“There is more in that story, Squire,” said Mr. Hopewell, “of the
Patron, and Sam’s queer illustration of the Cow’s Tail, than you are
aware of. The machinery of the colonies is good enough in itself, but
it wants a safety valve. When the pressure within is too great, there
should be something devised to let off the steam. This is a subject
well worthy of your consideration; and if you have an opportunity of
conversing with any of the ministry, pray draw their attention to it. By
not understanding this, the English have caused one revolution at home,
and another in America.”
“Exactly,” said Mr. Slick. “It reminds me of what I once saw done by the
Prince de Joinville’s horse, on the Halifax road.”
“Pardon me,” said Mr. Hopewell, “you shall have an opportunity presently
of telling your story of the Prince’s horse, but suffer me to proceed.
“England, besides other outlets, has a never-failing one in the
colonies, but the colonies have no outlet. Cromwell and Hampden were
actually embarked on board of a vessel in the Thames, for Boston, when
they were prevented from sailing by an Order in Council. What was the
consequence? The sovereign was dethroned. Instead of leading a small
sect of fanatical puritans, and being the first men of a village in
Massachussets, they aspired to be the first men in an empire, and
succeeded. So in the old colonies. Had Washington been sent abroad
in command of a regiment, Adams to govern a colony, Franklin to make
experiments in an observatory like that at Greenwich, and a more
extended field been opened to colonial talent, the United States would
still have continued to be dependencies of Great Britain.
“There is no room for men of talent in British America; and by not
affording them an opportunity of distinguishing themselves, or rewarding
them when they do, they are always ready to make one, by opposition. In
comparing their situation with that of the inhabitants of the British
Isles, they feel that they labour under disabilities; these disabilities
they feel as a degradation; and as those who impose that degradation
live three thousand miles off, it becomes a question whether it is
better to suffer or resist.”
“The Prince de Joinville’s horse,” said Mr. Slick, “is a case in pint.”
“One moment, Sam,” said Mr. Hopewell.
“The very word ‘dependencies’ shows the state of the colonies. If they
are to be retained, they should be incorporated with Great Britain.
The people should be made to feel, not that they are colonists, but
Englishmen. They may tinker at constitutions as much as they please;
the root of the evil lies deeper than statesmen are aware of. O’Connell,
when he agitates for a repeal of the Union, if he really has no ulterior
objects beyond that of an Irish Parliament, does not know what he is
talking about. If his request were granted, Ireland would become a
province, and descend from being an integral part of the empire, into
a dependency. Had he ever lived in a colony, he would have known the
tendencies of such a condition.
“What I desire to see, is the very reverse. Now that steam has united
the two continents of Europe and America, in such a manner that you
can travel from Nova Scotia to England, in as short a time as it
once required to go from Dublin to London, I should hope for a united
legislature. Recollect that the distance from New Orleans to the head
of the River is greater than from Halifax N. S., to Liverpool. I do
not want to see colonists and Englishmen arrayed against each other, as
different races, but united as one people, having the same rights and
privileges, each bearing a share of the public burdens, and all having a
voice in the general government.
“The love of distinction is natural to man. Three millions of people
cannot be shut up in a colony. They will either turn on each other, or
unite against their keepers. The road that leads to retirement in the
provinces, should be open to those whom the hope of distinction invites
to return and contend for the honours of the empire. At present, the
egress is practically closed.”
“If you was to talk for ever, Minister,” said Mr. Slick, “you couldn’t
say more than the Prince de Joinville’s hoss on that subject.”
The interruption was very annoying; for no man I ever met, so thoroughly
understands the subject of colonial government as Mr. Hopewell. His
experience is greater than that of any man now living, and his views
more enlarged and more philosophical.
“Go on, Sam,” said he with great good humour. “Let us hear what the
Prince’s horse said.”
“Well,” said Mr. Slick, “I don’t jist exactly mean to say he spoke, as
Balaam’s donkey did, in good English or French nother; but he did that
that spoke a whole book, with a handsum wood-cut to the fore, and that’s
a fact.
“About two years ago, one mortal brilin’ hot day, as I was a pokin’
along the road from Halifax to Windsor, with Old Clay in the waggon,
with my coat off, a ridin’ in my shirt-sleeves, and a thinkin’ how slick
a mint-julep would travel down red-lane, if I had it, I heard such a
chatterin’, and laughin’, and screamin’ as I never a’most heerd afore,
since I was raised.
“‘What in natur’ is this,’ sais I, as I gave Old Clay a crack of the
whip, to push on. ‘There is some critters here, I guess, that have found
a haw haw’s nest, with a tee hee’s egg in it. What’s in the wind now?’
Well, a sudden turn of the road brought me to where they was, and who
should they be but French officers from the Prince’s ship, travellin’
incog. in plain clothes. But, Lord bless you, cook a Frenchman any way
you please, and you can’t disguise him. Natur’ will out, in spite of
all, and the name of a Frencher is written as plain as any thing in his
whiskers, and his hair, and his skin, and his coat, and his boots, and
his air, and his gait, and in everythin’, but only let him open his
mouth, and the cat’s out of the bag in no time, ain’t it? They are droll
boys, is the French, that’s a fact.
“Well, there was four on ‘em dismounted, a holdin’ of their hosses by
the bridle, and a standin’ near a spring of nice cool water; and there
was a fifth, and he was a layin’ down belly flounder on the ground, a
tryin’ to drink out of the runnin’ spring.
“‘Parley vous French,’ sais I, ‘Mountsheer?’ At that, they sot to, and
larfed again more than ever, I thought they would have gone into the
high strikes, they hee-hawed so.
“Well, one on ‘em, that was a Duke, as I found out afterwards, said ‘O
yees, Saar, we spoked English too.’
“‘Lawful heart!’ sais I, ‘what’s the joke?’
“‘Why,’ sais he, ‘look there, Sare.’ And then they larfed agin, ready to
split; and sore enough, no sooner had the Leftenant layed down to drink,
than the Prince’s hoss kneeled down, and put his head jist over his
neck, and began to drink too. Well, the officer couldn’t get up for the
hoss, and he couldn’t keep his face out of the water for the hoss, and
he couldn’t drink for the hoss, and he was almost choked to death, and
as black in the face as your hat. And the Prince and the officers larfed
so, they couldn’t help him, if they was to die for it.
“Sais I to myself, ‘A joke is a joke, if it tante carried too far,
but this critter win be strangled, as sure as a gun, if he lays here
splutterin’ this way much longer.’ So I jist gives the hoss a dab in
the mouth, and made him git up; and then sais I, ‘Prince,’ sais I, for I
know’d him by his beard, he had one exactly like one of the old
saint’s heads in an Eyetalian pictur, all dressed to a pint, so sais I,
‘Prince,’ and a plaguy handsum man he is too, and as full of fun as a
kitten, so sais I, ‘Prince,’ and what’s better, all his officers seemed
plaguy proud and fond of him too; so sais I, ‘Prince, voila le condition
of one colonist, which,’ sais I, ‘Prince, means in English, that
leftenant is jist like a colonist.’
“‘Commong,’ sais he, ‘how is dat?’
“‘Why’ sais I, ‘Prince, whenever a colonist goes for to drink at a
spring of the good things in this world, (and plaguy small springs we
have here too,) and fairly lays down to it, jist as he gets his lips
cleverly to it, for a swig, there is some cussed neck or another, of
some confounded Britisher, pops right over him, and pins him there. He
can’t get up, he can’t back out, and he can’t drink, and he is blacked
and blued in the face, and most choked with the weight.’
“‘What country was you man of?’ said he, for he spoke very good for a
Frenchman.
“With that I straightened myself up, and looked dignified, for I know’d
I had a right to be proud, and no mistake; sais I, ‘Prince, I am an
American citizen.’ How them two words altered him. P’raps there beant no
two words to ditto ‘em. He looked for all the world like a different man
when he seed I wasn’t a mean uncircumcised colonist.
“‘Very glad to see you, Mr. Yankee,’ said he, ‘very glad indeed. Shall I
have de honour to ride with you a little way in your carriage?’
“‘As for the matter of that,’ sais I, ‘Mountsheer Prince, the honour is
all the other way,’ for I can be as civil as any man, if he sets out to
act pretty and do the thing genteel.
“With that he jumped right in, and then he said somethin’ in French
to the officers; some order or another, I suppose, about comin on and
fetchin’ his hoss with them. I have hearn in my time, a good many men
speak French, but I never see the man yet, that could hold a candle
to _him_. Oh, it was like lightnin’, jist one long endurin’ streak; it
seemed all one sentence and one word. It was beautiful, but I couldn’t
onderstand it, it was so everlastin’ fast.
“‘Now,’ sais he, ‘set sail.’ And off we sot, at the rate of sixteen
notts an hour. Old Clay pleased him, you may depend; he turned round and
clapped his hands, and larfed, and waved his hat to his officers to
come on; and they whipped, and spurred, and galloped, and raced for dear
life; but we dropped ‘em astarn like any thing, and he larfed again,
heartier than ever There is no people a’most, like to ride so fast as
sailors; they crack on, like a house a fire.
“Well, arter a while, sais he, ‘Back topsails,’ and I hauled up, and
he jumped down, and outs with a pocket book, and takes a beautiful gold
coronation medal. (It was solid gold, no pinchback, but the rael yaller
stuff, jist fresh from King’s shop to Paris, where his money is made),
and sais he, ‘Mr. Yankee, will you accept that to remember the Prince de
Joinville and his horse by?’ And then he took off his hat and made me a
bow, and if that warn’t a bow, then I never see one, that’s all. I don’t
believe mortal man, unless it was a Philadelphia nigger, could make such
a bow. It was enough to sprain his ankle he curled so low. And then off
he went with a hop, skip, and a jump, sailor fashion, back to meet his
people.
“Now, Squire, if you see Lord Stanley, tell him that story of the Prince
de Joinville’s horse; but before you get so far as that, pin him by
admissions. When you want to get a man on the hip, ax him a question
or two, and get his answers, and then you have him in a corner, he must
stand and let you put on the bridle. He cant help it no how, he can fix
it.
“Says you, ‘My Lord’--don’t forget his title--every man likes the sound
of that, it’s music to his ears, it’s like our splendid national air,
Yankee Doodle, you never get tired of it. ‘My Lord,’ sais you, ‘what do
you suppose is the reason the French keep Algiers?’ Well, he’ll up
and say, it’s an outlet for the fiery spirits of France, it gives them
employment and an opportunity to distinguish themselves, and what the
climate and the inimy spare, become valuable officers. It makes good
soldiers out of bad subjects.
“‘Do you call that good policy?’ sais you.
“Well, he’s a trump, is Mr. Stanley, at least folks say so; and he’ll
say right off the reel ‘onquestionably it is--excellent policy.’
“When he says that, you have him bagged, he may flounder and spring like
a salmon jist caught; but he can’t out of the landin’ net. You’ve got
him, and no mistake. Sais you ‘what outlet have you for the colonies?’
“Well, he’ll scratch his head and stare at that, for a space. He’ll
hum and haw a little to get breath, for he never thought of that afore,
since he grow’d up; but he’s no fool, I can tell you, and he’ll out with
his mould, run an answer and be ready for you in no time. He’ll say,
‘They don’t require none. Sir. They have no redundant population. They
are an outlet themselves.’
“Sais you, ‘I wasn’t talking of an outlet for population, for France or
the provinces nother. I was talking of an outlet for the clever men, for
the onquiet ones, for the fiery spirits.’
“‘For that. Sir,’ he will say, ‘they have the local patronage.’
“‘Oh!’ sais you, ‘I warn’t aware. I beg pardon, I have been absent some
time, as long as twenty days or perhaps twenty-five, there must have
been great changes, since I left.’
“‘The garrison,’ sais you.
“‘Is English,’ sais he.
“‘The armed ships in the harbour?’
“‘English.’
“‘The governor and his secretary?’
“‘English.’
“‘The principal officer of customs and principal part of his deputies?’
“‘English.’
“‘The commissariat and the staff?’
“‘English to a man.’
“‘The dockyard people?’
“‘English.’
“‘The postmaster giniral?’
“‘English.’
“‘What, English?’ sais you, and look all surprise, as if you didn’t
know. ‘I thought he was a colonist, seein’ the province pays so much for
the mails.’
“‘No,’ he’ll say, ‘not now; we have jist sent an English one over, for
we find it’s a good thing that.’
“‘One word more,’ sais you, ‘and I have done. If your army officers out
there, get leave of absence, do you stop their pay?’
“‘No.’
“‘Do you sarve native colonists the same way?’
“‘No, we stop half their salaries.’
“‘Exactly,’ sais you, ‘make them feel the difference. Always make a
nigger feel he is a nigger, or he’ll get sassy, you may depend. As for
patronage,’ sais you, ‘you know as well as I do, that all that’s
not worth havin’, is jist left to poor colonist. He is an officer of
militia, gets no pay and finds his own fit out. Like Don Quixote’s
tailor, he works for nothin’ and finds thread. Any other little matters
of the same kind, that nobody wants, and nobody else will take; if
Blue-nose makes interest for, and has good luck, he can get as a great
favour, to conciliate his countrymen. No, Minister,’ sais you, ‘you are
a clever man, every body sais you are a brick; and if you ain’t, you
talk more like one, than any body I have seen this while past. I don’t
want no office myself, if I did p’raps, I wouldn’t talk about patronage
this way; but I am a colonist, I want to see the colonists remain so.
They _are_ attached to England, that is a fact, keep them so, by making
them Englishmen. Throw the door wide open; patronise them; enlist them
in the imperial sarvice, allow them a chance to contend for honours and
let them win them, if they can. If they don’t, it’s their own fault, and
cuss ‘em they ought to be kicked, for if they ain’t too lazy, there is
no mistake in ‘em, that’s a fact. The country will be proud of them, if
they go ahead. Their language will change then. It will be _our_ army,
the delighted critters will say, not the English army; _our_ navy, _our_
church, _our_ parliament, _our_ aristocracy, &c., and the word English
will be left out holus-bolus, and that proud, that endearin’ word
“our” will be insarted. Do this, and you will shew yourself the first
statesman of modern times. You’ll rise right up to the top of the pot,
you’ll go clean over Peel’s head, as your folks go over ourn, not by
jumpin’ over him, but by takin’ him by the neck and squeezin’ him
down. You ‘mancipated the blacks, now liberate the colonists and make
Englishmen of them, and see whether the goneys won’t grin from ear to
ear, and shew their teeth, as well as the niggers did. Don’t let
Yankee clockmakers, (you may say that if you like, if it will help your
argument,) don’t let travellin’ Yankee clockmakers tell such stories,
against _your_ justice and _our_ pride as that of the Prince de
Joinville and his horse.’”