Fifteen Days: An Extract from Edward Colvil's Journal

by Mary Lowell Putnam

"The power of opinion in what are called free countries," replied the Doctor, "is indeed excessive. It has long been a question with me, whether a single hand to hold the sceptre is not preferable to this Briareus. But we have chosen. I am not disposed to deliver myself up, bound hand and foot, to this fetich of public opinion. Still, a man owes some respect to the feelings and principles of the community in which he lives. I may think the best way of disposing of old houses is to burn them down; but my neighbors will have something to say, and justly."

Harry did not reply; nor did I at that time.

Tabitha appeared and bore off three chairs,—one on her head and one in each hand. We understood the signal. Harry and I took up my mother's couch; Barton and his son loaded themselves with two chairs each; the Doctor lifted the arm-chair with both hands, and, holding it out before him, led the way, somewhat impeded by his burden; and so we moved in slow procession to the house.

In the afternoon, when Barton and his son were gone, the Doctor, Harry, and I took a walk to the site of the old forest. We found a few more flowers like those Harry had brought to my mother in the morning, but nothing else that the Doctor cared for. On our way back, I told him the story of Shaler's attempt and failure. I wonder I did not tell it to you when you were here. But we had so much to ask and to say, and the time was so short! I will tell it to you now.

Shaler did not wish to burn down the old house, nor even to pull it down. He wished to renew and remodel it so slowly and so cautiously that those who were in it should hardly be aware of change until they learned it by increase of comfort. He was not a self-centred, but a very public-spirited man. He had a great ambition for his State. He wished it to be a model of prosperity, material and moral. He saw that its natural advantages entitled it to take this position. The most practical of reformers, he began with himself. He found fault with nobody; he preached to nobody; he meant to let his plantation speak for him. His plan was simply to substitute inducement for coercion,—to give his men a healthy interest in their labor by letting them share the profits,—in short, to bring them under the ordinary motives to exertion. This does not appear to you a very original scheme, nor, probably, a very dangerous one. He entered upon it, however, with great precautions, having due regard to law, and, as he thought, to opinion. He did not pay his people wages, nor even make them presents in money. He gave them better food, better clothes, better houses, letting their comforts and luxuries increase in exact proportion to their industry. The result was what he had hoped,—or rather, it was beyond his hopes. The pecuniary advantage was greater and more speedy than he had expected. He did not boast himself. He waited for his abundant crops, his fine gardens and orchards, and his hard-working people to bring him enviers and imitators. The report, in fact, soon spread, that Shaler was trying a new system, and that it was succeeding. Neighbors came to inspect and inquire,—first the near, then the more distant. Shaler forgot his caution. He was an enthusiast, after all. He saw proselytes in his guests. He laid bare his schemes and hopes. These aimed at nothing less than the conversion of the whole State, through his success, to more enlightened views; thence, a revisal of the laws, a withdrawal of the checks on benevolent effort; and finally, the merging of slavery in a new system, which should have nothing of the past but the tradition of grateful dependence on the part of the employed and of responsibility on that of the employer, rendering their relation more kindly and more permanent.

Among his visitors and hearers were generous men to be moved by his ideas, and wise men to appreciate their practical fruit; but the sensitiveness of delicate minds, and the caution of judicious ones, withholding from prompt speech and action, too often leave the sway in society to men of small heart, narrow mind, and strong, selfish instincts. Such never hesitate. Their sight is not far enough or strong enough to show them distant advantages or dangers. Their nearest interest is all they inquire after. These men combine easily; they know each other, and are sure of each other. The sensitive shrink aside and let them pass on; the prudent deliberate until the moment for arresting them has gone by. Men who are both good and brave come singly, and, for the most part, stand and fall alone.

"Great Tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For Goodness dares not check thee!"

Shaler had not miscalculated so much as the result would seem to show: the opinion of the majority was perhaps with him; but the only voices raised were against him. The storm had already gathered thick about him before he was aware of its approach. The first intimations were not violent. He was admonished that his course was disapproved,—was advised to let things slip back quietly into the old track, and that so his eccentricities would be forgotten. This mildness failing, he was told that he was endangering the welfare of the community,—and, lastly, that he would incur peril himself, if he persisted. He was not a man to be driven from his ground by threats, nor by loss or suffering which he was to bear alone. His cattle died; his horses fell lame; his barns and store-houses took fire. He ignored the cause of these disasters and kept quietly on, still hoping to overcome evil with good. His great strength and courage, with his known skill in the use of arms, deterred from personal violence. But there were surer means: his people were subjected to annoyance and injury,—and, moreover, were accused of every offence committed within a circuit of twenty miles. His duty as their protector obliged him to give way: he took the only course by which he could provide for their welfare.

"I have no quarrel with Shaler," said the Doctor, after he had heard the story, which I gave him much less at length than I have told it to you. "I have no quarrel with Shaler. He had a right to do what he would with his own. I only ask the same liberty for my friend Harvey, and for those who, like him, accept their lot as it is given to them."

"Mr. Harvey is not happy," said Harry, seriously. "There are lines of pain on his face. I do not think he accepts his lot."