Part 10 (1/2)
SURS:--Wal, the messige ain't done yet. The Kernel keeps tinkerin at it a little every day. I tell him he is jest like a cooper hammerin at a barrel. He keeps poundin away, an when he gits thru, he is rite around jest where he started from. The other day I telled the Kernel that it mite hurry up matters by havin a Cabinet Council, and perhaps by gettin all heds together we mite git the messige in sum sort of shape.
Congress would meet afore long, an there was no time to loose. The Kernel sed he thought that would be a good idee, an so one was called.
The Kernel insisted that I should be present, though I didn't much want to be, sence I knew how Seward was trying to play the conservative and turn Dimmycrat. Howsoever, I determined to go but to say nothin. The Kernel opened the ball by tellin all hands how that he an the Majer had been to work at the messige for some weeks, off an on, like farmers sortin their corn, but they couldn't git the docyment into s.h.i.+p-shape exactly, an hence he had called 'em together to hear their opinions on the subject, an to larn how each department, stood. He sed he wanted to tech on all subjects, an fust he would ask Mr. Seward about our furrin affairs. Seward got up, lookin very pale, an the fust thing he sed was, that he believed Seemore was elected Guvernor of New York. Mr. Chase wanted to know ”what that had to do with foreign affairs, but,” ses he, an here he looked very knowin, ”perhaps Mr. Seward kin tell how Seemore c.u.m to be elected?” At this Seward brushed up an asked him ”what he meant?” ”Wal,” ses he, ”I mean jest this, that if you an Weed had not thrown cold water on Wadsworth, Seemore would never have been elected.”
”That's false,” ses Seward, an Chase jumped up as if he was goin to do sumthin, but the Kernel at once interfered, an sed that he didn't send for 'em to quarrel about the elecs.h.i.+ns, which were bad enough, Lord knows, but he wanted to know how the furrin affairs stood. Seward sed, ”that, comin to the pint, furrin affairs never looked better. We were at peace with all the world, an he didn't doubt but with the aid of his friend Weed, and a liberal use of secret service money, he would be able to keep the peace. He sed it looked now as if, in sixty days, that all idee of furrin intervens.h.i.+n for the rebils would be given up, an then the rebelyun would be smashed at once.”
Then the Kernel asked Mr. Chase how the financies stood. Wal, Chase sed that everything was working splendid; that only the other day he got a loan in Wall street above par; that everything was risin in price, an that the people was tickled to deth with the good-lookin notes he got out; that they liked 'em so well, an they were so much handier than gold an silver, that they didn't use enything else lately. He sed he thought he was going to be set down as the greatest financier since the days of Liecurgus, who made money out of iron, an thus made all the people rich at once. He said that he would make 'em all rich, ef paper didn't get too high, an there was some danger of it, as the pesky rebils had all the cotton to make it of. Jest get that, an he would snap his fingers at the hull world.
Then Stantin got up. He sed everything was now progressin finely sence the Ralerode Sooperintendent had been discharged. He didn't doubt but Burnside would be in Richmond by the time Congress met, an he thought it was so sure, that he advised Linkin to put it in his Message at once. He sed his idee was, as soon as Richmond was taken, to issoo a proclamas.h.i.+n appointing a day of thanksgiv'n an prayer for our victory over the rebils. He sed, ef his plans had been followed, we would have been in the rebil Capital long ago, but it was all rite now, and no one need have eny fears.
Then grandfather Welles spoke. He sed Mr. Stantin seemed to think that the army was goin to do all, but he could tell him that he would find that his gunboats were to play a big part. He had been all summer buildin a hull lot of iron-plated monsters, an ef the war didn't c.u.m to an end too soon, they would make the fur fly. At all events, they would be reddy to celebrate peace, which would be somethin. For his part, he didn't think the war was nigh ended; yet in fact, he didn't see how it could end until all the contracts were finished. It would'nt do to disappint so many good members of the party, who hadn't yet had their turn buyin vessels on commission, or makin gunboats.
Then Mr. Blair got up, lookin as if he thought that wisdom would surely die when he did. He sed he reckoned that the country was safe. He sed he had kept a pretty close watch on the newspapers to see ef eny of them opposed the war or advocated slavery. He thought that the people never had had sich advantages in the Post-Office as they had had sence he was Postmaster-Gineral. The people, he sed, used to have to pick out the papers they wanted to take themselves, now he did it for 'em. He sed he thought he knew best, too, what was good for them, for his father was an editor a good meny years, an when he needed informas.h.i.+n he allers called on the old man! When Blair sot down, the Kernel called upon Mr. Bates, but he had gone to sleep, so they skipped him and called upon Mr. Smith. He sed that the interior department was in a flouris.h.i.+n condis.h.i.+n, but he hed lately heered that the loco focos had agin carried Indianny, and it had so worried him as to give him the tooth-ache. Ef they wanted to know anythin more about this department, he would ask his chief clark. Here the Kernel asked Seward ef he wouldn't wake up Mr. Bates. Seward jest walked up, tuk his finger and thumb and pinched the old man's nose. As he was breathin very hard thru it, he jumped up as ef he had ben p.r.i.c.ked with a pin. Ses he, ”Have the rebils took Saint Lewis?” Seward telled him that this was a Cabbynet Council. ”Aye,” ses he, ”what's up?” ”Wal,” ses Linkin, ”we want to know the condis.h.i.+n of your department?” Ses he, ”I ain't a military Ginneral, an ain't got command of no department!” The old man warn't fairly awake yet; ses Seward, ses he, ”I guess I'll have to give him another pinch.” ”Now,” ses the Kernel, ”that reminds me of a story. An old Dominy down in Connecticut used to have a very sleepy congregas.h.i.+n.
One day, wen a good many were asleep, he stopped rite in the middle of his sermon, and called out, 'Deacon Giles, sing the 119th Psalm, to the tune of Old Hundred.' The Deacon commenced and sung one verse. Wen he got thru, the Dominy yelled out at the top of his voice, 'sing another va.r.s.e, Deacon; they ain't all awake yit.'” Wile all hands were laughing at the Kernel's story, Mr. Bates got putty wide awake, and sed that his business had got sorter mixed up with Stantin's, and in fact there warnt any courts or judges or juries now, an mity little need of Atturny Ginnerals--the Ginnerals were all of another kind. He sed wen the war was over he meant to write out a legal opinion agin it, but he was afeered it wouldn't be loyal to do it now, and so he spent most of his time in reading a bound volume of the Christian Almanac, which he had for fifty years back. He thought the country was in a very prosperous condis.h.i.+n, for he drew his salary regular.
After he got thru, the Kernel called on me to make sum remarks, but I telled him ”I didn't c.u.m there to say enything, but only to listen, an to see ef I could larn enough of what was goin on to complete the message.” They all set in then, especially Seward, an sed I must give my impres.h.i.+ns, ef nothin more. ”Wal,” I telled 'em, ”ef I sed enything I should be jest as blunt as a pump-handle, an they mustn't take no offence; an that so far as I was consarned, I might jest as well go to a singin school to larn to dance as to have c.u.m here to find enything about the state of the country. Every one of 'em seemed to be thinkin about himself, an nothin about the country. Because they drew their salary regularly, an had enough to eat and drink, they thought n.o.body was hurt. I telled 'em that I guessed they all had on 'Glorification Spectacles,' an that everything was magnified to 'em. Then I sed that jest what the Kernel wanted to know to put in his message was, how many sojers we had, an how much they were costin; an how many sailyurs we had, an how many s.h.i.+ps, an how much they cost. Then I telled 'em that the people would like to know how many poor fellers had lost their lives sence the war begun; how many had been crippled, &c., &c.; an how much the debt would be after we all got thru; an finally, what great good we had got by it all.” Here Chase spoke up. Ses he, ”We'll establish freedom an restore the Union.” ”Wal,” ses I, ”ef you want four millions of n.i.g.g.e.rs to take keer of, you're welcome to 'em, but as for restorin the Union by war, so far it's jest been like climbin a greased pole; as fast as you climb up you slip back, an,” ses I, ”it will be so to the eend of the chapter, unless I'me mistaken.” Ses Chase, ses he, ”The Majer is disloyal.” Wen he sed that I jumped rite up with my hickory, an ses I, ”Ain't your name Salmon?” Ses he, ”Yes.”
”Wal,” ses I, ”it won't be long if you don't take that back.” I never see a feller look so scart. Ses he, ”Majer, I didn't mean eny offence, an so I'll take it back, for I think you mean well.” I telled him ”that I didn't allow enybody to say or to intimate that I warnt a friend to the Const.i.tus.h.i.+n and the Union.”
The Kernel here spoke an sed that his Cabbynet was a good deal like old Josh Pendleton's boys out in lower Illinoy. They allers c.u.m hum every New Years to see the old man an have a talk of old times, but afore they got thru they allers had a regular fite. So he thought he'd adjurn the Cabbynet for fear there would be a scrimmage here.
Then they all took their departure, an the messige ain't no nearer done than ever. The Kernel an I have set up nite after nite, an drank old rye, but it is no use, we can't get it in s.h.i.+p-shape form. The Kernel ses he guesses he will jest get the messige out in rough and send it into Congris, an let Sumnure, Chandler, Lovejoy an Thad Stevens lick it into shape.
Yourn till deth,
MAJER JACK DOWNING.
LETTER XXII.
_The Message Finished--Mr. Sumner says it is not Grammatical--The Major's Excuse--Mr. Sumner Finds Fault with the Major's Spelling--The Major Stumps Him--He Gives His Views on ”Edication”--Mr. Lincoln Proposes a Connundrum--The Major Tells a Story--Mr. Seward's Opinion on the War._
WAs.h.i.+NGTON, Dec. 6th, 1862.
_To the Editers of The Cawcas.h.i.+n:_
SURS:--Wal, I'm glad to say that Congriss has got together, an the Messige has been red an digested. He wouldn't let Seward or Chase have enything to do with it, but he jest mauled it all out himself. The next day arter the Messige was sent in, Sumnure c.u.m in an sed the Messige warn't exactly grammatikal in all its parts. I telled him that ”I guessed ef he had to work around short corners as the Kernel did, without gettin tripped up, he would find it mity hard work to get everything jest according to grammer.” I telled him ”grammer warn't of eny ackount wile the rebellyun lasted--that, like the Const.i.tus.h.i.+n, the grammer was suspended, or locked up where habus korpus couldn't get at it. In fact,” ses I, ”Mr. Sumnure, I think that eny man who talks about its bein necessary to obsarve the laws of grammer, or any other laws, wen a nas.h.i.+n is in a deth struggle with traiturs, is a disloyal person, an orter to be sent to Fort La Fieit.” Wen I sed this, Sumnure turned all sorts of colors, an ses he, ”Wal, Majer, perhaps you're rite about grammer; but I think you orter spell the President's name rite in your letters. It's a disrespect to the Cheef Majestrate not to do it.”
”Wal,” ses I, ”Mr. Sumnure, I've got my own idees on spellin. Spellin is a good deel like sparkin the gals--it's jest as a feller takes a nos.h.i.+n. My idee is, ef I spell a word so as to git its sound, I'm rite, an I don't keer wat you say, it's the only rule of spellin that holds good in the long run. Now,” ses I, ”ef L-i-n-k-i-n don't spell Linkin, what on arth does it spell?” That seemed to stump him. ”But,” ses he, ”Majer, there's some ginneral rules that orter be observed--rules that the schools all use.” ”Wal,” ses I, ”I don't know much about schools, an I guess the Kernel don't nether. I went to school six weeks, an the Kernel ses he went six months. School larnin is mity poor truck to put into a feller's hed onless he's got a good deal of brains there.
There's more edicated fools now in the world than there are fools of eny other kind, an there's a great menny of them, Lord knows. And,” ses I, ”it's those edicated fools that make all the trubbil.”
”Why, Majer,” ses he, ”you ain't an enemy to edication, I hope.”
”Wal, no, Mr. Senator, I ain't no enemy to edication; I only hate edicated fools.”
Ses he, ”Majer, what do you mean by edicated fools?”
”Wal,” ses I, ”wen I was a boy, an went to school the six weeks I speak of, there was a boy in my cla.s.s who could beat me a spellin an readin, an in eenamost everything, but I could lick him jest as easy as I could whistle. He hadn't eny more s.p.u.n.k, or pluck, or courage than a sick kitten, an mighty little genewine common sense. His father, however, sent him to college, an the fust thing I heerd of him, the papers were callin him a larned man, an he ain't done enything ever sence but to blab at Abolis.h.i.+n meetins an make Abolis.h.i.+n speeches. Now,” ses I, ”that's wat I call an edicated fool. Jest like the larned pig, he can do wat he larns to do or sees done; but as for real common sense to tell wether a thing is rite or rong, he ain't worth eny more for it than a bull-dog is to catch rats.”
Sumnure looked kinder streaked wen I sed this, but I didn't say a word, an jest here the Kernel, who had been down stairs to get his boot-jack, c.u.m in. Ses he, ”Good mornin, Mr. Sumnure. I'll bet you one of Chase's greenbacks,” ses he, ”that you can't tell why this boot-jack is like an offis-seeker.” Sumnure sed he couldn't. ”Wal,” ses the Kernel, ”because it sticks close to the heels of the Presidint.”
I telled the Kernel how that Sumnure sed that the Messige warn't grammatikal. ”Wal,” ses he, ”I beleeve everything goes rong sence I became Presidint. The country is upside down; the n.i.g.g.e.rs are more trubbul than ever before; the white men are cuttin one another's throats, an it seems as if Bedlam was let loose; an now the grammer has been violated, they say. Wal, I wonder wat on arth I am fit for. I never succeeded well in flat-botein; I allers had poor c.r.a.ps wen I tried to be a farmer; I was too tall to split rails handy; and, as a lawyer, I warn't enything more than from poor to middlin. Ef I can't be Presidint, I don't see wat on arth I was made for.”
”Wal,” ses I, ”Kernel, perhaps you are like the old Quaker's dog.” Ses he, ”How was that, Majer?” ”Wal,” ses I, ”I'll tell you the story. Up in Maine, not far from Downingville, there used to live an old Quaker named Hezekiah Peabody. He had a yaller dog that was allus loungin around the house. One day Sol Hopkins, a rough old feller, c.u.m along, an ses he, 'Mr. Peabody, I want a dog to hunt foxes. Do you think your dog is good for foxes?' 'Now,' ses the Quaker, 'neighbor Solomon, I never tried the dog on foxes for the huntin of any animals is not my business; but if thee wishes a dog for foxes, accordin to the Scripters, this dog must be a good dog for foxes.' 'Wal, will you warrant him a good dog for foxes?' 'I cannot do that, neighbor Solomon, for I never tried him on foxes; but, accordin to the Scripters, thee can be sure the dog is good for foxes.' So old Sol, thinkin that Scripter proof must be good, give the Quaker five dollars for the dog.