Minister was an uncommon pleasant man, (for there was nothin amost he didn't know,) except when he got his dander up, and then he did spin out his yarns for everlastinly.
But I'm of his opinion. If the folks here want their country to go ahead, they must honor the plough, and General Campbell ought to hammer that are into their noddles, full chisell, as hard as he can drive. I could larn him somethin, I guess, about hammerin he aint up to. It tante every one that knows how to beat a thing into a man's head. How could I have sold so many thousand clocks, if I hadn't had that nack. Why, I wouldn't have sold half a dozen, you may depend.
Agriculture is not only neglected but degraded here. What a number of young folks there seem to be in these parts, a ridin about, titivated out real jam, in their go-to-meetin clothes, a doin nothin. It's melancholy to think on it. That's the effect of the last war. The idleness and extravagance of those times took root, and bore fruit abundantly, and now the young people are above their business. They are too high in the instep, that's a fact Old Drivvle, down here to Maccan, said to me one day, for gracious sake, says he Mr. Slick, do tell me what I shall do with Johnny. His mother sets great store by him, and thinks he's the makins of a considerable smart man—he's growin up fast now, and I am pretty well to do in the world, and reasonable forehanded, but I don't know what the dogs to put him to. The Lawyers are like spiders, they've eat up all the flies, and I guess they'll have to eat each other soon, for there's more on 'em than causes now every court. The Doctors' trade is a poor one, too, they don't get barely cash enough to pay for their medicines; I never seed a country practitioner yet that made any thing worth speakin of. Then, as for preachin, why church and dissenters are pretty much tarred with the same stick, they live in the same pastur with their flocks; and, between 'em, its fed down pretty close I tell you. What would you advise me to do with him? Well, says I, I'll tell you if you won't be miffy with me. Miffy with you indeed, said he, I guess I'll be very much obliged to you; it tante every day one gets a chance to consult with a person of your experience—I count it quite a privilege to have the opinion of such an understandin man as you be. Well, says I, take a stick and give him a real good quiltin, jist tantune him like blazes, and set him to work.—What does the critter want? you have a good farm for him, let him go and airn his bread; and when he can raise that, let him get a wife to make butter for it; and when he has more of both than he wants, let him sell em and lay up his money, and he will soon have his bread buttered on both sides—put him to, eh! why put him to the PLOUGH, the most nateral, the most happy, the most innocent, and the host healthy employment in the world. But, said the old-man (and he did not look over half pleased) markets are so confounded dull, labor so high, and the banks and great folks a swallerin all up so, there don't seem much encouragement for farmers, its hard rubbin, now-a-days, to live by the plough—he'll be a hard workin poor man all his days. Oh! says I, if he wants to get rich by farmin, be can do that, too. Let him sell his wheat, and eat his oatmeal and rye; send his beef, mutton and poultry to market, and eat his pork and potatoes; make his own cloth, weave his own linen, and keep out of shops, and he'll soon grow rich—there are more fortins got by savin than by makin, I guess, a plaguy sight—he cant eat his cake and have it too, that's a fact. No, make a farmer of him, and you will have the satisfaction of seeing him an honest, an independent, and a respectable member of society—more honest than traders, more independent than professional men, and more respectable than either.
Ahem! says Marm Drivvle, and she began to clear her throat for action; she slumped down her nittin, and clawed off her spectacles, and looked right straight at me, so as to take good aim. I seed a regular norwester a bruin, I knew it would bust somewhere sartan, and make all smoke agin, so I cleared out and left old Drivvle to stand the squall. I conceit he must have had a tempestical time of it, for she had get her Ebenezer up, and looked like a proper sneezer. Make her Johnny a farmer, eh! I guess that was too much for the like o' her to stomach.
PRIDE, SQUIRE, continued the Clockmaker, (with such an air of concern, that, I verily believe, the man feels an interest in the welfare of a Province, in which he has spent so long a time,) Pride, Squire, and a false pride, too, is the ruin of this country, I hope I may be skinned if it tante.
No. XXVII
The White Nigger.
One of the most amiable, and at the same time most amusing traits, in the Clockmaker's character, was the attachment and kindness with which he regarded his horse. He considered "Old Clay" as far above a Provincial Horse, as he did one of his "free and enlightened citizens" superior to a Blue Nose. He treated him as a travelling companion, and when conversation flagged between us, would often soliloquize to him, a habit contracted from pursuing his journeys alone. Well now, he would say, "Old Clay," I guess you took your time a goin up that are hill, 'spose we progress now. Go along you old sculpin, and turn out your toes. I reckon you are as deff as a shad, do you hear there, "go ahead Old Clay." There now, he'd say, Squire aint that dreadful pretty? There's action. That looks about right—legs all under him—gathers all up snug—no bobbin of his head—no rollin of his shoulders —no wabblin of his hind parts, but steady as a pump bolt, and the motion all underneath. When he fairly lays himself to it, he trots like all vengeance. Then look at his ears, jist like rabbits, none o' your flop ears like them Amherst beasts, half horses, half pigs, but strait up and pineted, and not too near at the tips; for that are, I concait, always shews a horse aint true to draw. There are only two things, Squire, worth lookin at in a horse, action and soundness, for I never saw a critter that had good action that was a bad beast. Old Clay puts me in mind of one of our free and enlightened —-. Excuse me, said I, Mr. Slick, but really you appropriate that word "free" to your countrymen, as if you thought no other people in the world were entitled to it but yourselves. Neither be they, said he. We first sot the example. Look at our declaration of independence. It was writ by Jefferson, and he was the first man of the age, perhaps the world never seed his ditto. It's a beautiful piece of penmanship that, he gave the British the butt eend of his mind there. I calculate you couldn't falt it in no particular, it's generally allowed to be his cap shief. In the first page of it, second section, and first varse, are these words, "We hold this truth to be self-evident, that all men are created equal." I guess King George turned his quid when he read that. It was somethin to chaw on, he hadn't been used to the flavor of, I reckon. Jefferson forgot to insert—one little word, said I, he should have said, "all white men;" for, as it now stands, it is a practical untruth, in a country which tolerates domestic slavery in its worst and most forbidding form. It is a declaration of SHAME, and not of INDEPENDENCE. It is as perfect a misnomer as ever I knew. Well, said he, I must admit there is a screw loose somewhere thereabouts, and I wish it would convene to Congress, to do somethin or another about our niggers, but I am not quite certified how that is to be sot to rights—I concait that you don't understand us. But, said he, (evading the subject with his usual dexterity,) we deal only in niggers,—and those thick skulled, crooked shanked, flat footed, long heeled, wooly headed gentlemen, don't seem fit for much else but slavery, I do suppose. They aint fit to contrive for themselves. They are jist like grasshoppers; they dance and sing all summer, and when winter comes they have nothin provided for it, and lay down and die. They require some one to see arter them. Now, we deal in black niggers only, but the Blue Noses sell their own species—they trade in white slaves. Thank God, said I, slavery does not exist in any part of his Majesty's dominions now, we have at last wiped off that national stain. Not quite, I guess, said he, with an air of triumph, it tante done with in Nova Scotia, for I have seed these human cattle sales with my own eyes—I was availed of the truth of it up here to old Furlong's, last November. I'll tell you the story, said he; and as this story of the Clockmaker's contained some extraordinary statements, which I had never heard of before, I noted it in my journal, for the purpose of ascertaining their truth; and, if founded on fact, of laying them before the proper authorities.
Last fall, said he, I was on my way to Partridge Island, to ship off some truck and produce I had taken in, in the way of trade; and as I neared old Furlong's house, I seed an amazin crowd of folks about the door; I said to myself, says I, whose dead, and what's to pay now —what on airth is the meanin of all this? Is it a vandew, or a weddin, or a rolin frolick, or a religious stir, or what is it? Thinks I, I'll see, so I hitches Old Clay to the fence, and walks in. It was some time afore I was able to swiggle my way thro' the crowd, and get into the house. And when I did, who should I see but deacon Westfall, a smooth faced, slick haired, meechin lookin chap as you'd see in a hundred, a standin on a stool, with an auctioneer's hammer in his hand; and afore him was one Jerry Oaks and his wife, and two little orphan children, the prettiest little toads I ever beheld in all my born days. Gentlemen, said he, I will begin the sale by putting up Jerry Oaks, of Apple River, he's a considerable of a smart man yet, and can do many little chores besides feedin the children and pigs, I guess he's near about worth his keep. Will you warrant him sound, wind and limb? says a tall ragged lookin countryman, for he looks to me as if he was foundered in both feet, and had a string halt into the bargain. When you are as old as I be, says Jerry, mayhap you may be foundered too, young man. I have seen the day when you wouldn't dare to pass that joke on me, big as you be. Will any gentleman bid for him, says the deacon, he's cheap at 7s. 6d. Why deacon, said Jerry, why surely your honor isn't a goin for to sell me separate from my poor old wife, are you? Fifty years have we lived together as man and wife, and a good wife has she been to me, through all my troubles and trials, and God knows I have had enough of 'em. No one knows my ways and my ailments but her, and who can tend me so kind, or who will bear with the complaints of a poor old man but his wife. Do, deacon, and Heaven bless you for it, and yours, do sell us together. We have but a few days to live now, death will divide us soon enough. Leave her to close my old eyes, when the struggle comes, and when it comes to you, deacon, as come it must to us all, may this good deed rise up for you, as a memorial before God. I wish it had pleased him to have taken us afore it came to this, but his will be done; and he hung his head, as if he felt he had drained the cup of degradation to its dregs. Can't afford it, Jerry—can't afford it, old man, said the deacon, (with such a smile as a November sun gives, a passin atween clouds.) Last year they took oats for rates, now nothin but wheat will go down, and that's as good as cash, and you'll hang on as most of you do yet these many years. There's old Joe Crowe, I believe in my conscience he will live for ever. The biddin then went on, and he was sold for six shillings a week. Well, the poor critter gave one long loud deep groan, and then folded his arms over his breast, so tight that he seemed tryin to keep in his heart from bustin. I pitied the misfortinate wretch from my soul, I don't know as I ever felt so streaked afore. Not so his wife, she was all tongue. She begged and prayed, and cryed, and scolded, and talked at the very tip eend of her voice, till she became, poor critter, exhausted, and went off in a faintin fit, and they ketched her up and carried her out to the air, and she was sold in that condition. Well I couldn't make head or tail of all this, I could hardly believe my eyes and ears; so, says I, to John Porter, (him that has that catamount of a wife, that I had such a touss with,) John Porter, says I, who ever seed or heerd tell of the like of this, what under the sun does it all mean? What has that are critter done that he should be sold arter that fashion? Done, said he, why nothin, and that's the reason they sell him. This is town meetin day, and we always sell the poor for the year, to the lowest bidder. Them that will keep them for the lowest sum, gets them. Why, says I, that feller that bought him is a pauper himself, to my sartan knowledge. If you were to take him up by the heels and shake him for a week, you couldn't shake sixpence out of him. How can he keep him? It appears to me the poor buy the poor here, and that they all starve together. Says I, there was a very good man once lived to Liverpool, so good, he said he hadn't sinned for seven years; well he put a mill dam across the river, and stopt all the fish from goin up, and the court fined him fifty pounds for it, and this good man was so wrathy, he thought he should feel better to swear a little, but conscience told him it was wicked. So he compounded with conscience, and cheated the devil, by callin it a "dam fine business." Now, friend Porter, if this is your poor law, it is a damn poor law, I tell you, and no good can come of such hard-hearted doins. It's no wonder your country don't prosper, for who ever heerd of a blessin on such carryins on as this? Says I, did you ever hear tell of a sartan rich man, that had a beggar called Lazarus laid at his gate, and how the dogs had more compassion than he had, and came and licked his sores? cause if you have, look at that forehanded and sponsible man there, deacon Westfall, and you see the rich man. And then look at that are pauper, dragged away in that ox-cart from his wife for ever, like a feller to States' Prison, and you see Lazarus. Recollect what follered, John Porter, and have neither art nor part in it, as you are a Christian man. It fairly made me sick all day. John Porter follered me out of the house, and as I was a turnin old Clay, said he, Mr. Slick, says he, I never seed it in that are light afore, for its our custom, and custom you know will reconcile one to most any thing. I must say, it does appear, as you lay it out, an unfeelin way of providin for the poor; but, as touchin the matter of dividen man and wife, why, (and he peered all round to see that no one was within hearin,) why I dont know, but if it was my allotment to be sold, I'd as lives they'd sell me separate from Jane as not, for it appears to me its about the best part of it.
Now, what I have told you Squire, said the Clockmaker, is the truth; and if members, instead of their everlastin politicks, would only look into these matters a little, I guess it would be far better for the Country. So, as for our declaration of independence, I guess you need'nt twitt me with our slave-sales, for we deal only in blacks; but Blue Nose approbates no distinction in colours, and when reduced to poverty, is reduced to slavery, and is sold—a White Nigger.