A RIDE IN A STAGE-COACH
WE shall now return to Cincinnati, where we left Clotel preparing
to go to Richmond in search of her daughter. Tired of the
disguise in which she had escaped, she threw it off on her
arrival at Cincinnati. But being assured that not a shadow of
safety would attend her visit to a city in which she was well
known, unless in some disguise, she again resumed men's apparel
on leaving Cincinnati. This time she had more the appearance of an
Italian or Spanish gentleman. In addition to the fine suit of
black cloth, a splendid pair of dark false whiskers covered the
sides of her face, while the curling moustache found its place
upon the upper lip. From practice she had become accustomed to
high-heeled boots, and could walk without creating any suspicion
as regarded her sex. It was a cold evening that Clotel arrived at
Wheeling, and took a seat in the coach going to Richmond. She was
already in the state of Virginia, yet a long distance from the
place of her destination.
A ride in a stage-coach, over an American road, is unpleasant
under the most favourable circumstances. But now that it was
winter, and the roads unusually bad, the journey was still more
dreary. However, there were eight passengers in the coach, and I
need scarcely say that such a number of genuine Americans could
not be together without whiling away the time somewhat
pleasantly. Besides Clotel, there was an elderly gentleman with
his two daughters--one apparently under twenty years, the other a
shade above. The pale, spectacled face of another slim, tall man,
with a white neckerchief, pointed him out as a minister. The
rough featured, dark countenance of a stout looking man, with a
white hat on one side of his head, told that he was from the
sunny South. There was nothing remarkable about the other two,
who might pass for ordinary American gentlemen. It was on the eve
of a presidential election, when every man is thought to be a
politician. Clay, Van Buren, and Harrison were the men who
expected the indorsement of the Baltimore Convention. "Who does
this town go for?" asked the old gent with the ladies, as the
coach drove up to an inn, where groups of persons were waiting
for the latest papers. "We are divided," cried the rough voice of
one of the outsiders. "Well, who do you think will get the
majority here?" continued the old gent. "Can't tell very well; I
go for 'Old Tip,'" was the answer from without. This brought up
the subject fairly before the passengers, and when the coach
again started a general discussion commenced, in which all took a
part except Clotel and the young ladies. Some were for Clay, some
for Van Buren, and others for "Old Tip." The coach stopped to
take in a real farmer-looking man, who no sooner entered than he
was saluted with "Do you go for Clay?" "No," was the answer. "Do
you go for Van Buren?" "No." "Well, then, of course you will go
for Harrison." "No." "Why, don't you mean to work for any of them
at the election?" "No." "Well, who will you work for?" asked
one of the company. "I work for Betsy and the children, and I
have a hard job of it at that," replied the farmer, without a
smile. This answer, as a matter of course, set the new
corner down as one upon whom the rest of the passengers could
crack their jokes with the utmost impunity. "Are you an Odd
Fellow?" asked one. "No, sir, I've been married more than a
month." "I mean, do you belong to the order of Odd Fellows?"
"No, no; I belong to the order of married men." "Are you a mason?"
"No, I am a carpenter by trade." "Are you a Son of Temperance?"
"Bother you, no; I am a son of Mr. John Gosling." After a hearty
laugh in which all joined, the subject of Temperance became the
theme for discussion. In this the spectacled gent was at home.
He soon showed that he was a New Englander, and went the whole
length of the "Maine Law." The minister was about having it all
his own way, when the Southerner, in the white hat, took the
opposite side of the question. "I don't bet a red cent on these
teetotlars," said he, and at the same time looking round to see
if he had the approbation of the rest of the company. "Why?"
asked the minister. "Because they are a set who are afraid to
spend a cent. They are a bad lot, the whole on 'em." It was
evident that the white hat gent was an uneducated man. The
minister commenced in full earnest, and gave an interesting
account of the progress of temperance in Connecticut, the state
from which he came, proving, that a great portion of the
prosperity of the state was attributable to the disuse of
intoxicating drinks. Every one thought the white hat had got the
worst of the argument, and that he was settled for the remainder
of the night. But not he; he took fresh courage and began again.
"Now," said he, "I have just been on a visit to my uncle's in
Vermont, and I guess I knows a little about these here
teetotlars. You see, I went up there to make a little stay of a
fortnight. I got there at night, and they seemed glad to see
me, but they didn't give me a bit of anything to drink.
Well, thinks I to myself, the jig's up: I sha'n't get any more
liquor till I get out of the state." We all sat up till twelve
o'clock that night, and I heard nothing but talk about the
'Juvinal Temperence Army,' the 'Band of Hope,' the 'Rising
Generation,' the 'Female Dorcas Temperance Society,' 'The None
Such,' and I don't know how many other names they didn't have.
As I had taken several pretty large 'Cock Tails' before I entered
the state, I thought upon the whole that I would not spite for
the want of liquor. The next morning, I commenced writing back to
my friends, and telling them what's what. Aunt Polly said, 'Well,
Johnny, I s'pose you are given 'em a pretty account of us all
here.' 'Yes,' said I; I am tellin' 'em if they want anything to
drink when they come up here, they had better bring it with 'em.'
'Oh,' said aunty, 'they would search their boxes; can't bring any
spirits in the state.' Well, as I was saying, jist as I got my
letters finished, and was going to the post office (for uncle's
house was two miles from the town), aunty says, 'Johnny, I s'pose
you'll try to get a little somethin' to drink in town won't you?'
Says I, 'I s'pose it's no use. 'No,' said she, 'you can't; it
ain't to be had no how, for love nor money.' So jist as I was
puttin' on my hat, 'Johnny,' cries out aunty, 'What,' says I.
'Now I'll tell you, I don't want you to say nothin' about it, but
I keeps a little rum to rub my head with, for I am troubled with
the headache; now I don't want you to mention it for the world,
but I'll give you a little taste, the old man is such a
teetotaller, that I should never hear the last of it, and I would
not like for the boys to know it, they are members of the "Cold
Water Army."'
"Aunty now brought out a black bottle and gave me a cup, and told
me to help myself, which I assure you I did. I now felt ready to
face the cold. As I was passing the barn I heard uncle thrashing
oats, so I went to the door and spoke to him. 'Come in, John,'
says he. 'No,' said I; 'I am goin' to post some letters,' for I
was afraid that he would smell my breath if I went too near to
him. 'Yes, yes, come in.' So I went in, and says he, 'It's now
eleven o'clock; that's about the time you take your grog, I
s'pose, when you are at home.' 'Yes,' said I. 'I am sorry for
you, my lad; you can't get anything up here; you can't even get
it at the chemist's, except as medicine, and then you must let
them mix it and you take it in their presence.' 'This is indeed
hard,' replied I; 'Well, it can't be helped,' continued he: 'and
it ought not to be if it could. It's best for society; people's
better off without drink. I recollect when your father and I,
thirty years ago, used to go out on a spree and spend more than
half a dollar in a night. Then here's the rising generation;
there's nothing like settin' a good example. Look how healthy
your cousins are there's Benjamin, he never tasted spirits in his
life. Oh, John, I would you were a teetotaller.' 'I suppose,'
said I, 'I'll have to be one till I leave the state.' 'Now,' said
he, 'John, I don't want you to mention it, for your aunt would go
into hysterics if she thought there was a drop of intoxicating
liquor about the place, and I would not have the boys to know it
for anything, but I keep a little brandy to rub my joints for the
rheumatics, and being it's you, I'll give you a little dust.' So
the old man went to one corner of the barn, took out a brown jug
and handed it to me, and I must say it was a little the best
cognac that I had tasted for many a day. Says I, 'Uncle, you are
a good judge of brandy.' 'Yes,' said he, 'I learned when I was
young.' So off I started for the post office. In returnin' I
thought I'd jist go through the woods where the boys were chopping
wood, and wait and go to the house with them when they went to
dinner. I found them hard at work, but as merry as crickets.
'Well, cousin John, are you done writing?' 'Yes,' answered I.
'Have you posted them?' 'Yes.' 'Hope you didn't go to any place
inquiring for grog.' 'No, I knowed it was no good to do that.'
'I suppose a cock-tail would taste good now.' 'Well, I
guess it would,' says I. The three boys then joined in a hearty
laugh. 'I suppose you have told 'em that we are a dry set up
here?' 'Well, I ain't told em anything else.' 'Now, cousin John,'
said Edward, 'if you wont say anything, we will give you a small
taste. For mercy's sake don't let father or mother know it; they
are such rabid teetotallers, that they would not sleep a wink
to-night if they thought there was any spirits about the place.'
'I am mum,' says I. And the boys took a jug out of a hollow
stump, and gave me some first-rate peach brandy. And during the
fortnight that I was in Vermont, with my teetotal relations, I
was kept about as well corned as if I had been among my hot water
friends in Tennessee."
This narrative, given by the white hat man, was received with
unbounded applause by all except the pale gent in spectacles,
who showed, by the way in which he was running his fingers
between his cravat and throat, that he did not intend to "give it
up so." The white hat gent was now the lion of the company.
"Oh, you did not get hold of the right kind of teetotallers,"
said the minister. "I can give you a tale worth a dozen of yours,
continued he. "Look at society in the states where temperance
views prevail, and you will there see real happiness. The people
are taxed less, the poor houses are shut up for want of
occupants, and extreme destitution is unknown. Every one who
drinks at all is liable to become an habitual drunkard. Yes, I
say boldly, that no man living who uses intoxicating drinks, is
free from the danger of at least occasional, and if of
occasional, ultimately of habitual excess. There seems to be no
character, position, or circumstances that free men from the
danger. I have known many young men of the finest promise, led by
the drinking habit into vice, ruin, and early death. I have known
many tradesmen whom it has made bankrupt. I have known Sunday
scholars whom it has led to prison-teachers, and even
superintendents, whom it has dragged down to profligacy. I have
known ministers of high academic honours, of splendid eloquence,
nay, of vast usefulness, whom it has fascinated, and hurried over
the precipice of public infamy with their eyes open, and gazing
with horror on their fate. I have known men of the strongest and
clearest intellect and of vigorous resolution, whom it has made
weaker than children and fools--gentlemen of refinement and taste
whom it has debased into brutes--poets of high genius whom it has
bound in a bondage worse than the galleys, and ultimately cut
short their days. I have known statesmen, lawyers, and judges
whom it has killed--kind husbands and fathers whom it has turned
into monsters. I have known honest men whom it has made villains;
elegant and Christian ladies whom it has converted into bloated
sots."
"But you talk too fast," replied the white hat man. "You don't
give a feller a chance to say nothin'."
"I heard you," continued the minister, "and now you hear me out.
It is indeed wonderful how people become lovers of strong drink.
Some years since, before I became a teetotaller I kept spirits
about the house, and I had a servant who was much addicted to
strong drink. He used to say that he could not make my boots
shine, without mixing the blacking with whiskey. So to satisfy
myself that the whiskey was put in the blacking, one morning I
made him bring the dish in which he kept the blacking, and poured
in the whiskey myself. And now, sir, what do you think?" "Why, I
s'pose your boots shined better than before," replied the white
hat. "No," continued the minister. "He took the blacking out, and
I watched him, and he drank down the whiskey, blacking, and all."
This turned the joke upon the advocate of strong drink, and he
began to put his wits to work for arguments. "You are from
Connecticut, are you?" asked the Southerner. "Yes, and we are an
orderly, pious, peaceable people. Our holy religion is respected,
and we do more for the cause of Christ than the whole Southern
States put together." "I don't doubt it," said the white hat
gent. "You sell wooden nutmegs and other spurious articles enough
to do some good. You talk of your 'holy religion'; but your
robes' righteousness are woven at Lowell and Manchester; your
paradise is high per centum on factory stocks; your palms of
victory and crowns of rejoicing are triumphs over a rival party
in politics, on the questions of banks and tariffs. If you could,
you would turn heaven into Birmingham, make every angel a weaver,
and with the eternal din of looms and spindles drown all the
anthems of the morning stars. Ah! I know you Connecticut people
like a book. No, no, all hoss; you can't come it on me." This
last speech of the rough featured man again put him in the
ascendant, and the spectacled gent once more ran his fingers
between his cravat and throat. "You live in Tennessee, I think,"
said the minister. "Yes," replied the Southerner, "I used
to live in Orleans, but now I claim to be a Tennessean."
"Your people of New Orleans are the most ungodly set in the
United States," said the minister. Taking a New Orleans newspaper
from his pocket he continued, "Just look here, there are not less
than three advertisements of bull fights to take place on the
Sabbath. You people of the Slave States have no regard for the
Sabbath, religion, morality or anything else intended to, make
mankind better." Here Clotel could have borne ample testimony, had
she dared to have taken sides with the Connecticut man. Her
residence in Vicksburgh had given her an opportunity of knowing
something of the character of the inhabitants of the far South.
"Here is an account of a grand bull fight that took place in New
Orleans a week ago last Sunday. I will read it to you." And the
minister read aloud the following:
"Yesterday, pursuant to public notice, came off at Gretna,
opposite the Fourth District, the long heralded fight between the
famous grizzly bear, General Jackson (victor in fifty battles),
and the Attakapas bull, Santa Anna.
"The fame of the coming conflict had gone forth to the four winds,
and women and children, old men and boys, from all parts of the
city, and from the breezy banks of Lake Pontchartrain and Borgne,
brushed up their Sunday suit, and prepared to ace the fun. Long
before the published hour, the quiet streets of the rural Gretna
were filled with crowds of anxious denizens, flocking to the
arena, and before the fight commenced, such a crowd had collected
as Gretna had not seen, nor will be likely to see again.
"The arena for the sports was a cage, twenty feet square, built
upon the ground, and constructed of heavy timbers and iron bars.
Around it were seats, circularly placed, and intended to
accommodate many thousands. About four or five-thousand persons
assembled, covering the seats as with a Cloud, and crowding down
around the cage, were within reach of the bars.
"The bull selected to sustain the honour and verify the pluck of
Attakapas on this trying occasion was a black animal from the
Opelousas, lithe and sinewy as a four year old courser, and with
eyes like burning coals. His horns bore the appearance of
having been filed at the tips, and wanted that keen and slashing
appearance so common with others of his kith and kin; otherwise
it would have been 'all day' with Bruin--at the first pass, and
no mistake.
"The bear was an animal of note, and called General Jackson, from
the fact of his licking up everything that came in his way, and
taking 'the responsibility' on all occasions. He was a wicked
looking beast, very lean and unamiable in aspect, with hair all
standing the wrong way. He had fought some fifty bulls (so they
said), always coming out victorious, but that neither one of the
fifty had been an Attakapas bull, the bills of the performances
did not say. Had he tackled Attakapas first it is likely his
fifty battles would have remained unfought.
"About half past four o'clock the performances commenced.
"The bull was first seen, standing in the cage alone, with head
erect, and looking a very monarch in his capacity. At an
appointed signal, a cage containing the bear was placed
alongside the arena, and an opening being made, bruin stalked into
the battle ground--not, however, without sundry stirrings up with
a ten foot pole, he being experienced in such matters, and
backwards in raising a row.
"Once on the battle-field, both animals stood, like wary
champions, eyeing each other, the bear cowering low, with head
upturned and fangs exposed, while Attakapas stood wondering, with
his eye dilated, lashing his sides with his long and bushy tail,
and pawing up the earth in very wrath.
"The bear seemed little inclined to begin the attack, and the
bull, standing a moment, made steps first backward and then
forward, as if measuring his antagonist, and meditating where to
plant a blow. Bruin wouldn't come to the scratch no way, till one
of the keepers, with an iron rod, tickled his ribs and made him
move. Seeing this, Attakapas took it as a hostile demonstration,
and, gathering his strength, dashed savagely at the enemy,
catching him on the points of his horns, and doubling him up like
a sack of bran against the bars. Bruin 'sung out' at this, 'and
made a dash for his opponent's nose.'
"Missing this, the bull turned to the 'about face,' and the bear
caught him by the ham, inflicting a ghastly wound. But Attakapas
with a kick shook him off, and renewing the attack, went at him
again, head on and with a rush. This time he was not so fortunate,
for the bear caught him above the eye, burying his fangs in the
tough hide, and holding him as in a vice. It was now
the bull's turn to 'sing out,' and he did it, bellowing forth with
a voice more hideous than that of all the bulls of Bashan. Some
minutes stood matters thus, and the cries of the bull, mingled
with the hoarse growls of the bear, made hideous music, fit only
for a dance of devils. Then came a pause (the bear having
relinquished his hold), and for a few minutes it was doubtful
whether the fun was not up. But the magic wand of the keeper (the
ten foot pole) again stirred up bruin, and at it they went, and
with a rush.
"Bruin now tried to fasten on the bull's back, and drove his tusks
in him in several places, making the red blood flow like wine
from the vats of Luna. But Attakapas was pluck to the back bone,
and, catching bruin on the tips of his horns, shuffled him up
right merrily, making the fur fly like feathers in a gale of
wind. Bruin cried 'Nuff' (in bear language), but the bull
followed up his advantage, and, making one furious plunge full at
the figure head of the enemy, struck a horn into his eye, burying
it there, and dashing the tender organ into darkness and atoms.
Blood followed the blow, and poor bruin, blinded, bleeding, and
in mortal agony, turned with a howl to leave, but Attakapas
caught him in the retreat, and rolled him over like a ball. Over
and over again this rolling over was enacted, and finally, after
more than an hour, bruin curled himself up on his back, bruised,
bloody, and dead beat. The thing was up with California, and
Attakapas was declared the victor amidst the applause of the
multitude that made the heavens ring."
"There," said he, "can you find anything against Connecticut equal
to that?" The Southerner had to admit that he was beat by the
Yankee. During all this time, it must not be supposed that the
old gent with the two daughters, and even the young ladies
themselves, had been silent. Clotel and they had not only given
their opinions as regarded the merits of the discussion, but that
sly glance of the eye, which is ever given where the young of
both sexes meet, had been freely at work. The American ladies are
rather partial to foreigners, and Clotel had the appearance of a
fine Italian. The old gentleman was now near his home,
and a whisper from the eldest daughter, who was unmarried but
marriageable, induced him to extend to "Mr. Johnson" an invitation
to stop and spend a week with the young ladies at their family
residence. Clotel excused herself upon various grounds, and at
last, to cut short the matter, promised that she would pay them a
visit on her return. The arrival of the coach at Lynchburgh
separated the young ladies from the Italian gent, and the coach
again resumed its journey.