University of Virginia Library

MY LIFE.

When we read about great men, we always want to
know something about the place where they live; therefore
I shall begin my history with a short account of
Downingville, the place where I was born and brought
up.

Downingville is a snug, tidy sort of a village, situated
in a valley about two miles long, and a mile and a half
wide, scooped out between two large rugged hills that
lie to the east and west, having a thick forest of trees to
the north, and a clear pond of water, with a sandy
beach, to the south. It is about three miles from the
main road as you go back into the country, and is jest
about in the middle of down east. It contains by this time
a pretty considerable number of inhabitants, though my
grandfather Downing was the first person that settled
there, jest after he got back from sogering in the revolutionary
war. It has a school-house, and a tavern,
and a minister, and a doctor, and a blacksmith, and a
shoe-maker, and folks that work at most all sorts of
trades. They have n't got any meetin house up yet, but
the school house is pretty large and does very well to
hold meetins in, and they have meetins very regular

every Sunday, the men filling up all the seats on one
side of the school house and the women on the other.

They have n't got any lawyer in Downingville; there
was one come once and sot out to settle there, and hired
a room and put a sign up over the door with his name
on it, and the word OFFICE in great large letters, so big
you could read 'em clear across the road. A meeting
of the inhabitants was called at the school house the
next day, and after chawing the matter over awhile, it
was unanimously agreed if the man wanted an office he
should go somewhere else for it, for as for having an
office-seeker in Downingville they never would. So
they voted that he should leave the town in twenty-four
hours, or they would take him down to the pond and
duck him, and ride him out of town on a rail. A committee
of twenty of the stoutest men in Downingville was
appointed to carry the message to him, at which he prudently
took the hint, and packed up and cleared out that
afternoon. All the quarrels, and disputes and law-cases
are always left out to uncle Joshua Downing, and he
settles them all, by and large, at two shillings apiece,
except where they have come to blows, and then he
charges two and sixpence a piece.

The land in Downingville is most capital rich land,
and bears excellent crops. I would n't pretend to say it
's equal to some land I've hearn tell of away off in Ohio,
where the corn grows so tall they have to go up on a
ladder to pick the ears off; and where a boy fell into
the hole that his father had dug a beet out of, and they
had to let down a bed-cord to draw him up again; and
where pigs are so plenty that they run about the farms
ready roasted, and some of 'em with knives and forks in
their backs for any body who wants to eat. I would n't
pretend that Downingville is any such sort of a place as
that; but this I do say, he that is diligent and will plant
his potatoes and corn early, and hoe them well, may
always get a good crop, and live above board.

As I said afore, my grandfather, old Mr Zebedee
Downing, was the first settler in Downingville. Bless
his old heart, he's living yet, and although he is eighty-six
years old, he attended a public caucus for the good
of his country about two years ago, and made a speech,
as you will find somewhere before you get through this
book, where it tells about my being nominated for Governor
of the State of Maine.

As it is the fashion, in writing the lives of great folks,
to go back and tell something about their posterity, I
spose I ought to give some account of my good old
grandfather, for he was a true patriot, and as strong a
republican as ever uncle Joshua was. He was born
somewhere in the old bay State away back of Boston,
and when the revolutionary war come on he went a
sogering. Many and many a time, when I was a little
boy, I've sot on the dye-pot in the corner till most
midnight to hear him tell over his going through the
fatigue of Burgwine. If one of the neighbors came in
to chat awhile in an evening, my grandfather was always
sure to go through with the fatigue of Burgwine; and if
a stranger was travelling through Downingville and stopt
at my grandfather's in a warm afternoon to get a drink
of water, it was ten chances to one if he could get away
till my grandfather had been through the whole story of
the fatigue of Burgwine. He used to tell it the best to
old Mr Johnson, who used to come in regularly about
once a week to spend an evening and drink a mug of
my grandfather's cider. And he would set so patiently
and hear my grandfather through from beginning to end,
that I never could tell which took the most comfort, Mr
Johnson in drinking the cider, or my grandfather in
going through the fatigue of Burgwine. After Mr Johnson
had taken about two or three drinks he would smack
his lips, and says he, I guess, Mr Downing, you would
have been glad to get such a mug of cider as this in the
battle of Burgwine. Why yes, said my grandfather, or

when we was on the march from Cambridge to Peekskill
either, or from Peekskill to Albany, or from Albany
to Saratogue, where we went through the fatigue of
Burgwine. Old Schyler was our gineral, said my grandfather,
bracing himself back in his chair, and he turned
out to be a traitor, and was sent for, to go to Gineral
Washington to be court-martialed. Then gineral Gates
was sent to us to take the command, and he was a most
capital officer every inch of him. He had his cocked
hat on, and his regimentals, and his furbelows on his
shoulders, and he looked nobly, said my grandfather.
I can see him now as plain as if 'twas yesterday. He
wore a plaguy great stub cue, as big as my wrist, sticking
out at the back of his neck as straight as a handspike.
Well, when Gates came we were all reviewed,
and every thing was put in complete order, and he led us
on, ye see, to take Burgwine. By daylight in the morning
we were called out by the sound of the drum, and
drawn up in regiments, and the word was, `on your
posts, march.' And there we stood marching on our
posts without moving forward an inch; heads up, looking
to the right; we did n't dare to move an eye, nor
hardly to wink.

By and by along comes the old Gineral to inspect us,
riding along so stately, and that old stub cue sticking
out behind his head so straight, it seems as though I can
see him now right here before me. And then he addressed
us, like a father talking to his children. Fellow
soldiers, says he, this day we are going to try the
strength of Burgwine's forces; now let every man keep
a stiff upper lip, go forward boldly and attack them
with courage, and you 've nothing to fear. O, he addressed
us completely; and then we marched off to
meet the inemy. By and by we begun to hear the balls
whizzing over our heads, and the inemy's guns begun
to roar like thunder. I felt terribly for a minute or two,
but we kept marching up, marching up, said my grandfather,

rising and marching across the floor, for we had
orders not to fire a gun till we got up so near we could
almost reach 'em with our bagonuts; and there was a
hundred drums all in a bunch rattling enough to craze
a nation, and the fifes and the bugles, continued my
grandfather, still marching across the floor, went tudle,
tudle, tudle, tudle — O, I can hear that very tune ringing
in my ears now, as plain as if 'twas yesterday, and
I never shall forget it to my dying day. When we got
up so near the inemy that we could fairly see the white
of their eyes, the word was `halt,' said my grandfather,
suddenly halting in the middle of the floor, and sticking
his head back as straight as a soldier — `make ready;'
'twas did in a moment, continued my grandfather,
throwing his staff up against his shoulder, — `take aim'
— 'twas did in a moment, fetching his staff down straight
before his eyes — `fire' — then, O marcy, what a roar,
said my grandfather, striking his staff down on the
floor, and such a smother and smoke you could n't
hardly see your hand afore you. Well in an instant
the word was `prime and load,' and as fast as we fired
we fell back in the rear to let others come up and take
their turn, so by the time we were loaded we were in
front and ready to fire again, for we kept marching all
the time, said my grandfather, beginning to march again
across the floor. But the inemy stood their ground and
kept pouring in upon us tremendously, and we kept
marching up and firing, marching up and firing, but
did n't gain forward an inch. I felt streaked enough,
for the balls were whistling over our heads, and sometimes
a man would drop down on one side of me and
sometimes on t'other, but it would n't do for us to flinch
a hair; we must march up and fire and wheel to the
right and left, and keep it going. By and by the word
was, `advance columns;' then, heavens and earth, how
light I felt, said my grandfather, quickening his march
across the floor. I knew in a moment the inemy was
retreating, and it seemed to me I could have jumped
over the moon. Well, we marched forward, but still
kept firing, and presently we begun to come on to the
inemy's ground; and then, O marcy, such a sight I
never see before and never want to again: stepping over
the dead bodies, and the poor wounded wretches wallowing
in their blood, mangled all to pieces, and such
screeches and groans, some crying out dont kill me,
dont kill me, and others beggins us to kill 'em to put
'em out of misery. O, it was enough to melt the very
heart of a stone, said my grandfather, wiping the tears
from his eyes.

But they need n't have been afraid of being hurt, for
our Gineral was one of the best men that ever lived.
He had the carts brought up immediately and all the
poor wounded souls carried off as fast as possible where
they could be taken good care of. He would n't let one
of 'em be hurt any more than he would one of his own
men. But it was a dreadful hot battle; we fit and
skirmished all the afternoon and took a good many
prisoners, and some cannon and ammunition. When it
come night the inemy retreated to their fortifications,
and we camped all night on the ground with our guns
in our hands, ready at a moment's warning to pitch battle
again. As soon as it was daylight we were all
mustered and paraded again, and round come the old
Gineral to see how we looked. He held his head up
like a soldier, and the old stub cue stuck out as straight
as ever. I can see it now as plain as I can see my
staff, said my grandfather. And O, my stars, how he
addressed us; it made our hearts jump to hear him.
Fellow soldiers, says he, this day we shall make Burgwine
tremble. If you are only as brave as you were
yesterday we shall have him and all his army before
night. But Burgwine had slipped away in the night
and got into a place stronger fortified. But he could
n't get away; he was hemmed in all round; so we got

him before it was over. We were five or six days
skirmishing about it; but I cant tell you all, nor a
quarter part ont.

But how was it you took Burgwine at last? said Mr
Johnson, taking another drink of cider. O, he had to
give up at last, said my grandfather. After we had
skirmished a day or two longer, Gineral Gates sent
word to Burgwine, that if he had a mind to march his
army back into Canada, and leave every thing this side
unmolested, he'd let him go peaceably. But Burgwine
would n't accept it; he sent word back that `he was
going to winter with his troops in Boston.' Well, after
we had skirmished round two or three days longer, and
Burgwine got into such close quarters that he could
n't get away any how, he sent word to Gineral Gates
that he'd accept the offer and march back to Canada;
but Gates sent word back to him again, `You said you
meant to winter in Boston, and I mean to make you as
good as your word.' At last Burgwine see it was no
use for him to hold out any longer, so he give all his
men up prisoners of war. Then we were all paraded
in lines a little ways apart to see them surrender. And
they marched out and marched along towards us; and
it was a most noble sight to see them all dressed out in
their regimentals and their bagonuts glistening in the
sun enough to dazzle any body's eyes. And they marched
along and stacked their arms, and they all marched
through between our lines looking homesick enough. I
guess we felt as well as they did if our clothes want so
good.

Well that was the end of the war in the northern
states. There was a little skirmishing away off to the
south afterwards, but nothing to be compared to that.
The battle of Burgwine was what achieved our independence;
it was the cap-stone of the war; there never
was sich a gloris battle as that since the days of Cesar, nor
Methuselah, no, nor clear back to Adam. I dont think

there ever was, said Mr Johnson, handing me the quart
mug and telling me to run and get another mug of cider;
for before my grandfather could get through the fatigue
of Burgwine Mr Johnson would most always get to the
bottom of the mug. When I brought in the second
mug, Mr Johnson took another sip and smacked his
lips, and says he, Mr Downing I should like to drink a
toast with you; so here 's health and prosperity to the
apple-trees of Downingville. Mr Downing, what will
you drink to us? said he, handing the mug to my
grandfather. Why, I dont keer about any cider, said
my grandfather [for he is a very temperate man, and
so are all the Downings remarkably temperate] but I
will jest drink a little to the memory of the greatest and
the bravest Gineral that this world ever see yet; so
here 's my respects to old Gineral Gates' stub cue. By
this time my grandfather having poured out of him the
whole fatigue of Burgwine; and Mr Johnson having
poured into him about three pints of cider, they would
both of them feel pretty considerably relieved, and Mr
Johnson would bid us good night and go home.

I take it that it was hearing these stories of my grandfather's
bravery told over so often in my younger days,
that made me such a military character as to induce the
President to appoint me to the command at Madawaska,
and also to go to South Carolina to put down the Nullifiers.
But I 'm getting a little before my story, for I
have n't got through with my grandfather yet, and my
father comes before I do too. As I said afore, my
grandfather was the first settler in Downingville. When
he got through sogering in the revolutionary war, he
took a notion he 'd go and pick him out a good lot of
land away down east to settle on, where there was land
enough to be had jest for whistling for it, and where his
boys would have a chance to do something in the
world. So he took grandmother and the two boys, for
father and Uncle Joshua were all the boys he had then,

and packed them into a horse waggon, and took an axe
and a hoe and a shovel, and some victual, and a bed
tick to put some straw in, and a gun and some blankets
and one thing another, and started off down east. He
drove away into Maine till he got clear to the end of
the road, and then he picked his way along through the
woods and round the pond five miles further, till he got
to the very spot where Downingville now is, and there
he stopt and baited his horse, and while grandmother
and the boys sot down and took a bit of a luncheon,
grandfather went away up top of one of the hills to
take a view of the country. And when he come down
again, says he, I guess we may as well ontackle, for I
dont believe we shall find a better place if we travel all
summer. So he ontackled the old horse, and took the
waggon and turned it over against a great oak tree, and
put some bushes up round it and made a pretty comfortable
sort of a house for 'em to sleep in a few nights,
and then he took his axe and slashed away amongst the
trees. But that old oak never was cut down; it 's the
very same one that stands out a little ways in front of
grandfather's house now. And poor old grandmother as
long as she lived, for she 's been dead about five years,
always made a practice once a year, when the day come
round that they first camped under the old oak, to have
the table carried out and set under the tree, and all
hands, children and grand-children, had to go and eat
supper there, and the good old lady always used to tell
over the whole story how she slept eight nights under
the waggon, and how they were the sweetest nights' rest
she ever had.

Well, grandfather he smashed away among the trees,
and he soon had a half a dozen acres of 'em sprawling,
and while they were drying in the sun he went to
work and built him a snug little log house, and made
two stools to set on, one for him and one for grandmother,
and a couple of blocks for the boys. He made

a stone fireplace in one corner of the house, and left a
hole in one corner of the roof for the smoke to go out,
and he got it all fixed as nice as a new pin, and then
they moved into it; and I've heard grandmother say
more than a hundred times, that she raly believed she
took more comfort in that log house, than ever a queen
took in a palace.

When the leaves and the twigs of the trees that
grandfather had cut down had got considerable dry in
the sun, he went out one warm clear afternoon and sot
fire to 'em. The wind was blowing a considerable of a
breeze from the southward, and the fire spread almost
as fast as a horse could run. Grandmother used to say
it was the grandest sight she ever see, to see them are
six acres of trees all in a light flame at once, and the
fire streaming up as high as the tallest pines, sometimes
in a broad red sheet, and sometimes in narrow strips
that went up rolling and bending like ten thousand
fiery dragon's tongues. After the fire had gone through
it grandfather went to work to clear it up. He picked up
the limbs and bits that were left and threw 'em in heaps
and sot fire to 'em again, and he laid sticks across the
large logs that were too heavy to move, and niggered
them off with fire, and then roolled them up in piles and
sot fire to 'em again and burnt 'em all up smack smooth.
Then he went to work and planted the ground all over
to corn, and potatoes, and punkins, and beans, and
squashes, and round near the house he planted water-millions,
and mush-millions, and cowcumbers, and beats
and carrots and tarnips; and grandmother carried out
a whole apron full of seeds of all kinds of arbs that
ever grew in old Massachusetts, and sowed 'em all
round, and they come up as thick as hops.

After this the family of old Mr Zebedee Downing always
lived like heroes and never knew what it was to
be in want. They had ten children, and a smart likely
set of boys and gals they were too, and they all lived to

grow up, and were all married and well to do in the
world. Father, whose name was Solomon, was the
oldest boy, and as they grew up, the hardest of the work
naturally fell upon him, and as grandfather begun to get
along considerable in years, father had to take the principal
care of the farm. So that he was always called a
hard-working boy and a hard-working man. He had
a quiet peaceable disposition, and was never known to
quarrel with any body, and scarcely ever to speak a
hash word. He was always out as soon as it was light
in the morning, and worked as long as he could see at
night, and let the weather be what it would, cold or hot,
rain or shine, his day's work was never left undone.
But this hard work, and going out in the wet and cold
so much, brought on the rumaties and made an old
man of him before he was fifty. For ten years past he
has n't been able to do hardly any thing, and he can't
get about now half so smart as grandfather, although he
is twenty-two years younger.

Uncle Joshua was the next oldest, and he was as different
from father as a toad wants a tail. He was a
clear shirk, and never would work if he could help it.
But he was always good natured, and full of his pranks,
and kept his clack agoing the whole day long; so that
the boys used to like him, and whenever they wanted
to have any frolic or fun they always used to go to him
to take the lead. As he grew up he took to reading
considerable, and after they begun to have newspapers
at Downingville he was a master hand to read newspapers
and talk politics, and by the time he was twenty-five
years old he knew more about politics than any
other man in Downingville. When he was thirty years
old he was chosen Moderator of the town meeting, and
has been chosen to that office every year since. He's
been a squire a good many years, and has held most all
the offices in town one after another, and is on the whole
considered the foremost man in Downingville. He is

now Post Master of the United States for Downingville,
an office which I was the means of helping him to by
my acquaintance with the President. Uncle Joshua has
been a considerable of a trading sort of a character, and
he 's got pretty well afore hand, so that he lives in a
nice two story house, painted red, with a good orchard
round it, and owns a good farm, and a saw-mill, besides
considerable wild land.

I cant stop now to tell about the rest of my uncles and
ants, for I've got so many letters to put into this book
that if I stop to tell about one half of my relations there
would n't be room enough for the letters; and it would
n't do to leave them out, for they contain all the history
of my public life. So I may as well break right off from
the rest of 'em, and begin to tell about myself.

I believe I was born somewhere about the year seventeen
hundred and minety-five, more or less, and mother
says I was the smartest baby that she ever see. I dont
speak of this by way of bragging, but as I am writing a
history to go before the world, I'm bound to be impartial.
She says before I was a week old I showed that I was
real grit, and could kick and scream two hours upon the
stretch, and not seem to be the least bit tired that ever
was. But I dont remember any thing about this. The
first I remember, I found myself one cold November
day, when I was about five years old, barcheaded and
barefoot, sliding on the ice. It had been a snapping
cold night, and in the morning the pond was all froze
over as smooth as glass, and hard enough to bear a
horse. All the boys in the neighborhood, and most all
the gals, turned out and had a fine frolic that day, sliding
and running on the pond. Most of the larger boys
had shoes, but we little fellers that want big enough to
wear shoes had to tuff it out as well as we could. I carried
a great pine chip in my hand, and when my feet
got so cold I could n't stand it no longer, I'd put the

chip down and stand on that a little while and warm
'em, and then at it to sliding again like a two year old.

When I got to be considerable of a boy I used to have
to work with father on the farm. But it always seemed
to go rather against my grain, and father used to say
that I did n't love work a bit better than uncle Joshua
did, without he'd give me my stent, and then he said I
would spring to it and get it done by noon, and go off
round the pond in the afternoon fishing or hunting musquash.
I think I took the most comfort in catching
musquash of any thing I used to do. There was a good
deal of pleasure in catching pickerel; to take a long
fishing pole and line, and go down to the pond in the
morning, and stand on a log whose top limbs run away
off into the water, and throw the hook off and bob it
about on the top of the water, and see a great pickerel
jump and catch it, and wait a minute or two for him to
get it well into his mouth, and then pull him ashore,
kicking and jumping and flouncing—this was most capital
fun, but it want quite equal to musquashing. I had
a little steel trap, and I used to go down at night to the
bank of a brook that run into the pond, and set the trap
on the bank just under water, and fasten it by a line to
a stake or a tree, and put a bit of a parsnip on a stick
and place it over the trap a little above the water, and
then go home and sleep as well as I could for dreaming
of musquashes, and as soon as it was cleverly light in
the morning go down to the pond and creep along where
the trap was sot, with my heart in my mouth, wondering
if it was sprung or no, and come along to the stake and
see no trap, but the line drawn straight out into the
water, then take hold of the line and draw up the trap,
and see it rising up through the water fast hold of a
great plump musquash, as dead as a drownded rat and
full of fur as a beaver, this was fun alive; it made me
feel as nicely as though I was hauling up a bucket of
dollars. The summer I was fourteen years old I catched

enough to buy me a fur hat, and a pair of shoes, and a
new jacket and trowses; and enough to buy me a
pretty good new suit of clothes almost every summer
after that till I was twenty. Howsomever I used to
stick to the farm pretty well, and help father along all I
could, for after I got old enough to think more about it,
it used to hurt my feelings to see the old gentleman
work so hard. And many a time when he has taken
hold of a hard job to do, I have gone to him and took it
out of his hands, and said, now father you go into the
house and set down and rest you, and let me do this.
And the old gentleman would turn round, but I could
see the water come into his eyes, and he would say,
`Well Jack, you are a kind boy, let folks say what they
will of you;' and then he would take his staff and walk
away into the house.

We used to have a school Downingville about three
months in the winter season and two months in the summer,
and I went to the winter school three winters, from
the time I was twelve till I was fifteen. And I was
called about the best scholar of my age that there was
in school. But to be impartial, I must confess the
praise did n't always all belong to me, for I used sometimes
to work headwork a little in order to get the name
of being a smart scholar. One instance of it was in
reading. I got along in reading so well, that the master
said I read better than some of the boys that were considerable
older than I, and that had been to school a
dozen winters. But the way I managed it was this.
There was cousin Obediah was the best reader there
was in school, and as clever a boy as one in a thousand,
only his father had n't got no orchard. So I used to
carry a great apple to school in my pocket every day
and give to him to get him to set behind me when I was
reading, were he could peak into my book, and when I
come to a hard word, have him whisper it to me, and
then I read it out loud. Well, one day I was reading

along so, pretty glib, and at last I come to a pesky great
long crooked word, that I could n't make head nor tail
to it. So I waited for Obediah. But it proved to be a
match for Obediah. He peaked, and squinted, and
choked, and I was catching my breath and waiting for
him to speak; and at last he found he could do nothing
with it, and says he, `skip it.' The moment I heard
the sound I bawled out, skip it. What's that? said the
master, looking at me as queer as though he had catched
a weazel asleep. I stopt and looked at the word again,
and poked my tongue out, and waited for Obediah.
Well, Obediah give me a hunch, and whispered again,
`skip it.' Then I bawled out again, skip it. At that the
master and about one half the scholars yaw-hawed right
out. I could n't stand that; and I dropt the book and
streaked it out of school, and pulled foot for home as
fast as I could go, and I never showed my head in
school again from that day to this. But for all that, I
made out to pick up a pretty good education. I got so
I could read and spell like a fox, and could cypher as
far as the rule of three. And when I got to be about
twenty years old, I was strongly talked of one winter for
schoolmaster. But as a good many of the same boys
and gals would go to me, that were in the school when I
read `skip it,' I did n't dare to venture it for fear there
would be a sort of a snickering among 'em whenever
any of the scholars come to a hard word.

So I jogged along with father on the farm. But let
me be doing what I would, whether it was hoeing potatoes,
or pitching hay, or making stone wall, or junking
and piling logs, I never could feel exactly easy; something
seemed to keep ringing in my ears all the time,
and saying I was made to do something else in the world
besides this. And an old woman that come along and
told fortunes, when she come to tell mine, said that
wherever I should go and whatever I should undertake
to do, I should always get to the top of the ladder. I

believe I have mentioned it somewhere in one of my
letters. Well, this made me keep a thinking so much
the harder, and wondering what I should be in the
world, and although I used to stick to my work as
steady as any of the boys, yet I used to feel as uneasy
as a fish out of water. But what made me think most
about it was father. He always used to stand to it I
was smarter than common boys, and used to tell mother
she might depend upon it, if I lived and nothing did n't
happen to me, I should some day or other raise the
name of the Downings higher than it ever had been yet.

At last father drempt a dream, that put the cap-stone
upon the whole of it. He dreampt that I was out in the
field hoeing potatoes, and he stood leaning over his staff,
as he very often used to do, looking at me. By and by
he said I stopt hoeing, and stood up and leaned my chin
on my hoe handle, and seemed to look up towards the
sky; and he said I looked as calm as the moon in a
clear summer night. Presently my hat begun to rise up
gradually, and dropt off on to the ground, but I stood
still. Then he said the top of my head begun to open,
and a curious green plant begun to sprout up out of it.
And it grew up about two feet, and sent out ever so
many young branches with broad green leaves, and then
the little buds begun to open and roll out great clusters
of the most beautiful bright flowers one above another
that ever he see in all his life. He watched 'em till they
all got blowed out into a great round bunch, as big as a
bushel basket; and then he waked up, and he felt so he
got right out of bed and walked the floor till morning.
And when we all got up, he sot down and told the dream
over to I and mother. Mother sot with her pocket
handkerchief wiping the tears out of her eyes all the
time he was telling of it; and I felt as though my blood
was running cold all over me. But from that time I
always felt sure the time would come when Downingville
would n't be big enough to hold me, and that I

should do something or other in the world that would be
worth telling of; but what it would be I could n't
think.

Well, I kept jogging along on the farm after the same
old sort, year after year, so long, and there did n't
nothing happen to me, that sometimes I almost begun to
give it up, and think sure enough it was all nothing but
a dream. Still I kept having spells that I felt terrible
uneasy, and was tempted forty times to pack up and go
and seek my fortune. I might tell a good deal more
about my life, and my uncles and ants and cousins, and
the rest of the neighbors: but I begin to feel a most
tired of writing my life, and believe I shall have to serve
it pretty much as I planted my watermillion seeds. And
that was this. When I was about six or seven years
old, our folks give me a pint of watermillion seeds and
told me to go out into the field and plant 'em for myself,
and I might have all I could raise. So off I goes tickled
enough. And I went to work and punched little holes
down in the ground and put in one seed to time along in
a row, three or four inches apart, till I got about half
the seeds planted. It was rather a warm afternoon and
I begun to feel a little tired, so I took and dug a hole
and poured the rest of the seeds all in together, and
covered 'em up, and went into the house. Well, mother
asked me if I 'd planted my seeds; yes mam, says I.
What, all of 'em, says she? Yes mam, says I. But
you 've been very spry, says she, how did you get them
done so quick? O, says I, easy enough; I planted 'em
in a hill and a row. And when they begun to come up
they found em in a hill and a row sure enough. So I
believe I shall have to pour the rest of my life into a
hill, and let it go.

To come then right to the pint — I dont mean the
pint of watermillion seeds, but the pint in my life which
seemed to be the turning pint — In the fall of the year
1829 I took it into my head I 'd go to Portland. I had

heard a good deal about Portland, what a fine place
it was, and how the folks got rich there proper fast;
and that fall there was a couple of new papers come
up to Downingville from there, called the Portland
Courier and Family Reader; and they told a good
many queer kind of things about Portland and one thing
another; and all at once it popped into my head, and I
up and told father, and says I, I 'm going to Portland
whether or no; and I 'll see what this world is made of
yet. Father stared a little at first, and said he was
afraid I should get lost; but when he see I was bent
upon it, he give it up; and he stepped to his chist and
opened the till, and took out a dollar and give to me,
and says he, Jack, this is all I can do for you; but go,
and lead an honost life, and I believe I shall hear good
of you yet. He turned and walked across the room,
but I could see the tears start into his eyes, and mother
sot down and had a hearty crying spell. This made
me feel rather bad for a minute or two, and I almost
had a mind to give it up; and then again father's dream
came into my mind, and I mustered up courage, and
declared I 'd go. So I tackled up the old horse and
packed in a load of ax handles and a few notions, and
mother fried me some dough-nuts and put 'em into a box
along with some cheese and sassages, and ropped me up
another shirt, for I told her I did n't know how long I
should be gone; and after I got all rigged out, I went
round and bid all the neighbors good bye, and jumped in
and drove off for Portland.

Ant Sally had been married two or three years before
and moved to Portland, and I inquired round till I found
out where she lived, and went there and put the old
horse up and eat some supper and went to bed. And the
next morning I got up and straightened right off to see
the Editor of the Portland Courier, for I knew by what
I had seen in his paper that he was jest the man to tell
me which way to steer. And when I come to see him

I knew I was right; for soon as I told him my name and
what I wanted, he took me by the hand as kind as if he
had been a brother; and says he, Mr. Downing, I 'll do
any thing I can to assist you. You have come to a good
town; Portland is a healthy thriving place, and any man
with a proper degree of enterprise may do well here.
But says he, Mr. Downing, and he looked mighty kind
of knowing, says he, if you want to make out to your
mind, you must do as the steamboats do. Well, says I,
how do they do? for I did n't know what a steam boat
was, any more than the man in the moon. Why, says
he, they go ahead. And you must drive about among
the folks here jest as though you were at home on the
farm among the cattle. Dont be afraid of any of 'em,
but figure away, and I dare say you will get into good
business in a very little while. But says he, there 's one
thing you must be careful of, and that is not to get into
the hands of them are folks that trades up round Huckler's
Row; for there 's some sharpers up there, if they
get hold of you, would twist your eye teeth out in five
minutes. Well after he had gin me all the good advice
he could I went back to Ant Sally's again and got some
breakfast, and then I walked all over the town to see
what chance I could find to sell my ax handles and
things, and to get into business.

After I had walked about three or four hours I come
along towards the upper end of the town where I found
there were stores and shops of all sorts and sizes. And
I met a feller, and says I, what place is this? Why this
says he, is Huckler's Row. What, says I, are these the
stores where the traders in Huckler's Row keep? And
says he, yes. Well then, thinks I to myself, I have a
pesky good mind to go in and have a try with one of
these chaps, and see if they can twist my eye teeth out.
If they can get the best end of a bargain out of me,
they can do what there aint a man in Downingville can
do, and I should jest like to know what sort of stuff

these ere Portland chaps are made of. So in I goes
into the best looking store among 'em. And I see some
biscuit lying on the shelf, and says I, Mister, how much
do you ax apiece for them are biscuit? A cent apiece,
says he. Well, says I, I shant give you that, but if you
've a mind to, I 'll give you two cents for three of 'em,
for I begin to feel a little as though I should like to take
a bite. Well, says he, I would n't sell 'em to any body
else so, but seeing it 's you I dont care if you take 'em.
I knew he lied, for he never see me before in his life.
Well he handed down the biscuits and I took 'em, and
walked round the store awhile to see what else he had
to sell. At last, says I, Mister, have you got any good
new cider? Says he, yes, as good as ever you see.
Well, says I, what do you ax a glass for it? Two cents,
says he. Well, says I, seems to me I feel more dry than
I do hungry now. Aint you a mind to take these ere
biscuit again and give me a glass of cider? And says he
I dont care if I do; so he took and laid 'em on the shelf
again, and poured out a glass of cider. I took the
cider and drinkt it down, and to tell the truth it was
capital good cider. Then, says I, I guess it 's time for
me to be a going, and I stept along towards the door.
But, says he, stop Mister. I believe you have n't paid
me for the cider. Not paid you for the cider, says I,
what do you mean by that? Did n't the biscuit that I
give you jest come to the cider? Oh, ah, right, says
he. So I started to go again; and says he, but stop,
Mister, you did n't pay me for the biscuit. What, says
I, do you mean to impose upon me? do you think I am
going to pay you for the biscuit and let you keep 'em tu?
Aint they there now on your shelf, what more do you
want? I guess sir, you dont whittle me in that way.
So I turned about and marched off, and left the feller
staring and thinking and scratching his head, as though
he was struck with a dunderment. Howsomever, I did
n't want to cheat him, only jest to show 'em it want so
easy a matter to pull my eye teeth out, so I called in
next day and paid him his two cents. Well I staid at
Ant Sally's a week or two, and I went about town every
day to see what chance I could find to trade off my ax
handles, or hire out, or find some way or other to begin
to seek my fortune.

And I must confess the editor of the Courier was about
right in calling Portland a pretty good thriving sort of a
place; every body seemed to be as busy as so many bees;
and the masts of the vessels stuck up round the wharves
as thick as pine trees in uncle Joshua's pasture; and the
stores and the shops were so thick, it seemed as if there
was no end to 'em. In short although I have been round
the world considerable, from that time to this, all the way
from Madawaska to Washington, I 've never seen any
place yet that I think has any business to grin at Portland.

At last I happened to blunder into the Legislater; and
I believe that was the beginning of my good luck. I see
such queer kinds of carrying on there, that I could n't
help setting down and writing to cousin Ephraim to tell
uncle Joshua about it; because he always wanted to know
every thing that's going on in politics. So I went to the
editor of the Portland Courier, for I had got out of money,
and asked him if he would be so good as to lend me
ninepence to pay the postage. And he said he would
with all his heart. But he could tell me a better way
than that; if I had a mind to let him have the letter he
would send it up in the Courier and it would'nt cost any
postage at all. So I let him have it, and fact, he went
right to work and printed it in the Courier as large as
life. He said he would n't let any body see it but cousin
Ephraim; but somehow or other it leaked out and was
all over the Legislater the next morning, and every body
was inquiring for Mr Downing. Well this kind of got
me right into public life at once; and I 've been in public
life ever since, and have been writing letters and rising

up along gradually one step after another, till I 've got
up along side of the President, and am talked of now
pretty strong for President myself, and have been nominated
in a good many of the first papers in the country.

All my public life pretty much may be found in my
letters. And I shall put 'em into this book along one
after another jest as they come, from the time I first sent
that letter in the Portland Courier to cousin Ephraim till
this time. I don't know but some of the politics in 'em
will want a little explaining along by the way, so I have
got my friend the editor of the Portland Courier, to put
in some notes wherever he thinks they want 'em.