Jerusha Matilda Jenkins.
Wen I got thrue, Linkin jumped rite up out of his cheer and stomped his foot so as to make the house shake. Ses he, "What a cussed hole that Port Royal must be!" Decon Jenkins ses he, "Don't speak wickedly with your lips, Mr. President." "Wal," ses Linkin, "it is a cussed hole, and I ken prove it by the Scriptur." "I guess not," ses the Decon. "Wal," ses Linkin, "didn't the Lord cuss the earth for man's sins?" "Yes," ses the Decon. "Wal, I'de like to know," ses Linkin, "whether you think Port Royal was an excepshin?" I never seed a feller look so chop-fallen as the Decon did, and I snorted rite out a laughin, for the Decon thinks he's so smart on Scriptur. Linkin, however, declares that he ain't got nothin to do with this nigger schule teachin, but that it is all Chase's plans. But its turnin out jest as I expected; Jerusha now begins to see that what I telled her was true. The gal will be comin back afore long, you may be sure, but she'll be cured of niggerism; that will be one good thing. I only wish I could send all the old maids and silly gals in New England down there. They would soon get the nigger notions out of their heads.
Your frend,
Majer Jack Downing.
LETTER VI.
The Question of the "Contrybands"—Lincoln and the Major Discuss It—The Major Tells a Story—Shows Mr. Lincoln That the Government is out of Order—Says It's a "Dimmycratic Machine" and that Seward and Chase Don't Know How to Run It—They are Like Old Jim Dumbutter and the Threshing Machine—The Major Tells Another Story—"The Kernel" Gets a Joke on Seward—Tells a Story About the "Giascutis."
Washington, April 15th, 1862.
To the Editers of The Cawcashin:
Surs: I've ben kinder sick sence I writ you last. The truth is, this clymate in the spring is ralely very weeknin to the constitushin. Linkin, too, has been terribully anxus about war noose, and the nigh approach of hot weather. But the great subjeck which the Kernel and I have been considerin is the "contrybands." What is to be done with 'em? That's the questshin, and Linkin ses he'd like to see the feller that can tell him. One night Linkin got a big map, an he sot down, and "Now," ses he, "Majer, let's take a look at all creashin, an see ef ther aint sum place whar we kin send these pesky kinky heds, and git red of 'em." "Wal," ses I, "Kernel, I'm agreed." So we went at it. First Linkin put his finger on Haty. "Now," ses he, "ther's an iland that jest suits the nigger constitushin. Suppose they go thar?" "But," ses I, "Kernel, they won't go, an ef they did, they wouldn't do nothin." "Wal," ses he, "no matter, ef they won't trouble us here enny longer." "But," ses I, "ther's one more resin. The iland aint large enuff to hold all the niggers—four millions or thereabouts." "Wal," ses he, "ther's Centril Ameriky—what do you think of that spot?" "Wal," ses I, "Kernel, that's a fine country, naterally. The Creator fixed it up on a grand skale, but you can't make a treaty with it, enny more than you can count the spots on a little pig, when he keeps runin about the hull time. The truth is, you can't tell who'll be President of it from one mornin to the next, and the niggers you send there might all git their throats cut jest as soon as they landed." "Wal," ses Linkin, "that's a slight objecshin. But let's turn over to Afriky. There's Libery, how would that do, Major?" "Wal," ses I, "Kernel, that country is about the biggest humbug of the hull lot. Fust off, sum raly good peopul thought it was goin to amount to sumthin, but after forty years of spendin money on it, ther aint enny more chanst of civilizin Afriky in that way than ther is of makin a rifled cannon out of a basswood log. A few dominys, who can't git enny boddy willin to hear 'em preach, hev got hold of it, an are makin a good thing out of it. As for sending our niggers ther, why it would take all the shippin of the world, and more money than Chase could print by steam in a year." "Wal," ses Linkin, "where on arth kin we send 'em?" "Now," ses I, "Kernel, I've got an idee of my own about that matter. I think they are best off where they are and jest as they are, but ef you must git red of 'em, I would send 'em all to Massa-chews-its! Peepul who are so anxus to have other folks overrun with free niggers ought to be willin to share sum of the blessins themselves. So let all that are here in Washington be sent rite off to Boston." "Yes, that might do," ses Linkin, "but then, ef they are entitled to their freedom, they orter be allowed to go where they are a mind to." "But," ses I, "sum States won't have 'em at all, an they can't go there. So what's to be done?" "Wal," ses Linkin, "I tell you what it is, Majer, this is an almighty tuff subjeck. I know somethin about splittin rails, and what hard work is ginerally, but this nigger questshin has puzzled me more than enny thing I ever got hold of before." "Wal," ses I, "Kernel, I kin explain the resin why." Ses he, "Let's hear you, Majer." "Wal," ses I, "Kernel, where do you carry your pocket-book?" Ses he, "What on arth has that to do with the subjeck?" Ses I, "Hold on, you'll see." "Wal," ses he, "I always carry it rite there, in my left hand trowsers pocket." Ses I, "Didn't you ever have a hole in that pocket for a day or two, and had to put your pocket-book in sum other?" Ses he, "Majer, I have." Ses I, "What did you do with it then?" "Wal," ses he, "I put it in my right hand pocket, but it kinder chafed my leg there, cause it warn't used to it, and it also felt mity onhandy. So I put it in my side coat pocket, but every time I stooped over it would drop out. Then I put it in my coat tail pocket, but I was kept all the time on the qui vivers, afeerd sum pickpocket would steal it. At last, in order to make it safe, and sure, I put it in the top of my hat, under sum papers, but the hat was too top-heavy, and over it went, spilling everything. I tell you I was glad when my pocket was fixed, and I got it back in the old spot."