It was at this juncture that I suggested to the committee the propriety of making this compilation of the Annals of Quodlibet. I explained to them how important it was that the world should be made acquainted with the history and character of that New-Light philosophy which had worked such wonders in our Borough. It was very obvious that even our friends were not fully aware of the height and the depth of this sublime theory, nor of its extreme efficacy in the administration of the government. It had taken the world by surprise, and had grown up, in a few years, into a system which no naturalist had yet defined; and had assumed an importance in the affairs of this country which few persons were able fully to appreciate. Impressed with this conviction, I disclosed to the committee the purpose which, for some time past, I had secretly cherished, of collating from my manuscripts all such particulars in the history of Quodlibet as might serve to elucidate this subject. The committee knew that my materials were ample; and they had more than once been pleased to express their admiration of those poor talents which I had oftentimes exhibited in the effusions of my humble pen. The subject was now brought up to the notice of the committee on the motion of my friend, Mr. Younghusband, in a resolution too laudatory for my modesty to insert in this book. Readily and cheerfully did the committee condescend to assign this task to my endeavors;—confiding the matter and the manner thereof to my sole discretion, with the single injunction that I should abstain from all such incidents of mere personal or private concernment, as might by captious or invidious critics be designated as savoring of romance. Faithfully, as in my judgment, I could, have I obeyed this injunction; and with the frankness and veracity of one who chronicles for posterity rather than the present times, have I set forth all such matters of fact and comments of opinion as shall guide my readers to a true knowledge of the doctrine of the New-Light Quodlibetarian philosophy.
[CHAPTER XIX.]
DESERVED COMPLIMENT ON MR. VAN BUREN'S EXPLOIT OF THE FLORIDA WAR—THE AFFAIR OF THE TRUE GRITS AND SERGEANT TRAP—TRUE GRITS SUFFER A DEFEAT—FLAN SUCKER'S OPINION UPON THE SUBJECT—HIS ACCOUNT OF AN ACTION AT LAW BETWEEN JOE SNARE AND IKE SWINGLETREE.
Just at this period the True Grits once more began to give themselves airs of importance in Quodlibet. The Tigertail affair had stunned them, as a blow sometimes torpifies a snake; and like that same snake, which after a long period of consequent inactivity wakes up in the possession of new powers of mischief, so woke up the True Grits.
The Florida war, which has been raging on the part of the Indians, and simmering on our part, for nearly five years past, is undoubtedly the greatest of all Mr. Van Buren's exploits, and that which will be longest remembered in the history of this energetic President by posterity. It has developed the genius of our New-Light Democratic administration in stronger colors, and speaks more conclusively in favor of the perseverance and resource of our Great Chief, than any other of the numerous brilliant acts whereby he has illustrated the principles of that unterrified and unflinching Democracy, to whom fortune and General Jackson in partnership, have intrusted the destinies of this Republic. That war was not only the most righteous and unavoidable in its origin, but it has also been the most chivalrous in its character, the most economical in its management, and is likely to be the most productive in its results—if it should ever please Bill Jumper, or Sam Jones, or Micanopy, or their heirs and representatives, to allow it to come to a conclusion—that has ever been waged between two great nations; and will unquestionably cover our Commander-in-chief of the army and navy of the United States with as thick a coat of glory as it has already covered the bravest and keenest-nosed of our bloodhounds with a coat of mud:—and that is, perhaps, about as thick a covering as a hero of the President's mould might be supposed able to stagger under, in that long journey of fame by which he is to march down to after-times.
Among other vigorous measures taken in the prosecution of this stupendous war, was one that produced no small sensation in Quodlibet. A tall, raw-boned, slender, and very straight figure of a man, of a singularly red head and remarkably freckled face—the said figure being decked in a suit of army regimentals highly bedizened with worsted lace and cord, begirt with a huge saber, and wearing a plume three feet long—made its appearance recently in the Borough. This personage rejoiced in the name and title of Sergeant Trap. He was accompanied by a drummer four feet six inches high, of a remarkably fierce military aspect; and by a fifer six feet four, quite as remarkable for the length of his arms and legs, and the shortness of his sleeves and pantaloons—both inferring, from their general effect upon his exterior, a rustical and imbellicose mode of life which reluctantly accommodated itself to the military requisitions of his station.
The Sergeant and drummer were strangers to our folks; but the fifer was no other than Charley Moggs, long known as the boss loafer of Bickerbray, and who was famed for a single accomplishment—the perfection with which he executed, upon an octave flute, that difficult but favorite piece of music which goes by the name of "Sugar in a Gourd;" which accomplishment was the foundation of his present astonishing promotion under Sergeant Trap, who had come to Quodlibet, in pursuance of orders from Mr. Poinsett, to pick up as many spare heroes for the Florida war, as might be found in our environs, willing to dog the Indians in company with our gallant blood-hound allies lately arrived from Cuba.
The Sergeant took a small frame house next door to Sim Travers's Refectory—or rather, as Sim called it, his Drinkery. Here he hung out the stars and stripes, by a pole which was secured in the second story window, and from which the flag vibrated in graceful undulations, almost sweeping the street when the wind lulled, and filling the hearts of Sim Travers's customers with emotions of martial glory.