University of Virginia Library

15. CHAP. XV.

Luckily, though alone and unarmed, having lost
my pistols as before stated, I escaped being murdered
that night, which good fortune I attribute to
the attention of the people having been called off
by an affair which took place during the evening.
I shall relate it, for the purpose of illustrating the
true spirit of democracy.

It seems a fellow by the name of Ramsbottom,
a man-milliner by trade, and a great stickler for
the rights of man, had taken offence at a neighbour
whose name was Higginbottom, because his wife
had attempted to cheapen a crimped tucker at his

shop, and afterwards reported all over town that
he, Ramsbottom, sold his things much dearer than
his rival man-milliner over the way, whose name
was Winterbottom, and whose next door neighbour
was one Oddy. In the pure spirit of democracy,
Ramsbottom determined to dirk not only Higginbottom,
Winterbottom, and Oddy, together with
their wives, but likewise all the little Higginbottoms,
Winterbottoms, Oddys, and little Oddities.
It was several years before Ramsbottom could get
the whole party together, so as to make one job of
it. At last, after an interval of about ten years,
he collected them all at his house, to keep their
Christmas-eve, and determined then and there to
execute his diabolical purpose. It would appear,
however, that he had previously changed his mind
as to the dirking, probably on account of the trouble
of killing so many, one after the other, for just
as they were all up to the eyes in a Christmas pie,
made of four-and-twenty blackbirds, an explosion
took place—the house blew up, and every soul,
Ramsbottom, Higginbottom, Winterbottom, Oddy,
their wives, together with all the young Ramsbottoms,
Higginbottoms, Winterbottoms, Oddys,
and Oddities, were scattered in such invisible
atoms, that not a vestige of them was ever afterwards
discovered. Such is the deadly spirit of revengeful
ferocity, generated in the polluted sink of
democracy. The desperado, Ramsbottom, who
was considered rather a peaceable person, among
these barbarians, scrupled not, like the old republican
Samson, to pull down destruction on his own
head, that he might be revenged upon a poor woman
for cheapening a crimped tucker.

This affair set the people talking and tippling
all night, and to this circumstance I ascribe
my good fortune in escaping being robbed and
murdered, the usual fate of strangers, whose illfortune
detains them at this place after dark. In
the morning the steam-boat stopped, as the little
Frenchman told me she would; and taking the
precaution to inquire whether she was going North
or South, I went on board. The Yankee Captain
saluted me with a good-humoured smile enough,
and observed, “You are going the right way now,”
but I took no notice of his insolent familiarity. At
breakfast I was seated opposite a dish of terrapin
soup, and next to a fat lady of colour, who desired
me to help her to some, which she devoured with
infinite satisfaction, although you could distinguish
the fingers and toes of the poor little terrapins, as
plain as day. I could not stand this exhibition of
cannibalism, but rushed on deck to relieve my oppressed
feelings. That these white republicans,
destitute as they are of all traces of human feeling,
should indulge in this detestable dish, was not
to be wondered at; but that the people of colour
should thus commit the unnatural crime of feeding
upon their own flesh and blood, was enough
to deprive them of all sympathy. But this only
shows the force of a bad example. Looking up as
they do to the whites, as their superiors in every

respect, they naturally imitate them even in their
crimes, and eat terrapin soup because they see their
betters do it.

During the passage up the river to Philadelphia,
I was as usual annoyed by the obtrusive impertinence
of the spirit of democracy. Having fought
seven years for the freedom of speech, these people
seem determined to enjoy the full benefit of
their struggles. Morning, noon, and night, in
stage-coaches and steam-boats, they will talk,
whether there is any body willing to listen or not,
and one reason why they never go to church, is
because they would there be under the necessity
of remaining quiet for at least one whole hour.
Strangers in particular are sure to be specially annoyed
with their forward loquacity, and it is sufficient
that a man appears to be a foreigner, and to
prefer solitude, to ensure his being intruded upon,
by some one of these talking republicans. If you
won't tell them who you yourself are, what is your
business, where you came from, and whither you
are going, it is all one to them; they will turn the
tables upon you, and tell you their own story.—
Nay, rather than not talk, they would enter into
a voluntary confession of murder, and plead guilty
to a breach of the whole decalogue.[1]

One of the most inveterate of these talkers beleaguered
me on this occasion. “I reckon you're
a stranger,” said he, coming up to where I was,
apart from the rest, leaning over the railing as

usual, pondering on the barbarity and wickedness
of these immaculate republicans. I made him no
answer. “You don't seem to be one of our people?”
continued he inquiringly. No answer. “I
guess you're an Englishman.” This fellow, thought
I, has some little cleverness; he has observed the
superiority of my dress and air. “What makes
you think so?” replied I, in a tone of distant
condescension. “Why, somehow or other you
English always seem to be out of sorts, as if something
were on your conscience like. You go moping
and moping about by yourselves, and if any
body speaks to you, you look as if you would eat
them up. Now we Yankees think there is no great
harm in speaking to any man, in a civil way, and
that a civil question is worth a civil answer any
time.”

I debated a moment whether I should turn my
back upon him, pull out my fifty-eighth number
of the Quarterly, (which I had procured in Philadelphia,)
and take no further notice of this fellow.
But somehow or other, I did not like his looks.
He was a tall, muscular figure, straight as an arrow,
with a keen, large eye, and an air of insolent independence,
that seemed to challenge equality with
any man, in spite of the plain simplicity of his
garments. Besides, he had much the look of an
expert gouger, and I thought it better to listen to
his impertinence than lose my eyes.

“And so,” said I at last, “you don't like us
Englishmen.”

“Why, I can't say that exactly; but if you
would not take such pains to make yourselves disagreeable,
we should like you a great deal better.
We have had some pretty hard brushes with you
to be sure, but we Yankees are a people that soon
forget injuries, so long as you don't insult us.
Now, for my part, I'd rather a man would cut off
my head at once, than spit in my face. We don't
like to be insulted.”

“But who insults you?”

“Why, I don't know—but somehow or other it
strikes me, that when a man comes into a strange
country, the people have a right to talk to him
civilly, and it is rather bad manners in him not to
answer. It looks as if he thought himself better
than other people. Now we Yankees fought seven
years to make ourselves equal to any people
on earth, and what's more, we are determined to
be so, let what will happen.”

“I'm sure nobody prevents you.”

“Prevents us! No, I reckon that would be
rather a difficult matter. But we Yankees can tell
an Englishman half a mile off, by his being so shy.
He seems as if he was too good to be spoken to.
Now we think a man was made to be spoken to,
or else there is no use in being able to speak at all.”

“Nobody hinders you from talking.”

“Yes—but there is such a thing as not being
answered, and this, as I said, is what we don't like.
If we ask you questions about yourselves or your
country, it is a proof we feel some curiosity about

you—and if we tell you about ourselves and our
business, it is that we don't suspect you of being
rogues who would take advantage of us, by knowing
our business.”

“But can't a man, especially in this free country,
take his choice whether he shall talk or be silent?”

“To be sure he can. But then when he takes
his choice whether to answer a civil question or
not, he must also take his choice sometimes whether
he will be knocked down or not. To refuse to
answer a question—I mean a question put in a civil
way, and without meaning to give offence, is to
insult the man that asks it. Now what can be done
with a man who will neither answer a civil question,
nor resent an uncivil one by word of mouth?
There is but one way, and that is to knock him
down. If that don't make him speak, I don't know
what will.”

An excellent method. Here's your true republican
ethics, thought I—but there was no use in
quarrelling with the fellow, so I thought it best to
humour him.

“And so you don't like us Englishmen because
we don't talk?”

“That is one reason. We think a man that
can't open his mouth in a strange country, except
to find fault with every thing, had better stay at
home, and keep himself in a good humour.”

“Very well. Is that your only reason?”

“Not altogether. You go home and tell lies
about us, after staying at our houses, and being

treated in the best way we can. There was last
spring a year ago, a fellow that fell sick at my
house of an ague and fever, and staid with me
two months without paying a cent, for I scorn to
take board of any man. Would you believe it!
He wrote a book when he went back to England,
wherein he said my home was as dirty as a pigpen—my
wife a slut—my children savages—myself
a pig-stealer, and my country a den of drunkards,
gougers, thieves, and men-killers. Aye,
and the worst of it was, that he made as if I had
told him so myself, and so belied my countrymen.
I am neither gouger, dirker, thief, nor man-killer,
but”—and here his eye lightened with terrible ferocity—“if
I ever meet that man again in this
country, he or I shall have daylight shine through
us.”

“And so then you dislike us Englishmen because
we won't talk to you, nor praise you?”

“We don't want you to praise us—only speak
of us as we are—tell the truth, the whole truth,
and nothing but the truth. It's a dirty business
to come here, and eat and drink at our tables, and
sleep under our roofs—perhaps, sometimes, in the
same room with our wives and children, and then
go home and publish to the world that we have
neither manners nor decency, because we did not
send you to lay in the woods rather than receive
you as it were into the very bosoms of our family.
For my part I should be ashamed to look my dear
country in the face, did I turn a stranger from my

door, because I had no where to put him but in the
same room with myself, my wife, and my children.”

“Well, but,” said I in a soothing tone, “you
should not mind what these people say. They
are a set of low, contemptible fellows, who want
to get a little money, and have no other way of
doing it but by telling a parcel of lies to please the
vulgar.”

“I know it. But still it's no way to abuse us,
and then find fault with us for not liking you.
Every man in the United States is a part of his
country as much as a sailor is of a ship, and if you
want his friendship you must not run down either.”

“But to return to the subject of answering questions.
You Yankees are thought to be rather too
much given to that practice.

“Well,” replied he, smiling and showing a set
of teeth white as snow, “I believe there may be
some thing in that. But the truth is, we take an
interest in every thing going on in the world, and
we like to hear the news. Then we frequently, in
the course of our lives, change our professions
three or four times, and like to collect all we can
from strangers as well as others, in the way of information.
What is of no use to the farmer or
tradesman, may come in play when he gets to be a
member of congress or a judge, and for this reason
he wishes to learn as much as possible of
every body he meets. Most people like to show
their knowledge, so there is no offence in asking
them.”

I began to be tired of this tall fellow's prating,
and to get rid of the trouble of answering his questions,
rather than from any curiosity, asked him
concerning a few particulars which led to the following
relation. There is no way of gaining a
genuine Yankee's heart so effectually as asking him
for the history of his life and adventures. They
are all Robinson Crusoes in their own opinion, and
never lose an opportunity of playing the hero of a
story, even if they should invent it themselves.[2]

“I was born in New-Hampshire; raised in the
western part of the state of New-York; married
in Ohio; and am now settled, for the present, in
the state of Missouri.” Jupiter, thought I, the
man has travelled over half the globe in three lines.
“I have been a man of various enterprise, and
miscellaneous occupation. At seventeen years I
commenced land surveyor in the Genesee country,
which was then something of a wilderness,
and hardly afforded me employment, so that I had
sufficient leisure to visit my native town and get
married. I forgot that neither my wife nor myself
were worth ten dollars. However, we don't
forget such things long, that's one comfort. We
returned to Genesee with one dollar in my pocket,
and none in that of my wife. For some time I
did not make much money; but then we had plenty
of children, which, in a new country, are better
than money. However, I managed to save a
little every year, with the intention of buying a
few hundred acres of land. But the land rose in

price faster than I made money. So that by the
time I had got together five hundred dollars, land
was a dollar and a half an acre. This won't do
for me, thought I; but just then the people began
to talk of Ohio, where land was selling at that time
for two and six-pence an acre. `Betsey,' said I,
`shall we go to Ohio?' `To the end of the world,
John,' replied she; and away we scampered the
next day. Here I bought a good stout farm, cut
down some trees for a place for my house, girdled
others for a place for my wheat, and built a log
house, twenty feet long at least. People soon
flocked round, so that in a little time there was
some occasion for law: so they made me a justice
of the peace. Not long after, it was thought
but proper to introduce a little religion: so I took
to reading a sermon every Sunday, at the request
of my neighbours. By-and-by, it was thought
prudent to embody a company of militia for protection
against the Indians; so they made me a captain
of militia. In a year or two, there was a
town laid out and a court-house built. This introduced
two new wants—that of a judge and a town
treasurer—so they made me a judge, and a town
treasurer. The establishment of a town, brought
with it the want of a newspaper; so a newspaper
was set up, and I volunteered as editor.

“These honours were very gratifying to be
sure, but all this time my family was increasing
both in size and number. I had six girls and
five boys, some of them six feet high. I began

to be uneasy about providing for all these. I
had only sixteen hundred acres of land, and that
was not enough for them all. The thought struck
me I could sell it for enough to buy six or eight
thousand in Missouri territory. `Betsey,' said
I, `will you go to Missouri?' `To the end of
the world, John,' said the brave girl. So the next
day but one we hied away to Missouri, where I
bought a few thousand acres. We were almost
alone at first; but in a year or two people came
faster and faster, so that from a territory we became
a state, and wanted members of congress.
So they made me a member of congress. But the
country is getting too thickly settled for me—and
I think next year of moving up the river five or
six hundred miles, to get out of the crowd. I am
now on my way to the Federal City, where I
mean to make speeches like a brave fellow. But
see, we are just arrived, and I must look to my
baggage.” He then shook me by the hand, and
gave me a hearty invitation to come and see him
next summer, when I should probably find him
somewhere about the mouth of the Yellow-Stone.
I thanked him, as in duty bound, and so we
parted.

This wandering Gentile may stand for the whole
progeny of democracy. Such is their utter indifference
to home, and all its delightful associations,
that rather than stay there, and get upon the parish,
they will leave their kindred, friends, and
household gods, to herd with Indians and buffaloes

in the pathless wilderness. If they cannot live in
one place, they try another—if they cannot thrive
by one trade, they turn to another; and so ring the
changes until they succeed at last. Hence, as a
natural consequence, they turn drunkards, swearers,
dirkers, spitters, bundlers, gougers, and blasphemers,
caring neither for God nor man, and
finally sink into the polluted pool of diabolical democracy,
a prey to bitter remorse and consuming
recollections.[3]

I am reminded by the familiarity of this backwoodsman,
of the filthy republican practice of
shaking hands, which prevails in this country.
Such is their insolent familiarity, originating doubtless
in the turbulent spirit of democracy, that the
most ragged genius that labours in the streets or
fields, will thrust forth his brawny paw, to shake
hands with the President himself, who would be
considered unworthy of his station if he declined
this insolent familiarity. If two strangers happen
to travel together two or three days in a stage,
they cannot part without shaking hands; and this
insufferable assurance extends so far, that I have
been actually more than once insulted, by being
offered the hand of a landlord, at whose house I
happened to sojourn for a few days. On being introduced
to a person, no matter how inferior, he
would feel himself terribly affronted, and ten to
one gouge you, if you declined his offered hand.
Such is the vulgar hale-fellow-well-met familiarity
engendered by the possession of equal rights, and

the absence of a king and nobility to teach the people
their proper distance.[4]

When I came to pay my fare, the Captain, with
a smile of unpardonable insolence, declined receiving
it, observing, that as I had gone up the
river with him by mistake, he could not in conscience
charge any thing for bringing me back
again. I had no doubt that he did this merely to
escape the consequences of having put me to the
expense and inconvenience of twice travelling
backwards and forwards, thirty or forty miles.
But I was resolved not to let him off so easily, and
accordingly the moment I landed inquired the way
to a magistrate. I found this worthy seated in his
office, which, judging from appearances, must have
been at no distant date, a stable or a pig-sty. His
worship, before I could open my business desired
me to wait a little, “and be d—d to me,” till
he was at leisure. It seems he was receiving the
report of Master Constable, who had been out on
a scouting party. The following dialogue passed
between them:

“Well, Simon, where are your prisoners?”

“I caught them.” It would have been too
much for the spirit of equality to have added.
“Your worship.”

“Well, what did you do with them?”

“I gave the defendant fifteen lashes.”

“And what did you do with the plaintiff?”

“I gave him fifteen lashes too?”

“And what did you do with the person who
laid the information?”

“Why I gave him twenty-five lashes for giving
us so much trouble.”

“You did right,” said his worship; “these
rascals ought to be discouraged.”

I began to commune with myself, that if this
was the republican mode of administering justice,
the less I had of it the better. After hesitating a
moment, whether it was worth while to receive
twenty-five lashes for the pleasure of seeing the
Captain get fifteen, and finding the balance rather
against me, I made his worship a low bow, and
departed without further ceremony. In going out
I heard his worship say to Simon—“Curse that
fellow; if I was not just now engaged on a pig-stealing
party, with the mayor and alderman, I'd
lay him by the heels.”[5]