A buzz went through the crowd, and a dozen voices called out, 'Be civil, Andy'—'Let him blow'—'Shet up'—'Go in, Jones'—with other like elegant exclamations.
A few of his friends took the aggrieved gentleman aside, and, soon quieting him, restored order.
'Wal, gentlemen,' resumed Andy, 'all on you know whar I was raised—over thar in South-Car'lina. I'm sorry to say it, but it's true. And you all know my father was a pore man, who couldn't give his boys no chance—and ef he could, thar warn't no schules in the district—so we couldn't hev got no book-larning ef we'd been a minded to. Wal, the next plantation to whar we lived was old Cunnel J——'s, the father of this Cunnel. He was a d—d old nullifier, jest like his son—but not half so decent a man. Wal, on his plantation was an old nigger called Uncle Pomp, who'd sumhow larned to read. He was a mighty good nigger, and he'd hev been in heaven long afore now ef the Lord hadn't a had sum good use for him down har—but he'll be thar yet a d—d sight sooner than sum on us white folks—that's sartin. Wal, as I was saying, Pomp could read, and when I was 'bout sixteen, and had never seed the inside of a book, the old darkey said to me one day—he was old then, and thet was thirty years ago—wal, he said to me: 'Andy, chile, ye orter larn to read—'twould be ob use to ye when you're grow'd up, and it moight make you a good and 'spected man. Now, come to ole Pomp's cabin, and he'll larn you, Andy, chile.' I reckon I went. He hadn't nothin' but a Bible and Watts' Hymns; yet we used to stay thar all the long winter evenings, and by the light of the fire—we war both so durned pore we couldn't raise a candle atween us—wal, by the light of the fire he larned me, and 'fore long I could spell right smart.
'Now, jest think on thet, gentlemen! I, a white boy, and, 'cordin' to the Declaration of Independence, jest as good blood as the old Cunnel, bein' larned to read by an old slave, and that old slave a'most worked to death, and takin' his nights, when he orter hev been a restin' his old bones, to larn me! I'm d—d if he don't get to heaven for that one thing, if for nothin' else.
'Wal, you all know the rest—how, when I'd grow'd up, I settled har, in the old North State, and how the young Cunnel backed my paper and set me a runnin' at turpentinin'. P'r'aps you don't think this has much to do with the Yankees, but it has a durned sight, as ye'll see raather sudden. Wal, arter a while, when I'd got a little 'forehanded, I begun shippin' my truck to York and Bosting; and at last my Yankee factor, he come out har, inter the backwoods, to see me, and says he: 'Jones, come North and take a look at us.' I'd sort o' took to him. I'd had lots to do with him afore ever I seed him, and I allers found him as straight as a shingle. Wal, I went North, and he took me round, and showed me how the Yankees does things. Afore I knowed him, I allers thought—as p'r'aps most on ye do—that the Yankee war a sort o' cross atween the devil and a Jew; but how do you s'pose I found 'em? I found that they sent the pore man's children to schule. free—and that the schulehouses war a d—d sight thicker than the bugs in Miles Privett's beds! and thet's saying a heap, for ef eny on you kin sleep in his house, excep' he takes to the soft side of the floor, I'm d—d. Yas, the pore man's children are larned thar free!—all on 'em—and they've jest so good a chance as the sons of the rich man! Now, arter that, do you think that I—as got all my schulin' from an old slave, by the light of a borrored pine-knot—der you think that I kin say any thing agin the Yankees? P'r'aps they do steal—though I don't know it—p'r'aps they do debauch thar wives and darters, and sell thar mothers' vartue for dollers—but ef they do, I'm d—d ef they don't send pore children ter schule—and that's more'n we do—and let me tell you, until we do, we must count on thar bein' cuter and smarter nor we are.
'This gentleman, too, my friends, who's been a givin' sech a hard settin' down ter his own relation, arter they've broughten him up and givin' him sech a good schulein' for nothin', he says the Yankees want to interfere with our niggers. Now, thet han't so, and they couldn't ef they would, 'cause it's agin the Constitution—and they stand on the Constitution a durned sight solider nor we do. Didn't thar big gun—Daniel Webster—didn't he make mince-meat o' South-Carolina Hayne on that ar subject? But I tell you they han't a mind to meddle with our niggers; they're a goin' ter let us go ter h—l our own way—and we're goin' thar mighty fast, or I hevn't read the last census.'
'P'r'aps you han't heerd on th' Ab'lisheners, Andy?' cried a voice from among the audience.
'Wal, I reckon I hev,' responded the orator. 'I've heerd on 'em, and seed 'em, too. When I was North I went ter one on thar conventions, and I'll tell you how they look. They've all long, wimmin's hair, and thin, shet lips, with big, bawlin' mouths, and long, lean, tommerhawk faces—'bout as white as vargin dip—and they all talk through the nose, [giving a specimen,] and they look for all the world jest like the South-Car'lina fire-eaters—and they are as near like 'em as two peas, excep' they don't swar quite so bad, but they make up for that in prayin'—and prayin' too much, I reckon, when a man's a d—d hippercrit, is 'bout as bad as swearin'. But I tell you, the decent folks up North han't ab'lisheners. They look on 'em jest as we do on mad dogs, the itch, or the nigger-traders.
'Now, 'bout this secession bis'ness—though tan't no use ter talk on thet, 'cause this State never'll secede—South-Car'lina has done it, and I'm raather glad she has, for though I was born thar, I say she orter hev gone to h—l long ago, and now she's got thar—let her stay! But, 'bout thet bis'ness, I'll tell you a story.
'I know'd an old gentleman once by the name o' Uncle Sam, and he'd a heap o' sons. They war all likely boys—and strange ter tell, though they'd all the same mother, and she a white woman, 'bout half on 'em war colored—not black, but sorter half-and-half. Now, the white sons war well-behaved, industrious, hard-workin' boys, who got 'long well, edicated that children, and allers treated the old man decently; but the mulatter fellers war a pesky set—though some on 'em war better nor others. They wouldn't work, but set up for airystocrocy—rode in kerriges, kept fast hosses, bet high, and chawed tobaccer like the devil. Wal, the result was, they got out at the elbows, and 'cause they warn't gettin' 'long quite so fast as the white 'uns—though that war all thar own fault—they got jealous, and one, on 'em, who was blacker nor all the rest—a little feller, but terrible big on braggin'—he packed up his truck one night, and left the old man's house, and swore he'd never come back. He tried ter make the other mulatters go 'long too, but they put thar fingers ter thar nose, and says they: 'No you don't!' I was in favor o' lettin' on him stay out in the cold, but the old man was a bernevolent old critter—so he says: 'Now, sonny, you jest come back and behave yourself, and I'll forgive you all on your old pranks, and treat you jest as I allers used ter; but, ef you won't, why, I'll make you—that's all!'