A Tale of Bunker's Hill.
Mr. Slick, like all his countrymen whom I have seen, felt
that his own existence was involved in that of the
Constitution of the United States, and that it was his
duty to uphold it upon all occasions. He affected to
consider its government and its institutions as perfect,
and if any doubt was suggested as to the stability or
character of either, would make the common reply of all
Americans, "I guess you don't understand us," or else
enter into a labored defence. When left, however, to the
free expression of his own thoughts, he would often give
utterance to those apprehensions which most men feel in
the event of an experiment not yet fairly tried, and
which has in many parts evidently disappointed the sanguine
hopes of its friends. But, even on these occasions, when
his vigilance seemed to slumber, he would generally cover
them, by giving them as the remarks of others, or concealing
them in a tale. It was this habit that gave his discourse
rather the appearance of "thinking aloud," than a connected
conversation.
We are a great nation, Squire, he said, that's sartain;
but I'm afeard we didn't altogether start right. Its in
politics as in racin, every thing depends upon a fair
start. If you are off too quick, you have to pull up and
turn back agin, and your beast gets out of wind and is
baffled, and if you lose in the start you hant got a fair
chance arterwards, and are plaguy apt to be jockied in
the course. When we set up housekeepin, as it were for
ourselves, we hated our step mother, Old England, so
dreadful bad, we wouldn't foller any of her ways of
managin at all, but made new receipts for ourselves.
Well, we missed it in many things most consumedly, some
how or another. Did you ever see, said he, a congregation
split right in two by a quarrel, and one part go off and
set up for themselves. I am sorry to say, said I, that
I have seen some melancholy instances of the kind. Well,
they shoot ahead, or drop astern, as the case may be but
they soon get on another tack, and leave the old ship
clean out of sight. When folks once take to emigratin in
religion in this way, they never know where to bide.
First they try one location, and then they try another;
some settle here and some improve there, but they don't
hitch their horses together long. Some times they complain
they HAVE TOO LITTLE WATER, at other times that they HAVE
TOO MUCH; they are never satisfied, and, wherever these
separatists go, they onsettle others as bad as themselves.
I NEVER LOOK ON A DESARTER AS ANY GREAT SHAKES. My poor
father used to say, "Sam, mind what I tell you, if a man
don't agree in all particulars with his church, and can't
go the whole hog with 'em, he aint justified on that
account, no how, to separate from them, for Sam, SCHISM
IS A SIN IN THE EYE OF GOD." The whole Christian world,
he would say, is divided into two great families, the
Catholic and Protestant. Well, the Catholic is a united
family, a happy family, and a strong family, all governed
by one head; and Sam, as sure as eggs is eggs, that are
family will grub out tother one, stalk, branch and root,
it won't so much as leave the seed of it in the ground,
to grow by chance as a nateral curiosity. Now the Protestant
family is like a bundle of refuse shingles, when withed
up together, (which it never was and never will be to
all etarnity) no great of a bundle arter all, you might
take it up under one arm, and walk off with it without
winkin. But, when all lyin loose as it always is, jist
look at it, and see what a sight it is, all blowin about
by every wind of doctrine, some away up een a most out
of sight, others rollin over and over in the dirt, some
split to pieces, and others so warped by the weather and
cracked by the sun--no two of 'em will lie so as to make
a close jint. They are all divided into sects, railin,
quarrellin, separatin, and agreein in nothin, but hatin
each other. It is awful to think on. 'Tother family will
some day or other gather them all up, put them into a
bundle and bind them up tight, and condemn 'em as fit
for nothin under the sun, but the fire. Now he who splits
one of these here sects by schism, or he who preaches
schism, commits a grievous sin; and Sam, if you valy your
own peace of mind, have nothin to do with such folks.
Its pretty much the same in Politics. I aint quite clear
in my conscience, Sam, about our glorious revolution. If
that are blood was shed justly in the rebellion, then it
was the Lord's doin, but if unlawfully, how am I to answer
for my share in it. I was at Bunker's Hill (the most
splendid battle its generally allowed that ever was
fought); what effect my shots had, I can't tell, and I
am glad I can't, all except one, Sam, and that shot--Here
the Old Gentleman became dreadful agitated, he shook like
an ague fit, and he walked up and down the room, and
wrung his hands, and groaned bitterly. I have wrestled
with the Lord, Sam, and have prayed to him to enlighten
me on that pint, and to wash out the stain of that are
blood from my hands. I never told you that are story,
nor your mother neither, for she could not stand it, poor
critter, she's kinder narvous.
Well, Doctor Warren, (the first soldier of his age, though
he never fought afore,) commanded us all to resarve our
fire till the British came within pint blank shot, and
we could cleverly see the whites of their eyes, and we
did so--and we mowed them down like grass, and we repeated
our fire with awful effect. I was among the last that
remained behind the breast-work, for most on 'em, arter
the second shot, cut and run full split. The British were
close to us; and an officer, with his sword drawn, was
leading on his men and encouragin them to the charge. I
could see his features, he was a real handsum man, I can
see him now with his white breeches and black gaiters,
and red coat, and three cornered cocked hat, as plain as
if it was yesterday, instead of the year '75. Well, I
took a steady aim at him and fired. He did'nt move for
a space, and I thought I had missed him, when all of a
sudden, he sprung right straight up an eend, his sword
slipt through his hands up to the pint, and then he fell
flat on his face atop of the blade, and it came straight
out through his back. He was fairly skivered. I never
seed any thing so awful since I was raised, I actilly
screamed out with horror--and I threw away my gun, and
joined them that were retreatin over the neck to
Charlestown. Sam, that are British officer, if our
rebellion was onjust or onlawful, was murdered, that's
a fact; and the idee, now I am growin old, haunts me day
and night. Sometimes I begin with the Stamp Act, and I
go over all our grievances, one by one, and say aint they
a sufficient justification? Well, it makes a long list,
and I get kinder satisfied, and it appears as clear as
any thing. But sometimes there come doubts in my mind,
jist like a guest that's not invited or not expected,
and takes you at a short like, and I say, warn't the
Stamp Act repealed, and concessions made, and warn't
offers sent to settle all fairly--and I get troubled and
oneasy again? And then I say to myself, says I, oh yes,
but them offers came too late. I do nothin now, when I
am alone, but argue it over and over again. I actilly
dream on that man in my sleep sometimes, and then I see
him as plain as if he was afore me, and I go over it all
agin till I come to that are shot, and then I leap right
up in bed and scream like all vengeance, and your mother,
poor old critter, says, Sam, says she, what on airth ails
you to make you act so like old Scratch in your sleep--I
do believe there's somethin or another on your conscience.
And I say, Polly dear, I guess we're a goin to have rain,
for that plaguy cute rheumatis has seized my foot and it
does antagonize me so I have no peace. It always does so
when it's like for a change. Dear heart she says, (the
poor simple critter,) then I guess I had better rub it,
had'nt I, Sam? and she crawls out of bed and gets her
red flannel petticoat, and rubs away at my foot ever so
long. Oh, Sam, if she could rub it out of my heart as
easy as she thinks she rubs it out of my foot, I should
be in peace, that's a fact.
What's done, Sam, can't be helped, there is no use in
cryin over spilt milk, but still one can't help a thinkin
on it. But I dont love schisms and I dont love rebellion.
Our revolution has made us grow faster and grow richer;
but Sam, when we were younger and poorer, we were more
pious and more happy. We have nothin fixed either in
religion or politics. What connection there ought to be
atween Church and State, I am not availed, but some there
ought to be as sure as the Lord made Moses. Religion when
left to itself, as with us, grows too rank and luxuriant.
Suckers and sprouts, and intersecting shoots, and
superfluous wood make a nice shady tree to look at, but
where's the fruit, Sam? that's the question--where's the
fruit? No; the pride of human wisdom, and the presumption
it breeds will ruinate us. Jefferson was an infidel, and
avowed it, and gloried in it, and called it the
enlightenment of the age. Cambridge College is Unitarian,
cause it looks wise to doubt, and every drumstick of a
boy ridicules the belief of his forefathers. If our
country is to be darkened by infidelity, our Government
defied by every State, and every State ruled by mobs--then,
Sam, the blood we shed in our revolution will be atoned
for in the blood and suffering of our fellow citizens.
The murders of that civil war will be expiated by a
political suicide of the State.
I am somewhat of father's opinion, Said the Clockmaker,
though I dont go the whole figur with him, but he needn't
have made such an everlastin touss about fixin that are
British officer's flint for him, for he'd a died of
himself by this time, I do suppose, if he had a missed
his shot at him. Praps we might have done a little better,
and praps we mightn't, by sticken a little closer to the
old constitution. But one thing I will say, I think arter
all, your Colony Government is about as happy and as a
good a one as I know on. A man's life and property are
well protected here at little cost, and he can go where
he likes and do what he likes provided he don't trespass
on his neighbor.