HOW WE MANUFACTURE POLITICAL FAITH.
MR. M'FADDEN enters the tavern, which presents one of those
grotesque scenes so peculiarly southern, almost impossible for the
reader to imagine, and scarcely less for pen to describe. In and
around the verandas are numerous armchairs, occupied by the
fashionable portion of the political material, who, dressed in
extreme profuseness, are displaying their extraordinary distinctions
in jewellery of heavy seals and long dangling chains. Some are young
men who have enjoyed the advantage of a liberal education, which
they now turn into the more genial duty of ornamenting themselves.
They have spent much time and many valuable cosmetics on their
heads, all of which is very satisfactorily repaid by the smoothness
of their hair. Their pleasure never penetrated beyond this; they ask
no more.
They ask but little of the world, and are discussing the
all-important question, whether Colonel Mophany or General Vandart
will get the more votes at the polls. So they smoke and harangue,
and drink and swear, and with inimitable provincialisms fill up the
clattering music. There is a fascinating piquancy in the strange
slang and conversational intermixture. It is a great day at the
crossing; the political sediment has reduced all men to one grade,
one harmonious whole, niggers excepted. Spirits that cannot flow one
way must flow another.
In an adjoining room sit the two candidates-gentlemen of high
distinction-for the votes of the sovereign people. Through those
sovereign rights they will satisfy their yearning desire to reach
the very high position of member of the general assembly. Anxiety is
pictured on their very countenances; it is the fruit of care when
men travel the road to distinction without finding it. They are well
dressed, and would be modest, if modesty were worth its having in
such an atmosphere. Indeed, they might have been taken for men with
other motives than those of gaining office by wallowing in a
political quagmire reeking with democratic filth. Courteous to each
other, they sit at a large table containing long slips of paper,
each candidate's sentiments printed thereon. As each voter--good
fellow that he is--enters the room, one or the other candidate
reaches out his hand to welcome him, and, as a sequel, hands him his
slip, making the politest bow. Much is said about the prospects of
the South, and much more that is very acceptable to those about to
do the drinking part of the scene.
Both candidates are very ambitious men; both profess to be the
people's champion-the sovereign people-the dear people-the
noble-hearted people-the iron-handed, unbribable, unterrified
democracy-the people from whom all power springs. The
never-flinching, unterrified, irresistible democracy are smothered
with encomiums of praise, sounding from all parts of the room. Mr.
Lawrence M'Fadden is ushered into the room to the great joy of his
friends: being a very great man among the loyal voters, his
appearance produces great excitement.
Several friends of the candidates, working for their favourites, are
making themselves very humble in their behalf. Although there is
little care for maintaining any fundamental principle of government
that does not serve his own pocket, Mr. M'Fadden can and will
control a large number of votes, do a deal of knocking down at the
polls, and bring up first-rate fighting men to do the keeping away
the opposite's constituents. Thus our man, who has lately been
bought as preacher, is most useful in this our little democratic
world.
Some two or three hundred persons have collected near a clump of
trees on the lawn, and are divided into knots intermixed with
ruffian-looking desperadoes, dressed most coarsely and
fantastically. They are pitting their men, after the fashion of good
horses; then they boldly draw forth and expose the minor
delinquencies of opposing candidates. Among them are the "Saw-
piters," who affect an air of dignity, and scout the planter's offer
of work so long as a herring runs the river; the "piny woods-man,"
of great independence while rabbits are found in the woods, and he
can wander over the barren unrestrained; and the "Wire-Grass-Men;"
and the Crackers,
Singular species of gypsies, found throughout the State. who live
anywhere and everywhere, and whom the government delights to keep
in ignorance, while declaring it much better they were enslaved. The
State possesses many thousands of these people; but few of them can
read, while never having written a stroke in their lives is a boast.
Continually armed with double-barrel guns, to hunt the panting buck
is one of their sports; to torture a runaway negro is another; to
make free with a planter's corn field is the very best. The reader
may imagine this picture of lean, craven faces-unshaven and made
fiercely repulsive by their small, treacherous eyes, if he can. It
can only be seen in these our happy slave states of our happy Union.
The time draws near when the candidates will come forward, address
the sovereign constituency, and declare their free and open
principles-their love of liberal governments, and their undying
affection for the great truths of democracy. The scene, as the time
approaches, becomes more and more animated. All are armed to the
teeth, with the symbol of honour--something so called--beneath their
coarse doublets, or in the waistbands of their pantaloons. The group
evinces so much excitement that belligerents are well nigh coming to
blows; in fact, peace is only preserved by the timely appearance of
the landlord, who proclaims that unless order be preserved until
after the candidates have addressed them, the next barrel of whiskey
will positively "not be tapped." He could not use a more effectual
argument. Mr. M'Fadden, who exercises great authority over the
minions under him, at this announcement mounts the top of an empty
whiskey barrel, and declares he will whip the "whole crowd," if they
do not cease to wage their political arguments.
While the above cursory remarks and party sparrings are going on,
some forty negroes are seen busily employed preparing the
indispensable adjuncts of the occasion-the meats. Here, beneath the
clump of trees, a few yards from the grocery and justices' office,
the candidates' tables are being spread with cold meats, crackers,
bread and cheese, cigars, &c., &c. As soon as the gentlemen
candidates have delivered themselves of their sentiments, two
barrels of real "straight-back" whiskey will be added.
"This is the way we puts our candidate through, down south, ye see,
fellers, voters: it's we what's the bone and siners o' the rights o'
the south. It's we what's got t' take the slow-coach politics out o'
the hands o' them ar' old harristocrats what don't think them ar'
northern abolitionists han't goin to do nothin. It's we, fellow
citizens, what puts southern-rights principles clean through; it's
we what puts them ar' old Union haristocrats, what spiles all the
nigger property, into the straight up way o' doing things! Now,
feller voters, free and independent citizens-freemen who have fought
for freedom,--you, whose old, grey-headed fathers died for freedom!
it takes you t' know what sort a thing freedom is; and how to enjoy
it so niggers can't take it away from you! I'ze lived north way,
know how it is! Yer jist the chaps to put niggers straight,--to vote
for my man, Colonel Mohpany," Mr. M'Fadden cries out at the very top
of his voice, as he comes rushing out of the tavern, edging his way
through the crowd, followed by the two candidates. The gentlemen
look anxiously good-natured; they walk together to the rostrum,
followed by a crowd, measuring their way to the assembly through the
darling affections of our free and independent voters. Gossamer
citizenship, this!
As they reach the rostrum, a carriage is seen in the distance,
approaching in great haste. All attention being directed to it, the
first candidate, Colonel Mohpany, mounts the stump, places his right
hand in his bosom, and pauses as if to learn who it brings. To the
happy consolation of Mr. M'Fadden and his friends, it bears Mr.
Scranton the philosopher. Poor Mr. Scranton looks quite worn out
with anxiety; he has come all the way from the city, prepared with
the very best kind of a southern-rights speech, to relieve his
friend, General Vardant, who is not accustomed to public
declamation. The General is a cunning fellow, fears the stump
accomplishments of his antagonist, and has secured the valuable
services of philosopher Scranton. Mr. S. will tell the constituency,
in very logical phraseology,--making the language suit the sentiments
of his friends,--what principles must be maintained; how the General
depends upon the soundness of their judgment to sustain him; how
they are the bone and sinews of the great political power of the
South; how their hard, uncontrastable appearance, and their garments
of similar primitiveness, are emblematic of the iron firmness of
their democracy. Mr. Scranton will further assure them that their
democracy is founded on that very accommodating sort of freedom
which will be sure to keep all persons of doubtful colour in
slavery.
Mr. Scranton arrives, receives the congratulations of his friends,
gets the negroes to brush him down,--for it is difficult to
distinguish him from a pillar of dust, save that we have his modest
eyes for assurances-takes a few glasses of moderate mixture, and
coolly collects his ideas. The mixture will bring out Mr. Scranton's
philosophical facts: and, now that he has got his face and beard
cleanly washed, he will proceed to the stand. Here he is received
with loud cheering; the gentleman is a great man, all the way from
the city. Sitting on a chair he is sorry was made at the north, he
exhibits a deal of method in taking from his pocket a long cedar
pencil, with which he will make notes of all Colonel Mohpany's loose
points.
The reader, we feel assured, will excuse us for not following
Colonel Mohpany through his speech, so laudatory of the patriotism
of his friends, so much interrupted by applause. The warm manner in
which his conclusion is received assures him that he now is the most
popular man in the State. Mr. Scranton, armed with his usually
melancholy countenance, rises to the stump, makes his modestly
political bow, offers many impressive apologies for the unprepared
state in which he finds himself, informs his hearers that he appears
before them only as a substitute for his very intimate and
particular friend, General Vardant. He, too, has a wonderful
prolixity of compliments to bestow upon the free, the patriotic, the
independent voters of the very independent district. He tries to be
facetious; but his temperament will not admit of any
inconsistencies, not even in a political contest. No! he must be
serious; because the election of a candidate to so high an office is
a serious affair. So he will tell the "Saw-pit men" a great deal
about their noble sires; how they lived and died for liberty; how
the tombstones of immortality are emblazoned with the fame of their
glorious deeds. And he will tell these glorious squatters what
inalienable rights they possess; how they must be maintained; and
how they have always been first to maintain the principle of keeping
"niggers" in their places, and resisting those mischievous
propagators of northern villainy-abolitionists. He will tell the
deep-thinking saw-pit voters how it has been charged against them
that they were only independent once a year, and that was when
herrings run up the Santee river. Such a gross slander Mr. Scranton
declares to be the most impious. They were always independent; and,
if they were poor, and preferred to habit themselves in primitive
garbs, it was only because they preferred to be honest! This, Mr.
Scranton, the northern philosopher, asserts with great emphasis.
Yes! they are honest; and honest patriots are always better than
rich traitors. From the san-pit men, Mr. Scranton, his face
distended with eloquence, turns to his cracker and "wire-grass"
friends, upon whom he bestows most piercing compliments. Their lean
mules-the speaker laughs at his own wit-and pioneer waggons always
remind him of the good old times, when he was a boy, and everybody
was so honest it was unnecessary even to have such useless finery as
people put on at the present day. A word or two, very derogatory of
the anti-slavery people, is received with deafening applause. Of the
descendants of the Huguenots he says but little; they are few, rich,
and very unpopular in this part of the little sovereign state. And
he quite forgot to tell this unlettered mass of a sovereign
constituency the true cause of their poverty and degradation. Mr.
Scranton, however, in one particular point, which is a vital one to
the slave-ocracy, differs with the ungovernable Romescos,--he would
not burn all common schools, nor scout all such trash as
schoolmasters.
In another part of Mr. Scranton's speech he enjoins them to be
staunch supporters of men known to be firm to the south, and who
would blow up every yankee who came south, and refused to declare
his sentiments to be for concession. "You!"-he points round him to
the grotesque crowd-"were first to take a stand and keep niggers
down; to keep them where they can't turn round and enslave you!
Great Britain, fell ercitizens,"-Mr. Scranton begins to wax warm; he
adjusts his coat sleeves, and draws himself into a tragic attitude
as he takes his tobacco from his mouth, seemingly unconscious of his
own enthusiasm-I say Great Britain-" A sudden interruption is
caused. Mr. Scranton's muddled quid, thrown with such violence, has
bedaubed the cheek of an admiring saw-pitter, whose mind was
completely absorbed in his eloquence. He was listening with
breathless suspense, and only saved its admission in his capacious
mouth by closing it a few seconds before.
"Sarved him just right; keep on, Colonel!" exclaims Mr. M'Fadden. He
takes the man by the arm, pushes him aside, and makes a slight bow
to Mr. Scranton. He would have him go on.
"Great Britain-feller citizens, I say-was first to commence the
warfare against nigger slavery; and now she is joining the north to
seek its permanent overthrow. She is a monster tyrant wherever she
sets her foot-I say! (Three cheers for that.) She contributed to
fasten the curse upon us; and now she wants to destroy us by taking
it away according to the measures of the northern
abolitionists-fanaticism! Whatever the old school southerner
neglects to do for the preservation of the peculiar institution, we
must do for him! And we, who have lived at the north, can, with your
independent support, put the whole thing through a course of
political crooks." Again Mr. Scranton pauses; surveys his assembly
of free and independent citizens.
"That we can: I knows what fanatics down east be!" rejoins Mr.
M'Fadden, shaking his head very knowingly. He laughs with an air of
great satisfaction, as much as to say that, with such northern
philosophers to do the championism of slavery in the south, all the
commercial relations for which northern merchants are under so many
obligations to slave-labour, will be perfectly safe. But Mr.
Scranton has drawn out his speech to such an uncommon length, that
the loquacious M'Fadden is becoming decidedly wearied. His eyes
begin to glow languid, and the lids to close,--and now he nods assent
to all Mr. Scranton's sayings, which singularly attracts the
attention of that orator's hearers. The orator becomes very much
annoyed at this, suddenly stops-begs Mr. M'Fadden will postpone his
repose. This, from so great a man as Mr. Scranton, is accepted as
provokingly witty. Mr. M'Fadden laughs; and they all laugh. The
gentleman will continue his speech.
"The South must come out; must establish free trade, direct
trade,--trade that will free her from her disreputable association
with the North. She can do it!" Mr. Scranton wipes his forehead with
his white pocket-handkerchief.
"Ain't we deeply indebted to the North?" a voice in the crowd cries
out.
"Well! what if we are? Can't we offset the debts on the principles
of war? Let it go against the injury of abolition excitements!" Mr.
Scranton makes a theatrical flourish with his right hand, and runs
the fingers of his left through his crispy hair, setting it on end
like quills on a porcupine's back. Three long and loud cheers
follow, and the gentleman is involuntarily compelled to laugh at his
own singular sayings. "The South must hold conventions; she must
enforce constitutional guarantees; she must plant herself in the
federal capital, and plead her cause at the bar of the world. She
will get a hearing there! And she must supplant that dangerous
engine of abolition, now waging war against our property, our
rights, our social system." Thus concluding, Mr. Scranton sits down,
very much fatigued from his mental effervescence, yet much lighter
from having relieved himself of his speech, amidst a storm of
applause. Such a throwing up of hats and slouches, such jostling,
abetting, and haranguing upon the merits of the candidates, their
speeches and their sentiments, never was heard or seen before.
Mine host now mounts the stand to make the welcome announcement,
that, the speeches being over, the eating entertainments are ready.
He hopes the friends of the candidates will repair to the tables,
and help themselves without stint or restraint. As they are on the
point of rushing upon the tables, Colonel Mohpany suddenly jumps up,
and arrests the progress of the group by intimating that he has one
word more to say. That word is, his desire to inform the bone and
sinew of the constituency that his opponent belongs to a party which
once declared in the Assembly that they-the very men who stand
before him now-were a dangerous class unless reduced to slavery! The
Colonel has scarcely delivered himself of this very clever charge,
when the tables, a few yards distant, are surrounded by promiscuous
friends and foes, who help themselves after the fashion most
advantageous. All rules of etiquette are unceremoniously dispensed
with,--he who can secure most is the best diplomatist. Many find
their mouths so inadequate to the temptation of the feast, that they
improve on Mr. Scranton's philosophy by making good use of their
ample pockets. Believe us, reader, the entertainment is the
essential part of the candidate's political virtue, which must be
measured according to the extent of his cold meats and very bad
whiskey.
To carry out the strength of General Vardant's principles, several
of his opponent's friends are busily employed in circulating a
report that his barrel of whiskey has been "brought on" only half
full. A grosser slander could not have been invented. But the report
gains circulation so fast, that his meats and drinks are
mischievously absorbed, and the demonstration of his unpopular
position begins to be manifest. The candidates, unflinching in their
efforts, mix with the medley, have the benefit of the full exercise
of free thought and action, hear various opinions upon "the Squire's
chances," and listen to the chiming of high-sounding compliments.
While this clanging of merry jargon is at its highest, as if by some
magic influence Romescos makes his appearance, and immediately
commences to pit sides with Mr. M'Fadden. With all Romescos'
outlawry, he is tenacious of his southern origin; and he will assert
its rights against Mr. M'Fadden, whom he declares to be no better
than a northern humbug, taking advantage of southern institutions.
To him all northerners are great vagabonds, having neither
principles nor humanity in their composition; he makes the assertion
emphatically, without fear or trembling; and he calls upon his
friends to sustain him, that he may maintain the rights of the
South. Those rights Romescos asserts, and re-asserts, can only be
preserved by southern men-not by sneaking northerners, who, with
their trade, pocket their souls. Northerners are great men for
whitewashing their faces with pretence! Romescos is received with
considerable clat. He declares, independently, that Mr. Scranton
too is no less a sheer humbug of the same stripe, and whose
humbugging propensities make him the humble servant of the south so
long as he can make a dollar by the bemeaning operation. His full
and unmeasured appreciation of all this northern-southern
independence is here given to the world for the world's good. And he
wants the world to particularly understand, that the old southerner
is the only independent man, the only true protector of humanity!
Romescos' sudden appearance, and the bold stand he takes against Mr.
M'Fadden and his candidate, produce the utmost confusion; he being
unpopular with the saw-pit men, with whom he once exhibited
considerable dexterity in carrying off one of their number and
putting the seal of slavery on him, they take sides against him. It
is the Saw-pitters against Romescos and the Crackers. The spirits
have flowed, and now the gods of our political power sway to and fro
under most violent shocks. Many, being unable to keep a
perpendicular, are accusing each other of all sorts of misdeeds-of
the misdeeds of their ancestors-of the specific crimes they
committed-the punishments they suffered. From personalities of their
own time they descend forth into jeering each other on matters of
family frailty, setting what their just deserts would have entitled
them to receive. They continue in this strain of jargon for some
time, until at length it becomes evident the storm of war is fast
approaching a crisis. Mr. M'Fadden is mentally unprepared to meet
this crisis, which Romescos will make to suit himself; and to this
end the comical and somewhat tragical finale seems pretty well
understood by the candidates and a few of the "swell-ocracy," who
have assembled more to see the grand representation of physical
power on the part of these free and enlightened citizens, than to
partake of the feast or listen to the rhetoric of the speeches. In
order to get a good view of the scene they have ascended trees,
where, perched among their branches like so many jackals, they cheer
and urge on the sport, as the nobility of Spain applaud a favourite
champion of the ring. At length the opposing parties doff their hats
and coats, draw knives, make threatening grimaces, and twirl their
steel in the air: their desperation is earnest; they make an onset,
charging with the bravado of men determined to sacrifice life. The
very air resounds with their shouts of blasphemy; blood flows from
deep incisions of bowie-knives, garments are rent into shreds; and
men seem to have betaken themselves to personating the demons.
Would that they were rational beings! would that they were men
capable of constituting a power to protect the liberty of principle
and the justice of law! Shout after shout goes up; tumult is
triumphant. Two fatal rencontres are announced, and Mr. Lawrence
M'Fadden is dangerously wounded; he has a cut in the abdomen. The
poor victims attract but little attention; such little trifling
affairs are very common, scarcely worth a word of commiseration. One
gentleman insinuates that the affair has been a desperately amusing
one; another very coolly adds, that this political feed has had much
more interest in it than any preceding one.
The victims are rolled in blankets, and laid away in the corn-shed;
they will await the arrival of the coroner, who, the landlord says,
it will be no more than right to send for. They are only two dead
Crackers, however, and nobody doubts what the verdict will be. In
truth-and it must be told once in a while, even in our
atmosphere-the only loss is the two votes, which the candidate had
already secured with his meat and drink, and which have now, he
regrets, been returned to the box of death instead of his ballot.
Poor voters, now only fit to serve the vilest purpose! how degraded
in the scale of human nature is the being, only worth a suffrance at
elections, where votes cast from impulse control the balance of
power. Such beings are worth just nothing; they would not sell in
the market. The negro waiters say, "It don't make a bit of matter
how much white rubbish like this is killed, it won't fetch a bid in
the market; and when you sell it, it won't stay sold."
"Lose I dat way, Cato, might jist as well take tousand dollar
straight out o' mas'r's pocket; but dese critters b'nt notin'
nohow," says old Daniel, one of the servants, who knows the value of
his own body quite well. Daniel exults as he looks upon the dead
bodies he is assisting to deposit in the corn-shed.
Mr. M'Fadden is carefully borne into the tavern, where, after much
difficulty, he is got up stairs and laid on a very nice bed, spread
with snowy white linen. A physician is called, and his wound dressed
with all possible skill and attention. He is in great pain, however;
begs his friends to bestow all care upon him, and save no expense.
Thus ends our political day. The process of making power to shape
the social and political weal of our State, closes.