Cannibals all! or, Slaves without masters

by George Fitzhugh

Macbeth.

The reader must have remarked our propensity of putting scraps of poetry at the head of our chapters, or of interweaving them with the text. It answers as a sort of chorus or refrain, and, when skillfully handled, has as fine an effect as the fiddle at a feast, or the brass band on the eve of an engagement. It nerves the author for greater effort, and inspires the reader with resolution to follow him in his most profound ratiocinations and airiest speculations. We learnt it from "our Masters in the art of war" when we carried their camp and their whole park of artillery, (which we are now using with such murderous effect against their own ranks.) We also captured their camp equipage, books of military strategy, &c. In them we found rules laid down for the famous songs, which are so harmoniously blended with the speeches at all Infidel and Abolition conventions, and Women's Rights and Free Love assemblages. They are intended to inspire enthusiasm, confirm conviction, and to "screw the courage to the sticking point." Besides, sometimes they answer admirably the opposite purpose of a sedative. Often, when Sister This One has, by her imprudent speech, outraged decency, propriety, religion and morality, and drawn down upon her head hisses and cries of "Turn her out! Turn her out!" Brother That One bursts forth in "strains of sweetest melody," and like another Orpheus quells and quiets another hell. Not that we intend by any means to intimate that this musical brother would play Orpheus throughout, and take as long and perilous a trip to rescue his sister as Orpheus did for Eurydice. On the contrary, we suspect in such contingency he would pray to Pluto to double bar the gates, and bribe Cerberus to keep closer watch. We derive this impression from the triangular correspondence of Greeley, Andrews and James, entitled "Love, Marriage and Divorce;" and from the actings and doings of the courts and legislature of Massachusetts—who, from the number of the divorces they grant, we should think could hardly find time to send Hiss on a visit of purification to the Convents.

Now it may be, that sometimes, when we "have gone it rather strong" (as we are very apt to do,) and offended the reader, our scraps of poetry may answer the purpose of the Abolition songs, and soothe and propitiate him. Besides, they afford a sort of interlude or by-play, like that of Sancho where he slipped off from the flying horse, Clavileno, just as he and the Don had reached the constellation of the Goat, and went to playing with the little goats to relieve the giddiness of his head. I am sure, when we have, as we often do, mounted with our reader into the highest regions of metaphysics, that his head becomes a little giddy, (at least ours does,) and that he is thankful for a little poetry or a turn at play with our Abolition Goats. "Goats, indeed!" quoth Mr. G——, "Lions, you had better say." Well, be it lions! We are no more afraid of you than if you were lambs; and you will no sooner dare to attack us than you did the Knight of La Mancha when he vainly challenged you to mortal combat.

Let not the reader suppose that we either emulate the chivalry of the Don or the wisdom of his Squire. A Northern clime has congealed the courage of our lions and they are afraid of the "paper bullets of the brain;" yet they are vastly fond of shooting them at others, provided they are sure the shot will not be returned.

As for Sancho, we think him the wisest man we ever read after, except Solomon. Indeed, in the world of Fiction, all the wisdom issues from the mouths of fools—as witness Shakspeare's Falstaff and his fools. There is at least vraisemblance in all this; for, as in the Real world, the philosophers (e. g. our Masters in the art of war) have monopolized all the folly,—where so likely to find the wisdom as among the fools?

We fear our "Little Cannibals" are growing impatient, and may be, a little jealous of our seeming preference for our goats. They are young yet and require nursing. But they are young Herculeses, born with teeth, and if any Abolition serpents attempt to strangle them in the cradle, they'll be apt to get the worst of it. The danger is, however, that the Abolitionists will steal and adopt them—for they are vastly fond of young cannibals, and employ much of their time in sewing and knitting and getting up subscriptions, to send shirts and trowsers to the little fellows away over in Africa, who as indignantly repel them as old King Lear did when he stripped in the storm and resolved to be his "unsophisticated self."

Now, seeing that the Abolitionists are so devoted to the uncouth, dirty, naked little cannibals of Africa, haven't we good reason to fear that they will run away with and adopt ours, when they come forth neatly dressed in black muslin and all shining with gold from the master hands of Morris and Wynne? They will be sure at least to captivate the hearts of the strong-minded ladies, and if they will treat them well in infancy, we don't know but what, if they will wait till they grow up, we may spare them a husband or two from the number.

Mr. Morris has promised they shall be black as Erebus without, and white as "driven snow" within.

If they can get over the trying time of infancy—if the critics don't smother them in the cradle, the boys will make their own way in the world, and get a name famous as Toussaint or Dessalines.

To be candid with the reader, we have learned lately that the physique of a book is quite as important as its metaphysique—the outside as the inside. Figure, size, proportion, are all to be consulted: for books are now used quite as much for centre table ornaments as for reading. We have a marble one on our centre table that answers the former purpose admirably, because nobody can put puzzling questions about its contents. Now, we must write the exact amount, and no more, to enable Mr. Morris and Mr. Wynne to make our book appear externally "comme il faut." We write this chapter in part for that purpose. The reader would not object to a page, or so, more or less of it, and Mr. Morris and Mr. Wynne will know how to curtail or omit, for they are not only masters of their own trades, but can render us valuable assistance in ours.