University of Virginia Library

1. LETTERS OF MAJOR J. DOWNING

1. LETTER I.

FROM THE NEW-YORK DAILY ADVERTISER.

[We are happy to learn that the announcement of the supposed
death by drowning, which appeared in this paper a few
days ago, was a mistake, and that the distinguished individual,
Major Downing, is sound and well, down East. We have strong
hopes of hearing frequently from him, touching his and the President's
tour.—Eds.]

Mr. Editor,—I have seen in your paper a
`Crowner's Inquest,' saying I was drowned
at the bridge at Castle Garden, and picked
up down in York Bay. This is a tarnal lie
and I wish you to say so; I did not so much
as get my feet wet when the bridge fell,
though it was a close shave, I tell you. I was
riding right alongside the Gineral,—if any
thing, a little ahead on him. But this aint
the only thumper I've heard about that scrape.

I have heard it said, that Mr. Van Buren had
sawed the string-pieces under the bridge
(anybody may guess for what); but that can't
be so, for he was right behind the Gineral
when the bridge fell, and all the folks were
floundering in the mud and water. I thought
he was gone, too, for he was right in the
thickest on 'em. I and the Gineral clapt in
the spurs, and we went quick enough through
the crowd on the Battery; and the first thing
I saw was Mr. Van Buren hanging on the tail
of the Gineral's horse, and streaming out
behind as straight as old Deacon Willoby's
cue, when he is a little too late to meetin.
Some of the folks said it look'd like the
`Flying Dutchman,' and some said something
about `Tam O'Shanter; but never mind, we
snaked him out of that scrape as slick as a
whistle. I don't believe any one was drowned;
but some did get a mortal ducking. I never
see such a mess: they went in there like
frogs—and such an eternal mixing—colonels,
and captains, and niggers, and governors, and
sailors, and all: it made no odds which went
first, or what end was uppermost. And when
we got up to the tavern, where we put up
over night, I and the Gineral had a real laugh
to see all our folks coming in one arter another.
Gov. Cass had a bandanna tied round
his head,—`What,' says I, `Governor, are
you hurt?' `Not as I knows on,' says he; `but
I lost my wig.' And sure enough, come to
take off the handkercher, his wig was gone.
`Well,' says I, `Governor, you've got the
whole Indian tribes in your department, and
it is a hard case if you can't get a scalp to
suit you.' And the Gineral snorted right out
at this. And then come Gov. Massy; and
he had his pantaloons rip'd from the waist
band clean down to the knee. `Well,' says I,
`this beats all natur; it will cost more than
fifty cents to mend them.' `Never mind,
Massy,' says the Gineral, `if you can't get
them are pantaloons mended, the State'll give
you a new pair.' And then we all snorted
and sniker'd, I tell you.

I suppose it won't amount to nothing to
tell you what we did in York; for it seems
to me every living cretur was there. I
never see such a crowd in all creation; and
it has been just so all the while up to this
hour.

I've got the rumatiz now all over me—I
ha'nt had my hat on for nearly three weeks.

As soon as we go out, I take one side and the
Gineral t'other, and once in a while we change
sides, and keep it up, bowing right and left.
I like that better than shakin hands, for I can
stand it now, and with one swing bow over
five thousand folks at once, and we can't
shake off half that number before breakfast.

Mr. Van Buren gets along pretty well here
among the Yankees, considering; but he has
got his hands full, I tell you. They don't
hurra here quite as much as they do down
south, but kinder like to talk over things,
you know, and we've got plaguey little time
for that. `Major,' says Mr. Van Buren, one
day, `I wish you would do all the talkin with
these manufactory folks—you have a nack
that way.' `Well,' says I, `I don't know but
I have, but,' says I, `Mr. Van Buren, I guess
you can talk as glib as most folks.' So he
can: for I do raly believe, if Mr. Van Buren
was to set up a factory, he would turn out
cloth that would suit any kind of living
cretur, and no one could tell whether it was
made of cotton or flax, hemp or wool—twilled,
or plain-striped, or checker'd—but little of all
on 'em. I never see such a curious cretur as
he is—evry body likes him, and he likes evry

body; and he is just like evry body; and yet,
in all the droves of folks I've seen since I left
Washington, I never saw any body like Mr.
Van Buren. Enos Lyman got a painter to
try and get a likeness of Mr. Van Buren, for
his sign-board to the tavern, on the road to
Tanton. `Well, now,' says I, `just put up
your brushes; you may just as well try to
paint a flash of heat-lightning in dog-days.'
But he tried it, and the sign-board looks about
as much like Mr. Van Buren as a salt cod-fish
looks like a pocket handkercher.

We start to-morrow morning down east,
and I sha'nt be able to write another word till
arter we have been to Downingville. I'm
going on ahead to lend Sergant Joel a hand to
get things to rights there; and if you don't
hear of cracking work down there, that will
make 'em stare, I'm mistaken. The Gineral
is amazingly tickled with the Yankees; and
the more he sees on 'em, the better he likes
'em. `No nullification here, Major,' says he.
`No,' says I, `Gineral: Mr. Calhoun would
stand no more chance down east here, than a
stump'd-tail bull in fly time.'