray nigger being shot for his hide, as you do of a moose for his skin, and a bear for his fur.
“Indeed, that is the reason (though I shouldn’t mention it as an Attache), that our government won’t now concur to suppress the slave trade. They say the prisoners will all be murdered, and their peels sold; and that vessels, instead of taking, in at Africa a cargo of humans, will take in a cargo of hides, as they do to South America. As a Christian, a philanthropist, indeed, as a man, this is a horrid subject to contemplate, ain’t it?”
“Indeed it is,” said Turkey. “I feel a little overcome—my head swims—I am oppressed with nausea—I must go below.”
“How the goney swallered it all, didn’t he?” said Mr. Slick, with great glee. “Hante he a most a beautiful twist that feller? How he gobbled it down, tank, shank and flank at a gulp, didn’t he. Oh! he is a Turkey and no mistake, that chap. But see here, Squire; jist look through the skylight. See the goney, how his pencil is a leggin’ it off, for dear life. Oh, there is great fun in crammin’ those fellers.
“Now tell me candid, Squire; do you think there is no prejudice in the Britishers agin us and our free and enlightened country, when they can swaller such stuff as the Gougin’ School and Black Stole?”