(By Ultramarine Telegraph)
Well, we've done it, gentlemen. Bully for us. Cowhided the Copperheads considerable. Non nobis, of course, but still I reckon we have had a hand in the glory, some. That reminds me of the Old World story about the Hand of Glory, which I take to have been the limb of a gentleman who had been justified on the gallows, and which the witches turned into a patent moderator lamp, as would lead a burglar safe into any domicile which he might wish to plunder. We ain't burglars, quite t'other, but I fancy that if Uly Grant could get hold of that kind and description of thing to help him into Richmond, he'd not be so un-Christian proud as to refuse the hand of a malefactor. (Right, right!) Well, right or left hand, that's no odds, gentlemen. (Laughter.) Now I am sovereign of the sovereign people of this great and united republic for four years next ensuing the date hereof, as I used to say when I was a lawyer. (You are! Bully for you!) Yes, gentlemen, but you must do something more than bully for me, you must fight for me, if you please, and whether you please or not. As the old joke says, there's no compulsion, only you must. Must is for the King, they say in the rotten Old world. Well, I'm King, and you shall be Viceroys over me. But I tell you again, and in fact I repeat it, that there's man's work to do to beat these rebels. They may run away, no doubt. As the Irishman says, pigs may fly, but they're darned onlikely birds to do it. They must be well whipped, gentlemen, and I must trouble you for the whipcord. (You shall have it!) Rebellion is a wicked thing, gentlemen, an awful wicked thing, and the mere nomenclating thereof would make my hair stand on end, if it could be more standonender than it is. (Laughter.) Truly awful, that is when it is performed against mild, free, constitutional sway like that of the White House, but of course right and glorious when perpetrated against ferocious, cruel, bloodthirsty old tyrants like George the Third. We must punish these rebels for their own good, and to teach them the blessings of this mighty and transcendental Union. (We will, we will!) All very tall talking, gentlemen, but talking won't take Richmond. If it would, and there had been six Richmonds in the field, we should long since have took them all. If Richmond would fall like Jericho, by every man blowing of his own trumpet, we've brass enough in our band for that little feat in acoustics. But when a cow sticks, as Grant does, in the mud, how then? (Great laughter.) Incontestably, gentlemen, this great and mighty nation must give her a shove on. Shove for Richmond, gentlemen. (That's the talk!) Now about these eternal blacks, you expect me to say something touching them, though I suppose we're none of us too fond of touching them, for reasons in that case made and provided, as I used to say. Well, listen. We've got them on our hands, that's a fact, and it reminds me of a nigger story. Two of these blacks met, and one had a fine new hat. "Where you got dat hat, Sambo?" says t'other. "Out ob a shop, nigger," says Sambo. "'Spex so," says t'other, "and what might be the price ob dat hat?" "Can't say, zactly, nigger, the shopkeeper didn't happen to be on the premises." (Laughter.) Well, we've got the niggers, and I can't exactly say—or at least I don't think you'd like to hear—what might be the price of those articles. But we must utilise our hats, gentlemen. We must make them dig and fight, that's a fact. There's no shame in digging, I suppose. Adam digged, and he is a gentleman of older line than any of the bloated and slavish aristocracies of Europe. And as for fighting, they must feel honoured at doing that for the glorious old flag that has braved for eighty-nine years and a-half, be the same little more or less, the battle and the breeze. (Cheers.) Yes, and when the rebellion's put down, we'll see what's to be done with them. Perhaps if the naughty boys down South get uncommon contrite hearts, we may make them a little present of the blacks, not as slaves, of course, but as legal apprentices with undefined salaries determinable on misconduct. (Cheers.) Meantime, gentlemen, I won't deny that the niggers are useful in the way of moral support. They give this here war a holy character, and we can call it a crusade for freedom. A man may call his house an island if he likes, as has been said by one of those fiendish British writers who abuse our hospitality by not cracking us up. (War with England!) Well, all in good time, gentlemen. Let our generals learn their business first. I don't blame them, mind you, that they haven't learned it yet, for when a man has kept a whiskey-store, or a bar, or an oyster-cellar, or an old-clothes' shop for years, he can't be expected, merely because he puts on a uniform, to become a Hannibal or a Napoleon, or even a Marlborough or a Wellington. Likewise, they must learn to keep reasonable sober. Friends at a distance will please accept this intimation. (Roars of Laughter.) When that's done, and the rebels are whipped, and we are in want of more fighting, we'll see whether Richmond in England, where the Queen's palace of Windsor Castle is situate lying and being, is a harder nut to crack than Richmond nearer us. (Cheers.) Gentlemen, one thing more. Did you ever hear the story of the farmer who had been insulted by an exciseman? "He wur so rude," said the farmer, "that I wur obliged to remonstrate with him." "And to what effect did you remonstrate?" asked a friend. "Well I don't know about effect, but I bent the poker so that I was obliged to get a hammer to straighten it." Gentlemen, we must straighten this glorious Union, and the hammer is taxes. (Laughter.) You may laugh, but you must pay. I don't mean to be hard upon this mighty nation, and our friend Mr. Cobden (cheers) has already indirectly informed the besotted masses of British slaves that we intend to repudiate our greenbacks, except to the amount they may be worth in the market when redeemed. But the poker wants a deal of hammering, nevertheless, and you must pay up. You'll hear more about this from a friend of mine in the Government, so I only give you the hint, as the man said when he kicked his uncle down-stairs. (Laughter.) I believe that's about all I had to say, and this almighty Union will be conserved to shine through the countless ages an ineffable beacon and symbol of blessed and everlasting light and glory if you will only mind the proverb of Sancho Panza, which says, "Pray to God devoutly, and hammer on stoutly." (Laughter, cheers, and cries of "Bully for you!")
On April 15, 1865, came a cartoon, a really superb one, which is sometimes reckoned Tenniel's masterpiece, entitled "Habet!" It represents the combatants as gladiators before the enthroned and imperial negroes ("Ave Cæsar!").
But in sentiment at least a nobler was to come, the affecting picture of Britannia's tribute and Punch's amende, called simply "Abraham Lincoln, foully assassinated April 14, 1865."
The accompanying verses, by Tom Taylor, not, as has sometimes been asserted, by Shirley Brooks, were a complete recantation for former misunderstanding and wrongdoing. They will bear quoting again:—
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
Foully Assassinated April, 14, 1865
You lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln's bier,
You, who with mocking pencil wont to trace
Broad for the self-complacent British sneer
His length of shambling limb, his furrowed face,
His gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, bristling hair,
His garb uncouth, his bearing ill at ease;
His lack of all we prize as debonair,
Of power or will to shine, of art to please.