LETTER XXIII.
The Major Goes to See the Postmaster-General about Stopping Papers—Mr. Blair Promises to Release Them—The President Again in Trouble—A Change in the Cabinet Demanded—The Major Suggests a Remedy for "the Crysis."
Washington, Dec. 20, 1862.
To the Editers of The Cawcashin:
Surs:—Wal, ef I ain't been bizzy sence I writ you last, I wouldn't say so. I got your letter about seein Blair on the questshin of sendinThe Cawcashinin the mails, an I hadn't eny doubt but he would do it as soon as I put the subjec to him in the rite light. Blair's father, "Parson Blair," as he used to be called in the old Ginneral's time, an I used to be very thick. He helped me sifer a good deal wen I was postin the Ginneral up about Biddle's Bank matters. But I hadn't seen the old man for a long time ontel I called on him tother day. He was dredful glad to see me, an shuck my hand as ef he thought there warn't no feelin in it. Ses he, "Majer, it's a long time sence we've met, an I know you are a loyal man, for there ain't no follerer of Ginneral Jackson that could be enything else." Ses I, "Ef there's a loyal man in this country, I'm one. I go for puttin down every feller that's opposed to the Constitushin, I don't keer who he is. I only wish we had an Old Hickery to step in now an jest deal out jestiss all around, without any parshality. I guess there's a good menny fellers that don't expect it, who might get histed." "Wal," ses he, "Majer, I'm of your idee exactly. The truth is, I'm thinkin that this administrashin is played out. The Ultrys will ruin it." "Wal," ses I, "Mister Blair, I've cum to see you about another matter. Your son Montgummery, who used to be a little shaver in the old Ginneral's time, has got the place of Amos Kindle, an he has been stoppin Dimmycratic papers in the mails." "Oh no," ses he, "I guess not; only sum disloyal sheets." "No," ses I, "I'll give you a hunderd dollars for every word of disloyalty agin the Constitushin you'll find in that paper." Here I took aCawcashinout of my pocket, an handed it to him. He looked it over an couldn't find nothin to object to. Then I showed him the motto at its head, taken from his own words about the freedom of the press, an then I telled him I wanted him to go with me to Montgummery, an see ef the thing couldn't be fixed. So we went over, an you never see a man stare so as Montgummery did. Ses he, "Majer Downing, I'm tickled to see you. I think you have slighted me sence you've been in Washington. You've been to see nigh about all the members of the Cabynet except me." "Wal," ses I, "I don't go around much, except on bizness for the Kernel; but now," ses I, "I've cum on another arrand; I've cum to see why you don't allow all the Dimmycratic newspapers to go in the mails?" "Wal," ses he, "Majer, that's jest wat I'm goin to do. It was bad bizness for us that we ever stopped these papers. It made more votes for the Dimmycratic party than eny other cause. The truth is, it never was my policy. I never did beleeve in it, and now they all see it must be given up." Ses I, "Mister Blair, ef you didn't beleeve in it, you orter have refused to do it. That ain't the way the old Ginneral acted, an he's my model. Ef he thought enything was rong, there warn't a mortal man, high or low, that could have got him to do it. He would have died afore he would do wat his conscence told him warn't right, an it's them kind of men that are great men, an will save our country, ef it ever is saved." "Wal," ses he, "Majer, you're about right, an I don't think I shall stay in this bote much longer. Things are goin from bad to wus." "Yes," ses I, "they are like old Sol Hopkins's dyin cow, 'gettin no better very fast.'" "But," ses he, "Majer, you can rest easy on the papers. We are goin back to the Free Press Principul, an let the people have their own way." "Wal," ses I, "I'm glad to hear it. It's about time there was a change."
So I bid him good-by, an went back to see the Kernel, who I found in a peck of trubbil. Ses I, "What's the matter now!" for I saw at a glance that sumthin was up. Ses I, "Is Burnside whipped agin, or is Stonewall Jackson in our rear?" "No," ses he, "Majer, nothin of that sort, but sumthin jest about as bad." "Wal," ses I, "what is it?" "Wal," ses he, "there has jest been a committy here from the Senit who demand that I shall change my Cabbynet. They say we don't have eny success, an the peopul demand a change." Ses I, "Did you kick em down stairs?" "No," ses he, "I didn't." "Wal," ses I, "you orter. They mite jest as well ask you to resign." Ses I, "Don't your Cabbynet agree in your policy? Don't they do as you desire?" "Yes," ses he, "they do." "Wal," ses I, "then what's the use of changin? If you intend to change your policy, then it is reasonable to ask you to change your Cabbynet, but otherways not." "Wal," ses he, "Majer, that's my idee exactly, but I didn't tell em so; I thought I would wait an see what you thought of it." "Wal," ses I, "I see the hull cause of the rumpus. The defeat of Burnside has made em so wrathy that they didn't know what to do, an they thought they must find fault about sumthin." Ses I, "Fighten the rebils is jest for all the world like bar huntin. A good menny years ago, when it was common up in Maine, nigh about all the nabors would now an then turn out to hunt a bar. If they caught him they used to have a grand time, get up a big supper an drink whisky till they all got how cum you so. But if they didn't ketch the bar, then one was blamin tother, an tother anuther, an sumtimes the affair would end by gettin into a regular fite all around. Jest so it is now. If Burnside had whipped the rebils, it would all have been right." Ses Linkin, ses he, "Major, you're right. But what am I do? They komplain about the Cabbynet, an want me to change it." "Wal," ses I, "Kernel, I tell you how to fix it. Get the Committy and Cabbynet face to face, an let 'em quarrel it out." "That would be a capital idee, Majer, but how am I to do it?" "Wal," ses I, "you jest call the Cabbynet together for twelve o'clock to-morrow, an then send for the Committy, an put 'em in the same room together, an see how the happy family will manage." The Kernel was struck with the idee, an so the next day the Cabbynet were assembled, an pooty soon after the Committy, with Fessenden as Cheerman, made their appearance. You never see a more flustircated set of people in this world than these men were. But there was no backin out. The Kernel called the meetin to order, an sed he had received a good many komplaints, an he wanted the matter fully discussed. Fessenden got up an sed that the peeple were gettin tired of the war, an that the only way to satisfy 'em was to change the Cabbynet. Burnside had been defeated, Banks had been sent a great ways off, when he was wanted at home, the sojers warn't paid, the gunboats warn't finished, &c., &c. Chase got up first; he sed if the sojers warn't paid it warn't his fault. The fact was, that paper had riz onexpectedly, an his stock was low. Jest as soon as paper got more plenty, an he got the new patent National Ten Cylendar Revolvin Machine at work, the sojers would be all paid regular. Then Stantin got up, puffin like a porpuss. Ses he, "Mr. President, these ere remarks are impertinent, an if I had my way, I would send every one of this Committy to the Old Capitol. I'de like to know what these men know about war, and strategy. Why, they talk about the defeat of Burnside. It is nonsense, sir; he ain't been defeated! The people are humbugged by the newspapers. It's a pity there's a newspaper in the land. They interfere with my strategy. Burnside has gained a great success. He has discovered the strength of the enemy's works at that pint, an now we know that some other route is the one to take, an not that one. Ef it had not been for this battle, we shouldn't have found that out. This Committy of old gentlemen, or old women, I had almost said, don't understand the art of war. Their talk is sheer impertinence. I'de squelch em with a proclamashin, if no other way."
Then grandfather Welles got up, an sed he didn't like to have fault found because his gun-boats warn't reddy. He sed he would like to see eny one who had worked harder than he had. He sed he hadn't slept but fourteen hours a day for six months, while his naturel rest required eighteen. He hed sacrificed all that for the good of his country, and he didn't believe one of the Committy hed done as much. Blair got up and said he didn't keer how quick they turned him out. He was reddy to go eny time, as he thought the thing was about played out. Bates sed he thought things looked more cheerful than ever before, as he hed jest discovered that niggers could be citizens, and that the Dred Scott decision was a humbug. When they all got thru, there was a ginnerel talk all around, and they finally cum to the conclushin that there warn't eny reason for a change after all, an they all went off in a pretty good humor.
So the great Cabbynet crysis ended, and the Kernel feels like a new man. My idee of gettin them all together face to face, the Kernel ses, saved the nashun. That nite we set up till after midnight, and finally, after takin a good swig of Old Rye, went to bed. The next morning the Kernel was as merry as a lark, and could tell stories as well as ever.
Yours till deth,
Majer Jack Downing.
LETTER XXIV.
The Emancipation Proclamation—The Way to Get Richmond—Splitting the Union—The Major Tells a Story about Splitting—The President Gets Indignant—Seizes the Boot-Jack—The Major Pacifies Him—A Dream—The Major Returns to Downingville.
Downingville, State of Maine,February 4th, 1863.
To the Editers of The Cawcashin:
Surs:—I expect you have bin kinder puzzled to know why you ain't heered from me in so long a time. I expect you'll wonder, too, why my letter is dated Downingville instead of Washington. Wal, I'll have to narrate the hull story:—You know the last letter I rit you was jest afore the first of Jinewary, when the Kernel had promised to issoo his Free Nigger Proclamashin. I was allers teetotally down on it, an I thought I should persuade him out of it, an tharby save the great disgrace an stane it would be on our country. But the truth is, the Kernel an I had a row about it, an I left. The story I'll tell jest as it tuk place: The mornin after New Year's I cum down stairs, an the Kernel was settin in his cheer with his feet on the tabil. "Wal," ses he, "I've done it." "Done what?" ses I. "Why," ses he, "I've signed the Proclamashin." "Wal," ses I, "you had better have signed your own deth warrant, for that is the deth warrant of the Union." Ses he, "Majer, I'm sorry you're so hard on that." "Wal," ses I, "Kernel, I ain't too hard on it, as you'll find out to your sorror." "Now, Majer, let me ask you one thing. We must take Richmond, an ain't we tried every way but this? Ain't we gone by the Shanandore Vally, by Jeemes River, by Manasses, an yet we can't get to Richmond? We must weaken the rebils afore we can do it, an this is the way to effect it."
Ses I, "Kernel, don't you know there is one way to get to Richmond that you ain't tried yet?" "No," ses he, "I didn't know it." "Wal," ses I, "there is." "Wal," ses he, "what on arth is it?" "Wal," ses I, "it is theConstitushinal way!" Ses I, "You've bin tryin to git there agin the Constitushin, an you can't do it that way. Ef you hadn't called out 75,000 men to whip South Caroliny, old Virginny would never have left you, an you could have got to Richmond jest as easy as old grandfather Welles kin go to sleep."
"Wal," ses he, "Majer, mebby that's so, but you can't dip up spilt milk. Ef the thing is wrong, it's gone so far now that we may as well drive it thru an see ef we can't clinch it on tother side." "But," ses I, "there ain't eny tother side to this questshin, eny more than there is a white side to a nigger or black side to a white man, an you may drive on and on, an you won't get thru." "Wal," ses the Kernel, "what will come of it then, Majer?" "Wal," ses I, "you willsplitthe Union, but that is all you kin do." "Wal," ses he, "Majer, that would be jest like my tarnel luck. I never got hold of but one thing in my life that I didn't split." Ses I, "What was that?" Ses he, "A taller candle, an I defy all creashin to split that." Ses I, "Kernel, I guess you must be some relashin to the feller out West who split up all the churches." Ses he, "How was that?" "Wal," ses I, "ef I tell you the story, you must not get mad, for I'm afeered it will set putty clus." Ses he, "Majer, I can stand a joak better than eny other feller you ever see." "Wal," ses I, "here goes: There was a feller out West who got converted, or thought he did, an jined the Episcopal church. He hadn't bin in it long afore he got the members by the ears, an split it all up an broke it down. After he had done all the hurt he could, he went an jined the Presbyterian church, an he hadn't bin there long afore he split that all up. Then he went an united with the Baptist church. It warn't long afore they were all split up an broke to pieces. Being turned out from there, he went an jined the Methodist church. He soon got that church into hot water. One day, when the ministers were consultin as to what to do with him, ses one of them, ses he, 'I've bin prayin most fervently that that man may go to hell!' 'Tut, tut, brother,' says the Elder, 'how can you do so? You should pray for him that he may be better, and be fitted to go to Heaven.' 'No,' ses he, 'I don't think so. I've prayed earnestly that he might go to hell, an I'll tell you why. He has split up an broken up every church an neighborhood he was ever in, an ef he should go to Satan's dominions, I think he might split an break up that place, an you know what a blessing that would be.'"
I hadn't more than got the last word out of my mouth, wen the Kernel jumped up from his cheer, and ketchin hold of his boot-jack, he flourished it rite over his head in a savage style. I thought he was stark mad. I got my hickery an backed up agin the door. I seed he was tarin mad, but I didn't say a word. I knew he'd work off the bile in his own way. Finally ses he, "Majer, wat are you standin there for?" "Why," ses I, "I was waitin to see what you was goin to do with that boot-jack." Ses he, "Have I got the boot-jack?" "Wal," ses I, "you've got sumthin in your hand that looks a mity site like one." "Wal," ses he, "Majer, I want to know whether you mean to apply that story to me?" "No," ses I, "Kernel. Didn't I tell you at the outset that I didn't; but you was tellin about what you had done in the way of splittin things, an I was reminded of that story. But I told you to keep your temper, an not take it as personal, but only as a joak?" "Wal," ses he, "Majer, I'll forgive you; but ef I thought you meant that story for me, I'd arrest you for disloyal practices, an put you in the Old Capital Prison."
Rye with him an make up friends. So I did; but I noticed, after that, that the Kernel watched me very clus. The very next day I had an awful attack of rumatiz, an I also felt sick an discurraged. Thigs never looked so black afore. I had a dream that nite, an I thought I saw the old Ginneral, an he told me, ses he, "This ain't any place for you now. The abolitionists have got full sway, an they will ruin the country as sure as my name is Andrew Jackson." I also dreamed that I saw thousands of dyin men, an weepin wimmin, an cryin children. I thought the doors of the houses all over the North looked red with blood, an a black cloud hung over the hull land. People seemed to be runnin first one way an then tother, askin what they should do. Finally, I heered a grate noise, like an arthquake, that woke me up, an I laid awake the rest of the nite.
The next mornin I was eenamost down sick with trubbel an rumatiz, an I telled the Kernel I must go hum, where I could get good keer taken of me. The Kernel didn't say much agin it, for, after all, he didn't kinder like that story. So ses I, "Mr. President, I've been with you now for about a year, an I've got a clean conscience, for I've tried to tell you the rale truth jest as it is. Ef all who have cum around you had done the same, you would not be where you are; but," ses I, "I ain't got any feelin on the subject, an whenever I can be of any sarvice to my country, jest let me know, an I will come to Washinton agin."
The Kernel ses he, "Majer, I know you are a patriot, and I feel bad to have you go. I wish now I had taken your advice. But," ses he, "Majer," an here he giv my hand a tight squeeze, "you know I've only been a boat in a current, an yet like the boat I'll be jest the one that will get the worst smashed to pieces when the precipice is reached." I couldn't help feelin' kinder sorry for the Kernel as I bid him good-bye, but I felt still more sorry for my country that it had ever made him President.
I got hum all safe, an sense then I've been laid up four weeks with the rumatiz. I never had such a long pull afore. As for writin with it on me, why I can't any more do it than a shad can climb a bean-pole. I expect you've been wonderin why you didn't hear from me, but I think this letter will explain the resin. If the rumatiz don't come on agin, an I think I kin say anything that would of sarvice in this awful and solemn crysis of our country's fate, I will drop you a line. I feel as if the nashin was dyin, however, an that we all orter put on mournin an sack-cloth, but come what will, I'm for my country
Till deth,
Majer Jack Downing.
LETTER XXV.
The Major Feels Sorrowful over the Fate of His Country—The Story of the Black Heifer—The Man who Made a "Siss"—The Union—"Insine" Stebbins Again—His Reception at Downingville—"The Insensibles"—A Provoking Accident.
Downingville, March 28, 1863.
To the Eddyters of the Cawcashun:
Surs:—You may wonder why you ain't heered from me afore; but the rale truth is, that I didn't feel like ritin in these times. I went to Washinton about a year ago, out of pure patriotism. I didn't want a contrack, nor a commission, nor enything. I went to give the Kernel good advice, jest as I did Ginneral Jackson; but it warn't no go. Somnure an Greeley, an Wendil Fillips, an sech stay-at-hum fiten ginnerals got the advantage of me, an Linkin does jest wat they want him to. To an old man like me, these are tryin times. I had almost saidcryintimes; I can't bear to think of 'em. I dream o'nights of my country, wen it was all peace an happiness—wen ther warn't any sojers nor standin army to pay, nor no debt, nor no hospitals full of sick sojers, nor no sorrow or misery in the land; an wen I wake up an think how different it is now, I wish I could sleep all the time. The other day old Deacon Jenkens came over to see me. The Deacon, you know, was with me in Washinton a short time, wen I first went there, and his darter Jerusha Matilda went down to Port Royal to teach the contrybands their primmers. Wal, the Deacon ain't much wiser now than he was a year ago. He still thinks that by prayin an fightin the rebels will yet be whipped. He used to like theTribune, but lately he ses he prefers theHerald, as it is more truthful. The old man, however, has been very blue for some time past, and now ses that prayin an fightin hain't accomplished much. "Wal," ses I, "Deacon, there hadn't orter been eny war at all; but," ses I, "while the South have had a single end an purpose, we've been all at odds and ends. The war has been carried on by us jest like old Sol Pendergrast's boy ploughed. Old Sol took his oldest boy, Adam, a thick-heded feller, out one Spring, an set him to ploughin. He told him to go to work an strike a furrow across a field to ablack heifer, an then keep on. After givin this direcshin, old Sol went off to the house an left Adam alone. The boy started his oxen in a bee line for theblack heifer, but wen he got pretty clus to her, she threw up her tail an ran off in another direcshin. Adam thought he must foller the heifer, no matter where she went; so he struck another bee line for her, and with jest the same result. Wen he got clus to her, the heifer give another frisk to her tail, an off she went. Adam geed his oxen around, and struck for her agin; an so he kept on all day. At nite the old man cum out to see how Adam had got along. He found the field all cut up with furrows, zig-zag, criss-cross, an in every direcshin, an asked Adam wat on arth it ment. 'Wal,' ses the thick-headed numskull, 'you told me to steer for theblackheifer, an I've done it all day, but the denied critter wouldn't stand still, an so the furrows are a kinder criss-cross, you see.' Now," ses I, "that is jest wat Linkin has been doin. Greeley told him to steer for the nigger, an the result is jest like Adam Pendergrast's ploughing. There's a considerable fightin ben done, but it is all criss-cross, zig-zag, an don't amount to nothin, an so it will be to the end of the chapter." Wen I sed this, the Deacon knocked the ashes out of his pipe, an ses he, "Wal, Majer, wat do you think the war will amount to, enyhow?" "Wall," ses I, "I guess it will end a good deal like the feller who thought he could make a horse-shoe jest as well as a blacksmith." Ses the Deacon, ses he, "How was that, Majer?" "Wal," ses I, "one day a feller in a blacksmith's shop made a bet that he could make a horse-shoe jest as well as the blacksmith himself, though he hadn't never heated an iron nor struck a blow on an anvil. The feller sed it didn't require any great gumption to make a horse-shoe. So he took a piece of iron an at it he went. He put it in the fire, heated it an commenced poundin it, but the more he pounded, the more it didn't look like a horse-shoe. He finally gave up the job, an said if he couldn't make a horse-shoe hecouldmake a wagon-bolt. So at it he went, but the more he pounded an the more he heated his iron, the less it grew, an finally he found that he couldn't make even a wagon-bolt. Then he declared that he had iron enough left for a horse-shoe nail, and that hewouldmake, but upon trying, he found that the most difficult job of all. Finally, giving up in despair, ses he, 'Wal, one thing I can do enyhow, I can make asiss!' an plunging the tongs an what was left of the iron in the water, he did get up a very respectable 'siss.' Now," ses I, "when he started out, Linkin sed he was goin to restore the old Union. That has been given up long ago, and now they say they are goin to conquer the Southern States, that is, make a despotism, but the war will turn out jest like the horse-shoe business. Linkin will, after all, neether make a Union, or a despotism, or an Empire by it, but it will end with a great big 'siss.' That's all he will accomplish by it, an a dear 'siss' it will be for many a poor fellow. A dear 'siss' it will be for the fatherless and the widows, and a wonderful dear 'siss' it will be for the people who will have to pay the taxes and foot the bill of war." Wen I said this, the Deacon drew a long breth, an lookin down on the floor, didn't say enything for some minutes. Finally, ses he, "Wal, Majer, will we have to give up the Union after all?" Ses I, "I don't see eny necessity for that, providin that we kin only stop the war an talk over matters a little. But," ses I, "ef the Union is goin to be a Union wherein a white man hasn't the right to express his opinions, then I must say I don't love such a Union as that, an I'm as strong a Union man as old Ginneral Jackson, an that was strong enough. I am for the old Union, but ef the Union is to mean despotism, then I'm for breakin it all to smash, as soon as possible. Wen a man begins to humbug me by callin things by their wrong names to try an deceive me, it allus riles me onaccountably. I ain't a very larned man, but I kin generally see through one of these college chaps. Wen he talks Union to me, an all the time means despotism, I allus feel jest like haulin up my old hickory, an givin him a sockdologer. Why," ses I, "Deacon, the feller who wants to turn this government into a despotism, an keeps all the time hollerin 'Union,' while he is doin it, is not only a traitor, but a hypocrite an coward. He is afeerd to speak his rale sentiments, an so goes around tryin to deceive the people, jest as the false prophets in the Saviour's time. I'm teetotally down on such fellers, an I mean to be to the end of the chapter."
I almost forgot to tell you that Insine Stebbins, who went off to the war, has jest got hum. He had a recepshun by the military of Downingville wen he arriv. Col. Doolittle called out the Downingville Insensibles an the Maroon artillery, an all Downingville was in a blaze of glory. The Insine has been promoted to be Captin sense he went off, for ritin a pome for the contrybands at Port Royal, where the Insine was stashioned. The Insine is not a bad poet. But you orter seen the turnout in Downingville to receive him. Colonel Doolittle rode down the street on old Elder Dusenberry's sorrel mare, an jest as the cannon was blazin forth the joyous news of the Captin's arrival on the ground, old sorrel's colt, that the elder thought he had locked up safe in the stable, come tarein through the street, an fairly mowed a swath rite through the women. Such a yellin an screachin ver never heered afore. A good many people thought the rebils were comin. Elder Dusenberry's wife tore her best silk dress, an the Insine who had primed himself for a big speech on the occashin, had it all scart out of him. If it hadn't been for that rascally young colt, I think that the celebrashin would have been the greatest day Downingville had seen sence the time General Jackson visited it. The Insine brings the news from Washington that the Kernel thinks some of payin a visit to the North, an maybe to the East, afore long. Ef he does, he says he wants me to go along with him to help him make speeches and keep off the offis-seekers. Ef he sends for me, I spose I shall have to go, though I hate to do it.
Yourn till deth,
Majer Jack Downing.
LETTER XXVI.
The Democratic Party Whipped—Things as bad as they can be—A Story in Point—Mr. Lincoln sends for the Major again—The Major writes him a Letter—The Return of "Kernel" Stebbins, formerly "Insine"—His Reception at Downingville—"Kernel" Doolittle's Speech—"Kernel" Stebbins' Reply—Elder Sniffles' Preaches a Sermon.
Downingville, Oct. 26, 1863.
To the Editers of The Dabook:
Surs:—'Cause your readers hain't herd from me lately, I 'spose they think I'm ded, or gone over to the Abolishinists, which is a tarnal sight wus: but I ain't in neither fix. I'm pretty well jest now. The hot wether, durin the summer, kinder tried me, but I carry eighty years jest about as well as any man ever did. The resin you ain't herd from me is jest this: I've been feelin oncommon gloomy and down-sperited all summer. Everything seemed to be goin from bad to wus. Linkin wouldn't take my advice an cum out agin the Abolitionists, but issued his free nigger proclamashun rite agin the law an the Constitushin both. Wal, things have gone down hill rapid sence then. The Demmycratic party didn't cum out bluntly agin this proclamashin, but kept on supportin the war, an the consequence is, it has whipped all round. Politics are gettin down to first principles.
Things are jest as bad as they kin be, and that is what encourages me. I shall never forget Hezekiah Stebbins, who lived away up in the upper part of Penobscot. One winter it had been awful cold weather, and 'Kiah had wonderful bad luck, and towards spring it seemed to get worse instead of better. He had lost his horse, and his cow, and his chickens, and all his pigs but one. Finally, that died, and the next day I happened to go up to his house to see how he was gettin along. I found the old man happy as a lark. He was singin and shoutin as if nothing had happen'd. When I went in, ses I, "'Kiah, what on airth is the matter?" "Oh," ses he, "the last pig is ded," and he went to jumpin and clappin his hands, as if he was the happiest man in the universe. Ses I, "What possesses you to act so?" "Wal," ses he, "thingscan'tbe no wus. The last pig is ded! anything that happens now must be for the better." And just so it is with the Dimmycratic party. Anything now that happens to itmustbe for the better. And I must confess that I feel a good deal like 'Kiah. I don't feel a bit like settin down and cryin like a sick baby over spilt milk, because we've been whipt in the late elecshins. That ain't the way the old Ginral Hickory Jackson taught me Dimmocracy.
The other day I got a letter from Linkin, askin me to cum on to Washinton. He ses he is gettin into a heep of trouble about his next messidge, all on account of the diffikilty which Blair an Chase air kickin up about what is to be dun with the suthrin States after the rebelyon is put down. He ses he wants me to help git up the messidge, and kinder fix things up ginrally. I writ back that cold wether was cumin on, and my rumatiz would probably trouble me, so I could not tell exactly what I would do, but if I could be of any service to my country, as long as life lasted, I would do my duty. I wrote him, also, about that matter of the southern States, an I told him that it reminded me of the old receipt for cooking a rabbit. "First catch your rabbit." I told him they had not got the southern States yet, that they sartainly wouldn't get them this year, an I didn't see any great likelihood of gettin them next year. In fact, the times of the soldiers were mostly out, an I didn't believe they would ever get another sich an army, an if he followed my advice he would get up a Peace this winter without fail. I ain't got any answer to this letter, but I shall wait for one before I go. If the Kernel talks huffy, I won't stir a step, for he knows I allers tell him the plain, blunt truth, as I believe it. Wen I can't talk that way to a man, I won't have nothing to do with him. The old Ginneral allers wanted everybody around him to speak there rale sentiments. Nothing made him so mad as to suspect any body of flatterin him, or shaming in any way.
The other day Kernel Stebbins cum hum from the war. The Kernel has been down to Morris Island with Ginneral Gilmur. He ses that the sand on that island is kinder onaccountable. The Kernel reckons that he has eat nigh about a bushel. The Kernel used to be very good on writin poetry, but he says all the flatus has oozed out of him, an he don't believe he could write a line to save his life. We had a grand recepshin for the Kernel on his arrival. The Downingville Insensibles turned out as usual on sich occashins. You recollect that the Kernel went off as an Insine, an when he was promoted to be Captain he cum hum an we giv him a recepshin. Now he is raised to Kernel he cums hum agin. He cums every time he gets promoted, to let his old naybors see how he looks in his new uniform. I never see the Kernel look so well. He has got a span new suit of blue uniform, all covered with gold buttons, an gold lace an gold shoulder-straps. I tell you, the people looked astonished, and the Downingville folks feel very proud of him. The Kernel expects before long to be a Ginneral, and then to be called to the command of the Army of the Potomac! Wen the Kernel was received at the Town Hall, Kernel Doolittle, who commands the Downingville Insensibles, made the recepshin speech. The following is the speech, with the Kernel's reply:
"Kernel Stebbins: I am deputed by the citizens of Downingville to welcome you once more to your native town and hum. We have heard of your gallant exploits, your glorious bravery, your never-dyin devoshin to the Star-Spangled Banner. Comin as you do, covered with the dust and blood of the battle-field, we hail you as the friend of the oppressed African and the savior of your country."
To which the Kernel replied:
"Kernel Doolittle: I can't begin to express to you the feelins of my hart. This occashin is techin. Sojers can't make speeches. I've dun my duty. I've seen the cannons roar. I've heard the flash of a thousand rifles all at once. There ain't nothin that can equal it for rite down tall sublimity. But, feller-citizens, we ought to be most rejoiced now because freedom is going it at such big licks. I'me a manifest destiny man. I believe freedom is to extend from the frozen planes of Alabama to the sunny banks of Newfoundland. There ain't nothin kin stop it. It is comin like an avalanche from the eternal hills of Giberalter. Freedom! freedom! will resound from creashin come to pullin turnip time, an all the hopples that bind the legs of American citizens of Afriken 'scent will fall off. Them's my sentiments, and I don't keer who knows 'em. The old Union ain't of any more ackount in these 'ere times than an iron pot with a hole in the bottom. Wat we want is a new Union which will have for its motto the celebrated words of Daniel Webster, 'Freedom and niggers—now and forever—one and inspirable.'"
"Amen," yelled out Deacon Jenkins, who had been listenin' attentively, as the Kernel sat down, and the hull audience broke out into the most tumultuous applause. There is a little mistake in Kernel Doolittle's speech, where he speaks of Kernel Stebbins being covered with the dust an blood of the battle-field. Now, the truth was, the Kernel, with his new uniform, looked as if he had jest cum out of a band-box, but Kernel Doolittle had his speech writ out, an he couldn't alter it. Kernel Stebbins got on such high hosses, that he talked about seeing the boomin' of cannon an hearin' the flash of guns, but the truth was, he didn't know exactly what he said an the people were so carried away with havin' a live Kernel among them, that they didn't notice it. There ain't been nothin' talked of in Downingville sence the Kernel's return, except his recepshin. Elder Sniffles preached a sarmon on it, takin' for his text "There shall be wars an rumors of wars," an provin from the Bible that war is the duty of all real, genuine Christians. So, you see, there ain't a more loyal place in the country, unless it be Washinton, where all the office-holders an contractors live. But I must close. I did't expect to write you but a few lines this time. If I go to Washington, I will let you into the secrete of the Blair and Chase rumpus, an keep you posted up ginerally on things behind the curtin."
Yours, till deth,
Majer Jack Downing.
LETTER XXVII.
The Major Starts for Washington—Takes his Axe with him—Mr. Lincoln glad to see him—The Cabinet in Session—The opinion of Seward, Chase, Stanton and others—The Major called on for an opinion—The Story of Old Sam Odum—Mr. Stanton gets Excited.
Washington, Nov. 6, 1863.
To the Editers of The Dabook:
The very next day after I writ you my last letter, I got one from Linkin, tellin me I must cum on without fail. He said he was in a peck of trubbil about his messige—that Chase an Seward were pullin rite in contrary direcshins, an what to do he didn't know. So I jest packed up my things, took my pipe in my mouth an my old hickery in my hand, and started. I strapped my axe on the outside of my trunk, for this is the only weepin, besides my hickory cane, that I ever carry. Goin down to the cars I met Deacon Jenkins, who went on to Washinton, you recollect, to make the Kernel's sojer clothes, an ses he, "Majer, what are you takin your axe with you to Washinton for?" "Wal," ses I, "Deacon, I expect I shall get awful, tarin mad with them Abolitionists this winter in Washinton, an ther ain't eny way that I kin work off a fit of that kind except by goin out to the wood-house an choppin wood. So I determined to take along my axe. It is one the old Ginneral used when he got mad, an I have always preserved it to remember him, ef nothin else."
I got to Washinton all safe, an went direct to the White House. The feller who tends the door didn't know me at first; but when he saw my hickery he began to open his eyes, I tell you. Ses he, "You are Majer Downing, I believe," bowin like and scrapen his feet, as ef he thought I keered for that. Ses I, "Yes, I'm Majer Jack Downing, an you jest tell the President, about as quick as time will let you, that I'm here." So he run up-stairs, an I went after him, stoppin in the room where the offis-seekers have to wait, to take a good look down the Potomack to see ef things looked nateral. I hadn't stood there more than a minit when who should cum up behind me but Linkin himself. He caught rite hold of my hand, an ses he, "Majer, how are you? I'm tickled to deth to see you;" an he kept shaken my hand as ef he thought it was made of lether. Ses I, "Kernel, do you want me to help write your messige?" Ses he, "Of course I do, Majer." "Wal, then," ses I, "please don't shake that hand eny more, for you've pretty nigh mashed it now." "Wal," ses he, "Majer, I couldn't help it, for it seems as ef Providence sent you jest in the nick of time." Ses I, "How is that?" "Wal," ses he, "the Cabynet is in session, an I've just finished tellin them one of Artemus Ward's best stories, an got 'em all into a good humor. The messige is the very thing they met to discuss, an you're cum rite in the nick of time," hittin me, as he spoke, a slap on the back that made the cold chills run over me.
Nothin would do but I must go in and hear the discusshin. So I walked in as large as life. I knew 'em all, an they all knew me. They pretended to be rale glad to see me, perticularly Stantin; but he needn't try to deceeve me, for under them spectacles of his I see a pair of hyena eyes. I tell you that that man will bear watchin. However, I sed nothin; but after the how-do-doos were over, I laid my old hickery on the table, took out my pipe, an went to smokin. The Kernel then called the meetin to order, an sed he wanted a short ackount of each department, so he could fix up his messige, an he also wanted the opinion of each one as to what he thought ought to be done with the southern States after the rebellyon is crushed. Fust, he called upon Seward.
Wal, Seward said that furrin affairs were all rite; that he had offered to carry out the policy of England all over the country, an set up a monarchy, ef necessary, to put down the Dimmycrats, an that upon his faithfully promising to do this, the British Government at once seized the rebil rams. That as for the southern States, he thought the best thing that could be done with them, for the good of the country an the grate cause of humanity, was to turn 'em all into one big plantation an make Thurlow Weed Chief Manager.
Then Chase spoke. He sed the finances were in a flourishing condishin. He now had five hundred printin presses to work makin money; that the debt warn't only $5,000,000,000,000; that every body was gettin rich, an that the way to treat the southern States an save the country was just this: Issue a Proclamashin that only jest enough cotton should be raised for him to print greenbacks on, an then he could control the currency in spite of all the copperhead gold speculaters in creashin.
Stantin sed that his department was all right. That he had got rid of all the copperhed ginrals, and had left the track clear for the next President to be a genuine Abelishinist. That all that was necessary now was to keep the war up till after the next Presidential elecshin, and he thought he could do it. As for the southern States, he was for givin the niggers the plantations and makin the whites their slaves.
Then old grandfather Welles got up, strokin his long white beard. He sed that nothin could save the nashin but gunboats; that he was buildin one a day now, except on the Sabbath, which he piously devoted to prayin an fastin, and to dividin the contracks among his relashins. He thought the South ought to be surrounded with a wall of gunboats from Texas to Maryland.
The next one that spoke was Blair. He said he hadn't stopped a single paper durin' the hull year, an he was only sorry that he ever did; that he had only given the papers he stopped more circulashin than they ever had before; that no one would ever catch him into another such a scrape. As for the southern States, he was down on all the Radikels. He sed they might be allowed to cum back jest as they wanted to.
When it cum Daddy Bates' turn, he was fast asleep. When Linkin told him what he wanted, he sed it warn't for him to say what should be done with the Southern States. After it was decided what to do with 'em, he supposed they would want a legal opinion on the subject, an he could give one on either side, he did'nt care which.
After they had all got thru, Linkin turned to me, an ses he, "Majer, what do you think about this matter?" I knocked the ashes out of my pipe, and ses I, "Wal, I don't like to give an opinion on the jump, for I hain't had time yet to see exactly how the land lays here; but," ses I, "as near as I understand it, all these men here are tryin to catch the South first, and then what to do with her afterwards is another question. Now, the South seems to be a good deal like old Sam Odum, up in Maine, when he thought the devil was after him. One night he got to dreaming, and jumped out of bed in his shirt, and ran like all possessed down the street. About a half a dozen neighbors chased him until he run up a tree, out of which they couldn't get him anyhow. He kept a screaming "the devils are after me," and would fite like a tiger if any one tried to get at him. Finally, old Deacon Peabody cum along, and ses he, "Sam thinks you fellers are the devils that are goin to ruin him; you jist go away and let him alone, and Sam will be hum and in bed afore morning." They tuk his advice, and sure enough, so it was."
When I sed this, Stantin, who is quick as a flash, jumped up, an ses he, "Majer, do you mean to say that we are devils tryin to catch the South?" an he walked rite close up to my face, jest as if he thought he could bully me down. Ses I, "Mr. Secketery, if you will stand back about six inches, you kin see an hear jest as well." He stepped back a little, an I picked up my old hickery, an ses I, "Stantin, do you recollect the time down to Fort Munroe when you tried to get on the President's trowsers?" I never see a feller wilt so as when I sed this. He turned all sorts of colors, an wriggled as if he had a pin stickin in him. "Now," ses I, "I didn't say that you were devils, or anything of the sort, but it seems putty certain that Mr. Stantin feels the shoe pinchin. At all events," ses I, "you ain't caught the South yet, an consultin what you will do with her before that is like countin chickens before they are hatched."
The Kernel then sed that the session was closed, an after they all axed me to cum an see 'em, except Stantin, they went away. I think my story about Sam Odum sot putty strong on 'em, an ef they feel like takin it to hum let 'em do so, for my rale rite down solemn opinion is, ef these ere Abolishin Cabynet were to stop trying to catch the South,she would be hum an in the Union bed afore mornin.
Yourn, till deth,
Majer Jack Downing.
LETTER XXVIII.
The Major and the "Kernel" at work on the Message—The Major visits Mr. Chase again—Sees the Machines for Printing Greenbacks—A Machine for every General—The accounts mixed up—Mr. Lincoln gets Flighty over them—The Major Puts him to bed, and applies a mustard-plaster—He Revives, and proposes a Conundrum—The Major also proposes one.
Washington, Nov. 19th, 1863.
To the Editers of The Dabook:
Surs:—If I ain't been bizzy sence I writ you last, then never a man was. Besides, I've had a considerabul twinge of my old inemy, the rheumatiz. This ere Washington atmosfere is terribul on the constitushin. The Kernel, too, was nigh about down sick one day; but we both tuk a good, old-fashioned wiskey-sling, of the very best Old Rye, and went to bed on it. The next mornin we both felt fust rate. The Kernel keeps as good wiskey as I ever got enywhere. We have been very hard at work on the messige, and such a time as we have had of it you never did see. Stantin don't know how meny sojers he has got in the field, nor how meny have been killed or wounded. Grandfather Welles can't tell how meny gunbotes he's got, an as for Chase, he don't purtend to even guess for a certainty how many greenbacks there are aflote, or how big the public debt is. The Kernel sed he couldn't even lay the foundashin timbers of his messige until he had some figgers about the debt to begin on. So I told him I would go over an see Chase an have a talk with him. I tuk my slate under my arm an started. Soon as I went in Chase tuk me by the hand an sed he was rale down rite glad to see me. I telled him what I wanted, an he sed he would soon have it reddy for me, but jest then he asked me to go up-stairs an see the macheenery an printin presses, and so on, that he had got to make money. He sed the worst of it was that the machenes was constantly gettin out of order, and he wanted to know if I understood anything about sich affairs. I telled him there warnt nothing, from squirrel-traps to dog-churns and thrashing macheenes, that I didn't know from stem to starn. Then he sed I was jest the chap he wanted. So I went with him, and I was perfectly thunderstruck when I saw all the riggin, and fixins, and belts, and shafts, and pulleys, and machenes all a runnin and whizzin and buzzin, as fast as they could go. Ses the Secketary, "This here macheen runs to pay off Gineral Grant's troops. This one runs to pay off Gineral Meade's troops. This one runs for Gineral Banks. This one is now bizzy for Gineral Burnside, and here is this ere one completely broken down. It is Gineral Gilmore's macheen!" "Wal," ses I, "Mr. Secketary, do you have a macheen for every Gineral and every army?" "Yes," ses he, "about that." "Wal," ses I, "what do you do about the contracters?" "Oh," ses he, "I ain't showed you them yet. That's in another room." Ses he, "Come along with me." So I follered, and we went off into another room. It was nigh about ten times as big as the first one, and there were hundreds of presses runnin' as fast as they could go. "There," ses he, "if these here machenes were to stop one day, it would set all Wall street into a panic. Sometimes, when the belts give out or the bolts break, or the coal gits short, or paper don't git in in time, there is a good deal of troubil, but I've got it so fixed now that I keep 'em putty well supplied." Ses I, "Mr. Secketary, who is your engineer?" "Wal," ses he, "he's a good trusty man." "But," ses I, "suppose he should bust your bilers, what would Wall street do then?" "Wal," ses he, "I never thought of that, but I guess there ain't eny danger." "Wal," ses I, "steam is mighty onsartin. Old Aunt Keziah Wiggleton, up in Maine, used to say that the only safe way to run a steamboat was to take the bilers out, and my opinion is, that a government run by steam will bust up one of these days." Chase didn't seem to like this last remark much, but he didn't say enything. We cum down stairs putty soon after, and a feller with a brown linen coat on, nigh about all over ink, brought a hull lot of papers covered over with figgers, and sed that Mr. Linkin could find out all he wanted to from them. I looked 'em over, but I couldn't make hed nor tail to them. "Wal," ses I, "perhaps a chap who understands dubble and twisted entry book-keepin' can onderstand this ere figgering, but I'll be hanged if I kin." Ses I, "Here's seven thirtys, and five twentys, and six per cents, and five per cents, and bonds and stocks and sartificates, and '68s, and '78s, and '96s, and 158s, and Lord knows how many more 8s, until it gets all mixed up so that you can't tell enything more about the debt than Stantin kin tell how sojers has been killed and wounded. Now," ses I, "the people don't care a straw enything about your six twentys, or your five twentys. All they want to know is jest how much money this ere war has cost, and that is what I'me tryin' to figger out for em. When old Ginneral Jackson wanted me to go into Squire's Biddle's Bank and cifer out how matters stood I soon did it, but that warn't eny more comparin to this here affair, than the bunch of elder bushes in Deacon Jenkins's meadow is to the Dismal Swamp. I tuk the papers, however, over to Linkin, for it was the best I could do. Wen I handed them to the Kernel, ses he, "Majer, does Chase expect me to survive after studyin out these figgers?" "Wal," ses I, "Kernel, I don't know, butI think Chase wants to be next President."
The Kernel tuk the hint rite off; but he sed Chase would never be President, for he wanted to be so bad that he acted all the time as if a bumble bee was stingin him, and that his flyin round so would kill him off, if nothin else. We then both sot down and went to studyin the figgers. I cifered with my slate, and the Kernel made chalk marks on his hat every time we got up to a million of dollars. Purty soon the Kernel's eyes began to look wild, and ses he, "Majer, where do we land next? Is she hedin up stream or side-ways? She'll go down, sure as thunder. Well, let her rip; she's been a sinkin consarn for years." I see at once that the Kernel was flighty. Chase's figgers had turned his hed, and he thought he was flat-botin agin on the Mississippi river. But he kept on ravin. Ses he, "Majer, knock that nigger off the bow of the bote; he's rite in the way of the pilot." Ses I, "Kernel, it ain't safe to hit a nigger in these days; Stanton will put me in Fort La Fayette." I thought this might bring the Kernel to his senses, but it didn't. Ses he, "There it goes, Majer, jest as I told you, rite on that snag. That nigger is to blame for the hull of it." I see it was no use, that the Kernel was nigh about stark mad, and so I said to him, ses I, "Let's put up this work to-night, an go to bed." He didn't want to, but I dragged him off, an he kept ravin' all the time, "That nigger has ruined me! There he comes—he is after me yet!"
As soon as I got the Kernel in bed, I put a double set of mustard plasters on his feet, an then gave him a strong dose of my old remedy, elder-bark tea. I knew that would cure him, if anything on arth. Purty soon the sweat began to start, and the gripin in the bowels began. Jest as soon as this took place, it drawed all the disease out of his head, an the next mornin he was as bright as new dimes used to be when there was sich things.
The fust thing the Kernel sed to me in the mornin was, ses he, "Majer, I hed an awful dream last nite." Ses I, "What was it?" "Wal," ses he, "I dreamt that the nigger had destroyed the Union." "Wal," ses I, "Kernel, you git nearer the truth in your dreams than you ginrally do when you are wide awake. If you will only have another dream, you will see the Abolishinists have killed the Union, and that the poor nigger is only the means that they have used to do it."
The Kernel didn't say nothin, but looked down on the floor an whistled. Finally, he tuk out of his pocket one of Chase's new fifty-cent shinplasters, an ses he, "Majer, kin you tell me why this new currency has theodorof nashinality about it?" "No," ses I, "Kernel, I don't see it." "Wal," ses he, "because it iscentedpaper!" "Wal," ses I, "Kernel, now kin you tell me why that fifty-cent shinplaster is like the war?" Ses he, "Majer, you've got me there." "Wal," ses I, "the face is black, which means that we are fightin to free the nigger, and the back is red—for the blood—the price we are payin for it!"
When I sed this the Kernel brought his hand down on the tabil like all possessed, giv a kick with his foot that sent his slipper flyin clear across the room, an ses he, "Majer, by the ——." Ses I, "Kernel, hold on. Do you want to take any more elder-bark tea?" When I sed this he tapered rite down, an ses he, jest as good as pie, "Let's have some old rye and make frends."
So I didn't object, but the messige ain't finished yet, and the Lord only knows when it will be dun.
Yourn till deth,
Majer Jack Downing.