"Pardon me; that is not a sucking pig," answered Mr. Wheatley; "that is helotice, a possum--anglice, an opossum; no bad dish let me tell you, and one of which the negroes are very fond. But this is not the season for them. After the persimons are ripe, they get exceedingly fat and tender."
"And what are persimons?" I asked.
"A sort of wild fruit," he answered, "in shape somewhat like a plum, and in taste like an apricot, of which the opossum is exceedingly fond. But suffer not yourself to be deceived by the wags up the country; for the Virginians are exceedingly fond of practical jokes. Now the persimon may look perfectly ripe and tempting to the eye; but till it is touched by the frost, soot and vinegar are honey and Falernian to it. Neither, if you have an abhorrence, as I have, of middle-aged pigs, suffer yourself to be tempted to eat an animal they call here a shoat--a name I am convinced they have invented to cover the abomination they are offering you. However, give me pen and ink, and I will write these letters for you. I would give you more good advice, but every one must buy his own experience in some degree, and the best council I can give you, as to all men in a strange country, is, 'keep your eyes open, and do as you see others do.'" I thought this very good advice; for what I might call the technicalities of any society are soon learned, and the pedantries of society are not worth learning. In Russia, every man, from the prince to the peasant, eats with his knife. In England, to do so is almost a social crime; and yet, where in reality is the misdemeanor? Nothing can be really and essentially vulgar that is not disgusting or offensive to others. The best-bred Turk eats with his fingers; but he takes care to wash his hands before he begins and after he has ended. Perhaps he is really more cleanly than the man who eats with a fork when he does not know whether it has been washed or not. However, my friend sat down and wrote the letters for me; and, in the meantime, Master Zed came in already dressed in his new apparel. I had not waited to see his choice of habiliments, but had restricted the shopkeeper--storekeeper, I should have said, God bless the mark! there are no shopkeepers here--to a certain amount; and unquestionably my new man's appearance somewhat startled me. He had got on a plum-coloured frock or tunic coat, with a velvet collar almost red; a pair of Windsor gray--I might almost say light blue pantaloons; a decidedly bright blue cravat; and a shirt-collar so high, so prominent, so extensive in every direction, that I could not but fear that the poor man's round ball of a head would some day disappear in it, white wool and all. He seemed, however, perfectly satisfied with the effect; and I could see him cast sundry glances at a tall looking-glass between the windows, which reflected an image such as is rarely seen upon this globe. True, if he were happy, I had no reason to be discontented; and happy he evidently was, poor man, though I fancy some shirts and stockings had been sacrificed, out of the amount of his equipment, to the splendour of the coat, the cravat, and the pantaloons. Not the least did he presume upon his finery; but, with a most deferential air, inquired what time I should be ready to start on the following morning, humbly suggesting that my horses' fore-feet would be better if shoed and pared, especially at some parts of the road not being of the best, and blacksmiths' shops being few and far between, it would be wise to set out all right, with a nail or two and a hammer in one of the saddlebags. Zed's precautions seemed to be not amiss; and this indication of care and forethought appeared a good augury; so I gave him some money to buy what he wanted, and dismissed him.
"They are good creatures," said Mr. Wheatley, looking up from his letter, "capable of strong affections and strong attachments; but child-like, and requiring constant supervision and care. Now this very man, who has been so thoughtful on a matter in regard to which right notions have been drummed into him by long habit, would make the most egregious, the most absurd, and sometimes the most distressing blunders in regard to things out of his routine. There are two propensities, however, of which the race is rarely ever free--to pilfer and to lie. The pilfering is usually confined to petty articles; and it would really seem as if they reasoned with themselves upon the matter, judging that what they take will please and benefit them more than the loss will pain or injure you. The lie, too, has its bounds and restrictions; it is like the lie of a child, issuing from fear or from the wish of giving pleasure or amusement."
"May not both habits," I said, "be naturally traced to the positions in which they are established? Having no property themselves, not even in themselves, may not their pilfering be a just retribution upon those who are depriving them of all? and may not the lie from fear, or from the purpose of pleasing, be traced to an institution which deprives them of that manly dignity which knows not fear and scorns deception?" Mr. Wheatley's short, quick laugh broke in upon me again. "I think not," he said: "you must see more of them before you can judge. Then perhaps you may be of opinion that the pilfering is a mere proclivity of their vanity or their small appetites. What they take is generally a bright-coloured ribbon, or a bit of lace, or a spoonful out of a pot of sweatmeats, or a glass out of a brandy bottle. You can teach a dog to abstain from taking anything till it is given to him; but you can't teach them, do what you will. There is no race upon the face of the earth who should more frequently repeat the prayer 'Lead us not into temptation;' for there is no race so little capable of withstanding it. Then as to the lying, it is mere childishness. First, they have what your authors call a 'diabetes' of talk. Truth is a great deal too limited for them; they must speak about something. And when the lie proceeds from fear it is nine times out of ten, unreasonable fear: they are afraid of being blamed--of not being thought quick and ready at an answer, and consequently, when any question is asked them, rather than seem ignorant, they fabricate a falsehood. If anything very important were at stake, a thousand to one they would tell the truth. But upon these matters you must satisfy yourself; for of all the rusty, rickety, breakable commodities in this world, second-hand opinions are the worst; and yet nine men out of ten supply themselves at brokers' shops, when they could get them fresh and strong from the manufactory." Thus saving, he set to the letters again; and after they were concluded, gave me a very cordial invitation to his house on my return, and left me, adding, "If you stay long, perhaps we may meet were you are going; for I have some business up there, which should have been attended to a month ago, at the county capital city, which rejoices in the name of Jerusalem, although. Got wot, it is less like Jerusalem than Carthage. Has it never struck you, how magnificently ridiculous the names of our towns are in this country? Mount Ida, about as high as my hand--Rome, descended from its seven hills into the midst of a swamp--Syracuse, a couple of hundred miles from the sea--and Jerusalem in a ham-producing district, with nothing but swine all around it, spite of Moses and all the prophets. In fact, the United States have been like a father with too many children, so hard up for Christian names as to be obliged to give them the most un-Christian names he could get." One more short laugh, and he was gone. And now, my dear sister, to-morrow morning at six, I start upon my journey to the interior; but do not let your timid little imagination conjure up images of danger and difficulty, which, take my word for it, have no foundation but in your fancy. Though of course, as society here is not so regulated as in Great Britain, seeing that a couple of centuries can never do for any country what ten centuries can do, the people are perfectly civilized, I can assure you--quite tame, upon my word. There are no longer any terrible Indians with tomahawks and scalping-knives; nor even ferocious backwoodsmen (at least about this part of the country) whose daily occupation is to gouge, or bore, or shoot down their adversaries. They are, as far as I have seen or heard, a good-humoured, jovial, kind-hearted race, somewhat hot and peppery it is true; but preserving many of those qualities intact which we, in our crowds and thoroughfares, have lost or impaired. In short, they have more character about them: the stamp is not worn off the shilling; but, above all, they are especially hospitable. Doubt not, therefore, that that hospitality will be extended to so engaging and agreeable a young gentleman as your affectionate brother.
[CHAPTER III.]
Richmond, 10th October, 1851.
My Dear Sister,--First let me tell you I am safe and well; which assurance, I trust, will reach you before the news of all that has been taking place here can arrive in England. Some of the scenes I have gone through have been full of danger and horror, and have produced upon my mind, my character, and my fate great and important effects; as, indeed, must always be the case when we are subjected to sudden and unforeseen trials. It is impossible, in the scope of a letter, to give you anything like a clear account of all that has occurred; but whenever I have had an opportunity I have carefully made up my journal, as I promised our friend J----, when I left England, to do for his especial benefit. That journal, of course, contains merely notes and heads; and so many events, and scenes, and conversations remain merely upon memory that I must write it all over again, adding things every here and there which are necessary for a clear comprehension of the whole, which would otherwise in all probability pass away in a few short years. I know you will read them with interest, and so will J----. I shall therefore send the whole story of my last two or three months' adventures to you in detached fragments, and you will forward them to him when you have read them. In the meantime do not put much faith in newspaper accounts; for many of the statements I have seen myself are exaggerated, and many, very many, fall far below the reality. Indeed I do not know that I myself shall be able to bring home to your mind some of the sights that I have witnessed and the scenes through which I have passed; I am sure I could not do so were I to suffer the first impressions to pass away. But, thank God, it is all over; and although several of those whom I highly esteemed have left this world by a tragical and bloody death, those who are dearest to me have escaped almost miraculously. I see you smile, dear sister, at that expression--"those who are dearest to me." Smile away, for I cannot but hope that they will soon be dear to you also. Very likely I shall bring over the last portion of my journal myself, and we may read it together by the old fire-side, with many miles of the dark Atlantic rolling between us and the scenes I have attempted to depict. My faithful Zed will come with me; so have a comfortable room in the hall ready for one to whom I owe my life, and who has suffered many things in the service of your affectionate brother.
The above letter, which, together with the two that preceded it, have been given merely as introductory to the following history, caused a good deal of curiosity and even agitation in the mind of the lady who received it, and in that of the friend who is mentioned under the name of Mr. J----. They were much nearer to each other than the writer imagined when he wrote, and they were never after separated; but each felt a deep interest in the fate of the wanderer over the Atlantic, and looked in the newspapers in vain for the events to which he referred. Englishmen at that time took much less heed of events occurring in the United States of America than they do at present, and English newspapers rarely mentioned matters of merely local interest occurring in any of the several states. At length, however, at the end of about a fortnight or three weeks, came a large package, in the form of a letter; and every arrival of a mail-packet brought one or two more, which were perused with deep feelings by the sister and the sister's husband, and are now given to the public, verbatim et literatim, as they were written.