Conversations at the River Philip.
It was late before we arrived at Pugnose's inn--the evening was cool,
and a fire was cheering and comfortable. Mr. Slick declined any share
in the bottle of wine, he said he was dyspeptic; and a glass or two
soon convinced me that it was likely to produce in me something worse
than dyspepsy. It was speedily removed and we drew up to the fire.
Taking a small penknife from his pocket, he began to whittle a thin
piece of dry wood, which lay on the hearth; and, after musing some
time said--
"I guess you've never been in the States?"
I replied that I had not, but that before I returned to England I
proposed visiting that country.
"There," said he, "you'll see the great Daniel Webster; he's a great
man, I tell you; King William, number four, I guess, would be no
match for him as an orator--he'd talk him out of sight in half an
hour. If he was in your house of Commons, I reckon he'd make some
of your great folks look pretty streaked--he's a true patriot and
statesman, the first in our country, and a most particular cute
lawyer. There was a Quaker chap too cute for him once though. This
Quaker, a pretty knowin' old shaver, had a cause down to Rhode
Island; so he went to Daniel to hire him to go down and plead his
case for him; so says he, 'Lawyer Webster what's your fee?' 'Why,'
says Daniel, 'let me see, I have to go down south to Washington, to
plead the great Insurance case of the Hartford Company--and I've got
to be at Cincinnati to attend the Convention, and I don't see how I
can go to Rhode Island without great loss and great fatigue; it would
cost you maybe more than you'd be willing to give.'
"Well, the Quaker looked pretty white about the gills, I tell you,
when he heard this, for he couldn't do without him no how, and he
didn't like this preliminary talk of his at all. At last he made
bold to ask him the worst of it, what he would take? 'Why,' says
Daniel, 'I always liked the Quakers, they are a quiet peaceable
people who never go to law if they can help it, and it would be
better for our great country if there were more such people in it. I
never seed or heerd tell of any harm in 'em except going the whole
figure for Gineral Jackson, and that everlasting, almighty villain,
Van Buren; yes, I love the Quakers, I hope they'll go the Webster
ticket yet--and I'll go for you as low as I can any way afford, say
one thousand dollars.'
"The Quaker well nigh fainted when he heerd this, but he was pretty
deep too; so, says he, 'Lawyer, that's a great deal of money, but I
have more cases there; if I give you the one thousand dollars will
you plead the other cases I shall have to give you?' 'Yes,' says
Daniel, 'I will to the best of my humble abilities.' So down they
went to Rhode Island, and Daniel tried the case and carried it for
the Quaker. Well, the Quaker he goes round to all the folks that had
suits in court, and says he, 'What will you give me if I get the
great Daniel to plead for you? It cost me one thousand dollars for
a fee, but now he and I are pretty thick, and as he is on the spot,
I'd get him to plead cheap for you.' So he got three hundred dollars
from one, and two from another, and so on, until he got eleven hundred
dollars, jist one hundred dollars more than he gave. Daniel was in a
great rage when he heerd this. 'What!' says he, 'do you think I would
agree to your letting me out like a horse to hire?' 'Friend Daniel,'
said the Quaker, 'didst thou not undertake to plead all such cases as
I should have to give thee? If thou wilt not stand to thy agreement,
neither will I stand to mine.' Daniel laughed out ready to split his
sides at this. 'Well,' says he, 'I guess I might as well stand still
for you to put the bridle on this time, for you have fairly pinned me
up in a corner of the fence anyhow.' So he went good humouredly to
work and pleaded them all.
"This lazy fellow, Pugnose," continued the Clockmaker; "that keeps
this inn, is going to sell off and go to the States; he says he has
to work too hard here; that the markets are dull, and the winter too
long; and he guesses he can live easier there; I guess he'll find his
mistake afore he has been there long. Why, our country ain't to be
compared to this on no account whatever; our country never made us
to be the great nation we are, but we made the country. How on airth
could we, if we were all like old Pugnose, as lazy, as ugly, make
that cold thin soil of New England produce what it does? Why, sir,
the land between Boston and Salem would starve a flock of geese; and
yet look at Salem; it has more cash than would buy Nova Scotia from
the King. We rise early, live frugally, and work late; what we get
we take care of. To all this we add enterprise and intelligence--a
feller who finds work too hard here, had better not go to the States.
I met an Irishman, one Pat Lannigan, last week, who had just returned
from the States. 'Why,' says I, 'Pat, what on airth brought you
back?' 'Bad luck to them,' says Pat, 'if I warn't properly bit. "What
do you get a day in Nova Scotia?" says Judge Beler to me. "Four
shillings, your Lordship," says I. "There are no Lords here," says
he, "we are all free. Well," says he, "I'll give you as much in one
day as you can earn there in two; I'll give you eight shillings."
"Long life to your Lordship," says I. So next day to it I went with a
party of men a-digging a piece of canal, and if it wasn't a hot day
my name is not Pat Lannigan. Presently I looked up and straightened
my back; says I to a comrade of mine, "Mick," says I, "I'm very dry;"
with that, says the overseer, "We don't allow gentlemen to talk at
their work in this country." Faith, I soon found out for my two days'
pay in one, I had to do two days' work in one, and pay two weeks'
board in one, and at the end of a month, I found myself no better off
in pocket than in Nova Scotia; while the devil a bone in my body that
didn't ache with pain, and as for my nose, it took to bleeding, and
bled day and night entirely. Upon my soul, Mr. Slick,' said he, 'the
poor labourer does not last long in your country; what with new rum,
hard labour, and hot weather, you'll see the graves of the Irish each
side of the canal, for all the world like two rows of potatoes in a
field that have forgot to come up.'
"It is a land, sir," continued the Clockmaker, "of hard work. We have
two kind of slaves, the niggers and the white slaves. All European
labourers and blacks, who come out to us, do our hard bodily work,
while we direct it to a profitable end; neither rich nor poor, high
nor low, with us, eat the bread of idleness. Our whole capital is in
active operation, and our whole population is in active employment.
An idle fellow, like Pugnose, who runs away to us, is clapped into
harness afore he knows where he is, and is made to work; like a
horse that refuses to draw, he is put into the teamboat; he finds
some before him and others behind him, he must either draw, or be
dragged to death."