_The Emancipation Proclamation--The Way to Get Richmond--Splitting
the Union--The Major Tells a Story about Splitting--The President Gets
Indignant--Seizes the Boot-Jack--The Major Pacifies Him--A Dream--The
Major Returns to Downingville._
DOWNINGVILLE, State of Maine,
February 4th, 1863.
_To the Editers of The Cawcashin:_
Surs:--I expect you have bin kinder puzzled to know why you ain't
heered from me in so long a time. I expect you'll wonder, too, why my
letter is dated Downingville instead of Washington. Wal, I'll have to
narrate the hull story:--You know the last letter I rit you was jest
afore the first of Jinewary, when the Kernel had promised to issoo his
Free Nigger Proclamashin. I was allers teetotally down on it, an I
thought I should persuade him out of it, an tharby save the great
disgrace an stane it would be on our country. But the truth is, the
Kernel an I had a row about it, an I left. The story I'll tell jest as
it tuk place: The mornin after New Year's I cum down stairs, an the
Kernel was settin in his cheer with his feet on the tabil. "Wal," ses
he, "I've done it." "Done what?" ses I. "Why," ses he, "I've signed the
Proclamashin." "Wal," ses I, "you had better have signed your own deth
warrant, for that is the deth warrant of the Union." Ses he, "Majer,
I'm sorry you're so hard on that." "Wal," ses I, "Kernel, I ain't too
hard on it, as you'll find out to your sorror." "Now, Majer, let me ask
you one thing. We must take Richmond, an ain't we tried every way but
this? Ain't we gone by the Shanandore Vally, by Jeemes River, by
Manasses, an yet we can't get to Richmond? We must weaken the rebils
afore we can do it, an this is the way to effect it."
Ses I, "Kernel, don't you know there is one way to get to Richmond that
you ain't tried yet?" "No," ses he, "I didn't know it." "Wal," ses I,
"there is." "Wal," ses he, "what on arth is it?" "Wal," ses I, "it is
the _Constitushinal way_!" Ses I, "You've bin tryin to git there agin
the Constitushin, an you can't do it that way. Ef you hadn't called out
75,000 men to whip South Caroliny, old Virginny would never have left
you, an you could have got to Richmond jest as easy as old grandfather
Welles kin go to sleep."
"Wal," ses he, "Majer, mebby that's so, but you can't dip up spilt
milk. Ef the thing is wrong, it's gone so far now that we may as well
drive it thru an see ef we can't clinch it on tother side." "But," ses
I, "there ain't eny tother side to this questshin, eny more than there
is a white side to a nigger or black side to a white man, an you may
drive on and on, an you won't get thru." "Wal," ses the Kernel, "what
will come of it then, Majer?" "Wal," ses I, "you will _split_ the
Union, but that is all you kin do." "Wal," ses he, "Majer, that would
be jest like my tarnel luck. I never got hold of but one thing in my
life that I didn't split." Ses I, "What was that?" Ses he, "A taller
candle, an I defy all creashin to split that." Ses I, "Kernel, I guess
you must be some relashin to the feller out West who split up all the
churches." Ses he, "How was that?" "Wal," ses I, "ef I tell you the
story, you must not get mad, for I'm afeered it will set putty clus."
Ses he, "Majer, I can stand a joak better than eny other feller you
ever see." "Wal," ses I, "here goes: There was a feller out West who
got converted, or thought he did, an jined the Episcopal church. He
hadn't bin in it long afore he got the members by the ears, an split it
all up an broke it down. After he had done all the hurt he could, he
went an jined the Presbyterian church, an he hadn't bin there long
afore he split that all up. Then he went an united with the Baptist
church. It warn't long afore they were all split up an broke to pieces.
Being turned out from there, he went an jined the Methodist church. He
soon got that church into hot water. One day, when the ministers were
consultin as to what to do with him, ses one of them, ses he, 'I've bin
prayin most fervently that that man may go to hell!' 'Tut, tut,
brother,' says the Elder, 'how can you do so? You should pray for him
that he may be better, and be fitted to go to Heaven.' 'No,' ses he, 'I
don't think so. I've prayed earnestly that he might go to hell, an I'll
tell you why. He has split up an broken up every church an neighborhood
he was ever in, an ef he should go to Satan's dominions, I think he
might split an break up that place, an you know what a blessing that
would be.'"
I hadn't more than got the last word out of my mouth, wen the Kernel
jumped up from his cheer, and ketchin hold of his boot-jack, he
flourished it rite over his head in a savage style. I thought he was
stark mad. I got my hickery an backed up agin the door. I seed he was
tarin mad, but I didn't say a word. I knew he'd work off the bile in
his own way. Finally ses he, "Majer, wat are you standin there for?"
"Why," ses I, "I was waitin to see what you was goin to do with that
boot-jack." Ses he, "Have I got the boot-jack?" "Wal," ses I, "you've
got sumthin in your hand that looks a mity site like one." "Wal," ses
he, "Majer, I want to know whether you mean to apply that story to me?"
"No," ses I, "Kernel. Didn't I tell you at the outset that I didn't;
but you was tellin about what you had done in the way of splittin
things, an I was reminded of that story. But I told you to keep your
temper, an not take it as personal, but only as a joak?" "Wal," ses he,
"Majer, I'll forgive you; but ef I thought you meant that story for me,
I'd arrest you for disloyal practices, an put you in the Old Capital
Prison."
Then the Kernel asked me to take some Old Rye with him an make up
friends. So I did; but I noticed, after that, that the Kernel watched
me very clus. The very next day I had an awful attack of rumatiz, an I
also felt sick an discurraged. Thigs never looked so black afore. I had
a dream that nite, an I thought I saw the old Ginneral, an he told me,
ses he, "This ain't any place for you now. The abolitionists have got
full sway, an they will ruin the country as sure as my name is Andrew
Jackson." I also dreamed that I saw thousands of dyin men, an weepin
wimmin, an cryin children. I thought the doors of the houses all over
the North looked red with blood, an a black cloud hung over the hull
land. People seemed to be runnin first one way an then tother, askin
what they should do. Finally, I heered a grate noise, like an
arthquake, that woke me up, an I laid awake the rest of the nite.
The next mornin I was eenamost down sick with trubbel an rumatiz, an I
telled the Kernel I must go hum, where I could get good keer taken of
me. The Kernel didn't say much agin it, for, after all, he didn't
kinder like that story. So ses I, "Mr. President, I've been with you
now for about a year, an I've got a clean conscience, for I've tried to
tell you the rale truth jest as it is. Ef all who have cum around you
had done the same, you would not be where you are; but," ses I, "I
ain't got any feelin on the subject, an whenever I can be of any
sarvice to my country, jest let me know, an I will come to Washinton
agin."
The Kernel ses he, "Majer, I know you are a patriot, and I feel bad to
have you go. I wish now I had taken your advice. But," ses he, "Majer,"
an here he giv my hand a tight squeeze, "you know I've only been a boat
in a current, an yet like the boat I'll be jest the one that will get
the worst smashed to pieces when the precipice is reached." I couldn't
help feelin' kinder sorry for the Kernel as I bid him good-bye, but I
felt still more sorry for my country that it had ever made him
President.
I got hum all safe, an sense then I've been laid up four weeks with the
rumatiz. I never had such a long pull afore. As for writin with it on
me, why I can't any more do it than a shad can climb a bean-pole. I
expect you've been wonderin why you didn't hear from me, but I think
this letter will explain the resin. If the rumatiz don't come on agin,
an I think I kin say anything that would of sarvice in this awful and
solemn crysis of our country's fate, I will drop you a line. I feel as
if the nashin was dyin, however, an that we all orter put on mournin an
sack-cloth, but come what will, I'm for my country
Till deth,