CHAPTER VI. THE PRINCE DE JOINVILLE’S HORSE.
“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.’”