 | CHAPTER IV. The Down-easters, &c. &c.
&c. |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
On shifting my quarters and going farther forward,
where I might pursue the train of thought conjured
up by the lively picture of society I had just left, I
found myself in the company of another stranger,
evidently from the south—perhaps from Baltimore,
as he was remarkably well-dressed, rather sallow,
and given to calling unmarried females, whatever
might be their age, Miss—hit or miss, I should say,
though if I were a woman of a certain age, like Hannah
Moore, Joanna Bailie or Elizabeth any body,—
I think I should rather be hit any how, than missed
in that way; at the south, it is regarded as peculiar
to the north, as downright a vulgarism, to say ma'am
to the unmarried, as to talk about a dish of tea, though
both, instead of yankee—are English modes of speech.
Before five minutes were over, that which was only
conjecture at first, became certainty; for the individual
in question while talking with me about the curiosities
of our northern speech, had the misfortune to say
in'-quiry, deciss'ive, adver'tiss, and dif-fic'-ult. We
were interrupted by the Down-Easter with a figurehead
to his face, talking to another. Why then, to
the best o' my belief, said he, the tor'-mented critter!
he's a sort of a travellin' missionary goin' about to
an' fro in the airth seekin' what he may devour ho—
ho—ho!
I started and turned to see whom he had in view—
and whether it was really and truly a laugh or only a
and to this day I continue in doubt. He had never
laughed before—to my knowledge—nor do I believe
that he has ever laughed since—like other people.
No great shakes tho' arter all, continued he, sitting
on the windlass, talking apparently to himself, with a
long nine in his mouth, and swinging his legs, somewhere
between 225° and 280° on the average, for
ten minutes together; lives by swappin' watches and
so-forths, six days o' the week, an' preachin' at the
halves, or maybe for his board an' hoss-keep a'
sabba-days.
Preaching at the halves—how's that? said the
southerner.
Why dont you know? in partnership for what's
taken up arter the sarmon's over; sometimes they go
snacks, an' sometimes they sell out aforehand for so
much over an' above thir reglar wages.
How?—snacks—hey? I don't understand you—I
never heard of this before.
I want to know! exclaimed the other down-easter.
Well you do know, replied the southerner, in perfect
good faith, mistaking a northern exclamation for
a formal interrogatory.
Why, continued the down-Easter—there's them
that preaches yer see and then there's them that rides
about an' drums up the congregation—poor business
though, now I can tell ye—quite spylt for the reg'lar
trader—so many pious young men about now that
has their expenses paid, so 't they are able to
under-preach the rest of us; there's some on 'em
gits a dollar a day an' found; when if they was
airn the salt to their porridge—
Let alone their porridge! said the Baltimorian.
Well well I've no objection to that nyther, answered
the down-easter, also in perfect good faith and
simplicity, mistaking a southern idiom, for a gentle
reproof.
Here a most obstreperous peal of laughter broke
forth, from a tall, showy, handsome, savage looking-fellow,
whom I had not observed before. Who is
he—what's he laughin' at?—sees somethin' over-board,
I ruther guess, dont you?—wonder where he
was brung up, to have no more manners than that
comes to? continued the latter of the down-easters,
tacking question to question by the score, without
waiting for a single answer. Taint half an hour ago
't I heard him talk about growin' potaters an' makin'
corn, an' raisin' niggers—guess he was pokin' fun at
somebody; an' then I should like to know (in a
whisper) what upon irth he means by hog-an-omminy,
an' hoe cakes, an' pone bread, an' mud-larks that's
made into Virginny-ham. I'll be driv right in eend,
if I can see through that.
Before I had time to reply, my friend with the
nose, rounded to and bore away on another tack,
propounding so many questions without appearing to
see me or any body else, or to care a fig about being
answered—talking to himself as it were in a loud
earnest voice—that I determined to have a pull at the
game he was putting up, on my own account, or perhaps
I had better say, on my own `account and risk;'
for there is no little risk in setting a down-Easter.
If I am not much deceived, said I—you are a New-Englander;
are you not?
Me!—What makes you think so?
That's enough—I am satisfied now.
Satisfied?—who with?—yourself or me?
Perfectly satisfied—best answer I ever heard in my
life; a great deal better than yes or no; for it amounts
to proof—proof positive—that you are of
those that always answer a question by asking
another.
Why—how you talk!
Here, the travelling-trader against whom I had been
cautioned, and who had followed me without being
perceived, spoke up and addressing himself to the
other who was on the wheel asked him what he
thought of the war—`take it altogether—inside an'
out, as the nigger said.'
Why, what do you think of it yourself? was the
reply.
Ah—ha!—I know what makes ye so snappish; see
through you, when you fust cum aboard—if I didn't,
there's no sneks in our part o' the country—leave't
to you, neighbour:—appealing to me as if we were
on the most familiar terms in the world, and taking
up my hat as he spoke, and blowing about the rich fur
by way of parentheses.
I replied as well as I knew how, and forthwith a
political set-to began, which continued till there
were five or six of a side all talking together—laughing—swearing—smoking—and
calling one another
blue-lights, jacobins, tories, democrats and enemies to
the country. The sharpest and bitterest, nay the
rudest and coarsest things were said—but all in a
a passion, though they would strike their fists upon
the empty hogsheads, and their eyes would flash and
their chins quiver with rage one minute, and they
would all burst out a laughing together, and clap their
hands, and stamp their feet, and hourra the next, as
the one side or the other happened to give a good
hit. In the midst of the uproar my attention was
called off to another group so thoroughly characteristic
of a steam-boat conversation-party that I
could not forbear listening awhile.
One had a newspaper and was reading aloud to the
rest—in a way that appeared to amuse them exceedingly.
When he came to what he called an outlandish
word, he would stop and spell it, and then push forward
again with a speed that left him breathless at
the end of every paragraph. T. Z. A. R—said he,—
how do you purnounce that air, mister? turning to
Gage; never had no schoolin' to speak of myself—
Ah! said Gage, with a look of surprize—
No, never, an' the leetle I do know I've picked up
here an' there, nobody knows how; an' I don't
purtend above all to know but plaguy leetle about
grammar an' jogrify.—T. Z. A. R.—I should call
that Teazer—the Teazer of Rooshy, hey?
Well, and why not? said Gage; free country you
know.
Wal! I declare! If that aint jest my way o' thinkin'.
Taint more an' three years ago last fall—raising
his voice and looking about him with an air of growing
superiority—when I was a candidate for our leegislater,
or may be youd call it legis'-latoore? some folks
do—an' bein' one o' the se'-lectmen, I was in the
cares for Noah Webster, says I, or his Third part
eyther says I—or for Perry's dicksonary—I've gut as
good a right to my pernouncyashun as they have to
theirn, says I, ary one of em, says I—T-Z-A-R,—T
stands for T. dont it?—and Z-A-R spells Zar, dont
it?—an' that makes Teazer, if I aint most plaguily
mistaken.
Precisely, said Gage. And if you are ever on the
school-committee again, I advise you to try them all
round with that very word. See if they can spell it
after you, or pronounce it either.
Work em about right, hey? plaguy tough fellows
some on 'em though; take most any word apart ever
you see, and put it together again full as good as 'twas
afore—an' sometimes better. Tried him once with
tremendyous—and squire Joe Smith he yaw hawed
right out, and said he'd be most particularly dumsquizzled
if there was any sich a word. Putty feller
for a squire, wannt he? an' a 'chool committee-man
too! But I guess I paid him well for it, afore I was
done with him. Next year he might 'a been governor,
with a salary o' six hundred dollars a year—
And found? said Gage.
An' found? no indeed—find himself—putty good
wages too, I should say; for my part I offered to
take it for half price and give the balance towards a
new meetin'-house—but bein' a lawyer, he might 'a
had the whool, an ben allowed somethin' hansum to
boot for wear an' tear.
Washing and mending, you mean, hey? said Gage.
No I don't nyther—we do our own washin' an'
why should'nt the governor?
Taint posserble! said Gage. I looked at him in
amazement. You, would'ntbelieve it possible reader,
for such a man, with such a face, to hoax any body
alive—
The down-easter went on describing how he had
managed to defeat squire Smith, electioneering against
him throughout the whole neighbourhood; putty
feller for a governor! added he, when he had got
through—not to know there was sich a word as tremendyous!
Pray sir, said the little Bostonian—turning with an
air of authority toward Gage, and glancing at the
bystanders, as if to prepare them for a triumph, pray
sir, upon what ground,—if you are serious,—do you
pretend to justify the pronunci-ation of that word,
Tzar?—if you are serious, I say?
If I am serious—my dear sir! What can have led
you to suppose me not serious? The true sound of
the ancient C.—(I began to be puzzled myself here:
was he or was he not humbugging a brother yankee?
For my life, I could'nt tell.)—Of the ancient C. has
never been settled. The learned, (with a bow—
which the other took to himself) are uncertain to this
day, whether he whom we call cæsar was not called
Kæsar by the Romans. The emperor of Germany,
the direct inheritor of the title you know (another
bow) is called der Kaiser, which would seem to justify
the idea.—Odds in favor of Gage.
To be sure, but—and here the other began to look
bewildered.
But then, as the Italians say ladzaretto, and pentsiero,
of d and t with those of z and s like the Russians—
another bow—and the Russians having borrowed the
title of Caesar, and corrupted it by their horrible orthography
into Tzar (speaking faster and faster-every
moment, so that his antagonist had no way of escaping
the mystification) I confess I do not well see how we
can avoid following them so far at least as to call
their T, by its right name—T, instead of C. Three
to one for Gage.
Nor I sir—nor I—but then as to the a—a— I want
you should show me, that is to say—for where the
object of discussion is not so much victory, as truth,
we had'nt ought—appealing to the company—never
ought I should say—blushing to the eyes and beginning
to switch his boots with his pocket-handkerchief—to
take too much for granted as Butler says—
ever read Butler's analogy sir? or Adam Smith, or
the Spectator —?
Precisely sir—I agree with you there, said Gage;
but then, Rome was not built in a day!—and he
looked about him with such a knowing air, that several
of the bystanders began to wag their heads at one
another, as much as to say—what a snag of a fellow
at an argument! all to nothing for Gage—no
betters.
And moreover, continued he, addressing himself
anew with a deferential bow to his antagonist—I
have an idea, and I should be happy to have your
opinions upon the subject sir.—I have an idea that
the languages of Europe abound in similar corruptions—why
may we not have the Teazer of Russia,
as well as the Dolphin of France, the Clam of
Tartary and the Dog of Venice?—
The clam of Tartary, and the dog of Venice!
cried the other; as if, notwithstanding the perfect
simplicity and good-faith of Gage's countenance, he
had begun to suspect for the first time, that we were
laughing at him. And what might have been the
consequences but for an accidental interruption, I
would not take upon myself to say: for he grew very
pale about the mouth, and there was an angry flashing
of his bright blue eyes that indicated a dangerous
temper. A hundred to one offered; no takers.
I presume sir, said a tall thin awkward man with
knock-knees, and green goggles and protruding eyes,
lugging out his pocket-handkerchief with a violent
flourish, and stepping up to Gage—I presume sir, that
you have never been in Rooshy—speaking in a very
sharp key, and so as to attract every body's attention
—pulling off his goggles and wiping them so carefully,
with his teeth clenched and his queer-looking eyes
roving about over all our faces with an expression of
cool confidence which had a very unfavorable effect
upon those, who, but a moment before, had been ready
to hurra for Gage,—have you sir?—bets equal for
the new comer.
Never, said Gage, without any change of countenance—
never.
Well sir—I have!
The devil you have! said Gage; with an air of such
unaffected astonishment, as to deceive me for a white.
Gage losing favor.
Yes sir! straightening himself up, replacing the
goggles, withdrawing his feelers and giving his pocket-handkerchief
another deliberate and circumstantial
flourish, (five to four against Gage) and there they
Tzar—and not Teazer—
With all my heart, answered Gage; but give me
leave to ask you sir—what does that prove? Bets
even.
Prove sir—prove? said the other, shifting his feet
once or twice, changing his pocket-handkerchief no
less than five times from one hand to the other, and
taking off and putting on his goggles three times,
before he had worked out the answer—wiping them
every time and appealing to each of the different by-standers
by turns, with a peering into his very eyes that
diverted me inexpressibly—Prove sir?—why sir, it
proves that if the Italians do say Ladzaretto, that's
no reason why other people should say Teazer!
Indeed! said Gage, and bets were all going the
other way.
Ah, ha!—there you have him! said the other
antagonist!—answer me that if you can! whispered
a third. That's into yer, a few! I ruther guess!
cried a fourth. The current was evidently setting
hard in favor of the new comer.
Why sir, continued Gage, if you mean to infer that
pronunciation of the word to be right, because they
pronounce it so in Russia, then you would justify
every sort of corruption, every sort of pronunciation;
the Scotch, the Welsh, the Irish, and the Yankee—in
talking English as they do: For they do what?—just
exactly what the Russians do, borrow other peoples
words, appropriate them to their own use, without
leave or license, and spoil them. And then forsooth,
we are to follow their example, are we? If they
cannot spell, we must'nt—if they spell Cæsar with a
give it to him Gage! One more round my
boy and the game's up!
My own idee 'gzackly! cried the school-committee-man.
Not a fair case though, answered the man with the
goggles—by no manner o' means; wunt allow it,
nor touch to! As if them that use a word most are
not likely to know best? Getting wild—into him
Gage! One hundred to five—no taker.
Do we always find it so in point of fact? continued
the imperturbable Gage. Did you ever hear a mechanic
say le'-ver? Don't they all say lev'-er? even
the watchmaker and the machinest, with their patent
lev-vers. Do you know a single navigator who
does'nt say hor'-izon for hori'zon, a painter or drawing-master
who does't say a'riel for a-erial? a schoolmaster
who does'nt say pronun-ci-a-tion instead of
pronunshiation, though he never thinks of saying
offi-ci-al, but offishal; a lawyer who does'nt say to-summons
for to summon, evidence for witness,
ten'-ure for te'nure, and perhaps recon'nizance, for
recog'-nizance; a builder who does'nt say pylaster
for pilaster, or a lover of back-gammon who does'nt
play the very devil with the names of the throws,
however well he may speak French at other times—
saying tray-ace, and syzes, and deuces and kayters—
I might go through with society in the same way.
The man with the goggles had nothing to say—he
was thunder-struck at the volubility and seriousness
and readiness of Gage, and stood staring at him,
speechless and motionless, with his mouth wide open.
Fifty to one on Gage—all to nothing! Time! time!
Gage untied his handkerchief and jumped over the
ropes.
| CHAPTER IV. The Down-easters, &c. &c.
&c. | |