The Book of Ballads Part 5

Upon that day, near gifted Clay, a youthful member sat, And like a free American upon the floor he spat; Then turning round to Clay, he said, and wiped his manly chin, "What kind of Locofoco's that, as wears the painter's skin?"

"Young man," quoth Clay, "avoid the way of Slick of Tennessee; Of gougers fierce, the eyes that pierce, the fiercest gouger he; He chews and spits, as there he sits, and whittles at the chairs, And in his hand, for deadly strife, a bowie-knife he bears.

"Avoid that knife. In frequent strife its blade, so long and thin, Has found itself a resting-place his rivals' ribs within."

But coward fear came never near young Jabez Dollar's heart,-- "Were he an alligator, I would rile him pretty smart!"

Then up he rose, and cleared his nose, and looked toward the chair; He saw the stately stripes and stars,--our country's flag was there!

His heart beat high, with eldritch cry upon the floor he sprang, Then raised his wrist, and shook his fist, and spoke his first harangue.

"Who sold the nutmegs made of wood--the clocks that wouldn't figure?

Who grinned the bark off gum-trees dark--the everlasting n.i.g.g.e.r?

For twenty cents, ye Congress gents, through 'tarnity I'll kick That man, I guess, though nothing less than 'c.o.o.nfaced Colonel Slick!"

The Colonel smiled--with frenzy wild,--his very beard waxed blue,-- His shirt it could not hold him, so wrathy riled he grew; He foams and frets, his knife he whets upon his seat below-- He sharpens it on either side, and whittles at his toe.

"Oh! waken snakes, and walk your chalks!" he cried, with ire elate; "Darn my old mother, but I will in wild cats whip my weight!

Oh! 'tarnal death, I'll spoil your breath, young Dollar, and your chaffing,-- Look to your ribs, for here is that will tickle them without laughing!"

His knife he raised--with fury crazed, he sprang across the hall; He cut a caper in the air--he stood before them all: He never stopped to look or think if he the deed should do, But spinning sent the President, and on young Dollar flew.

They met--they closed--they sank--they rose,--in vain young Dollar strove-- For, like a streak of lightning greased, the infuriate Colonel drove His bowie-blade deep in his side, and to the ground they rolled, And, drenched in gore, wheeled o'er and o'er, locked in each other's hold.

With fury dumb--with nail and thumb--they struggled and they thrust, The blood ran red from Dollar's side, like rain, upon the dust; He nerved his might for one last spring, and as he sank and died, Reft of an eye, his enemy fell groaning by his side.

Thus did he fall within the hall of Congress, that brave youth; The bowie-knife has quenched his life of valour and of truth; And still among the statesmen throng at Washington they tell How n.o.bly Dollar gouged his man--how gallantly he fell.

The Alabama Duel.

"Young chaps, give ear, the case is clear. You, Silas Fixings, you Pay Mister Nehemiah Dodge them dollars as you're due.

You are a b.l.o.o.d.y cheat,--you are. But spite of all your tricks, it Is not in you Judge Lynch to do. No! nohow you can fix it!"

Thus spake Judge Lynch, as there he sat in Alabama's forum, Around he gazed, with legs upraised upon the bench before him; And, as he gave this sentence stern to him who stood beneath, Still with his gleaming bowie-knife he slowly picked his teeth.

It was high noon, the month was June, and sultry was the air, A cool gin-sling stood by his hand, his coat hung o'er his chair; All naked were his manly arms, and shaded by his hat, Like an old senator of Rome that simple Archon sat.

"A b.l.o.o.d.y cheat?--Oh, legs and feet!" in wrath young Silas cried; And springing high into the air, he jerked his quid aside.

"No man shall put my dander up, or with my feelings trifle, As long as Silas Fixings wears a bowie-knife and rifle."

"If your shoes pinch," replied Judge Lynch, "you'll very soon have ease; I'll give you satisfaction, squire, in any way you please; What are your weapons?--knife or gun?--at both I'm pretty spry!"; "Oh! 'tarnal death, you're spry, you are?" quoth Silas; "so am I!"

Hard by the town a forest stands, dark with the shades of time, And they have sought that forest dark at morning's early prime; Lynch, backed by Nehemiah Dodge, and Silas with a friend, And half the town in glee came down to see that contest's end.

They led their men two miles apart, they measured out the ground; A belt of that vast wood it was, they notched the trees around; Into the tangled brake they turned them off, and neither knew Where he should seek his wagered foe, how get him into view.

With stealthy tread, and stooping head, from tree to tree they pa.s.sed, They crept beneath the crackling furze, they held their rifles fast: Hour pa.s.sed on hour, the noonday sun smote fiercely down, but yet No sound to the expectant crowd proclaimed that they had met.

And now the sun was going down, when, hark! a rifle's crack!

Hush--hush! another strikes the air, and all their breath draw back,-- Then crashing on through bush and briar, the crowd from either side Rush in to see whose rifle sure with blood the moss has dyed.

Weary with watching up and down, brave Lynch conceived a plan, An artful dodge whereby to take at unawares his man; He hung his hat upon a bush, and hid himself hard by; Young Silas thought he had him fast, and at the hat let fly.

It fell; up sprang young Silas,--he hurled his gun away; Lynch fixed him with his rifle, from the ambush where he lay.

The bullet pierced his manly breast--yet, valiant to the last, Young Fixings drew his bowie-knife, and up his foxtail {64} cast.

With tottering step and glazing eye he cleared the s.p.a.ce between, And stabbed the air as stabs in grim Macbeth the younger Kean: Brave Lynch received him with a bang that stretched him on the ground, Then sat himself serenely down till all the crowd drew round.

They hailed him with triumphant cheers--in him each loafer saw The bearing bold that could uphold the majesty of law; And, raising him aloft, they bore him homewards at his ease,-- That n.o.ble judge, whose daring hand enforced his own decrees.

They buried Silas Fixings in the hollow where he fell, And gum-trees wave above his grave--that tree he loved so well; And the 'c.o.o.ns sit chattering o'er him when the nights are long and damp; But he sleeps well in that lonely dell, the Dreary 'Possum Swamp.

The American's Apostrophe to Boz.

[So rapidly does oblivion do its work nowadays that the burst of amiable indignation with which America received the issue of his _American Notes_ and _Martin Chuzzlewit_ is now almost wholly forgotten. Not content with waging a universal rivalry in the piracy of the Notes, Columbia showered upon its author the riches of its own choice vocabulary of abuse; while some of her more fiery spirits threw out playful hints as to the propriety of gouging the "stranger," and furnishing him with a permanent suit of tar and feathers, in the then very improbable event of his paying them a second visit. The perusal of these animated expressions of free opinion suggested the following lines, which those who remember Boz's book, and the festivities with which he was all but hunted to death, will at once understand. The object aimed at was to do justice to the bitterness and "immortal hate" of these thin-skinned sons of freedom.

Happily the storm pa.s.sed over: d.i.c.kens paid, in 1867-68, a second visit to the States, was well received, made a not inconsiderable fortune by his Readings there, and confessed that he had judged his American hosts harshly on his former visit.]

Sneak across the wide Atlantic, worthless London's puling child, Better that its waves should bear thee, than the land thou hast reviled; Better in the stifling cabin, on the sofa thou shouldst lie, Sickening as the fetid n.i.g.g.e.r bears the greens and bacon by; Better, when the midnight horrors haunt the strained and creaking ship, Thou shouldst yell in vain for brandy with a fever-sodden lip; When amid the deepening darkness and the lamp's expiring shade, From the bagman's berth above thee comes the bountiful cascade, Better than upon the Broadway thou shouldst be at noonday seen, Smirking like a Tracy Tupman with a Mantalini mien, With a rivulet of satin falling o'er thy puny chest, Worse than even N. P. Willis for an evening party drest!

We received thee warmly--kindly--though we knew thou wert a quiz, Partly for thyself it may be, chiefly for the sake of Phiz!

Much we bore, and much we suffered, listening to remorseless spells Of that Smike's unceasing drivellings, and these everlasting Nells.

When you talked of babes and sunshine, fields, and all that sort of thing, Each Columbian inly chuckled, as he slowly sucked his sling; And though all our sleeves were bursting, from the many hundreds near Not one single scornful t.i.tter rose on thy complacent ear.

Then to show thee to the ladies, with our usual want of sense We engaged the place in Park Street at a ruinous expense; Even our own three-volumed Cooper waived his old prescriptive right, And deluded d.i.c.kens figured first on that eventful night.

Cl.u.s.ters of uncoated Yorkers, vainly striving to be cool, Saw thee desperately plunging through the perils of la Poule: And their muttered exclamation drowned the tenor of the tune,-- "Don't he beat all natur hollow? Don't he foot it like a 'c.o.o.n?"

Did we spare our brandy-c.o.c.ktails, stint thee of our whisky-grogs?

Half the juleps that we gave thee would have floored a Newman Noggs; And thou took'st them in so kindly, little was there then to blame, To thy parched and panting palate sweet as mother's milk they came.

Did the hams of old Virginny find no favour in thine eyes?

Came no soft compunction o'er thee at the thought of pumpkin pies?

Could not all our chicken fixings into silence fix thy scorn?

Did not all our cakes rebuke thee,--Johnny, waffle, dander, corn?

Could not all our care and coddling teach thee how to draw it mild?

Well, no matter, we deserve it. Serves us right! We spoilt the child!

You, forsooth, must come crusading, boring us with broadest hints Of your own peculiar losses by American reprints.

Such an impudent remonstrance never in our face was flung; Lever stands it, so does Ainsworth; _you_, I guess, may hold your tongue.

Down our throats you'd cram your projects, thick and hard as pickled salmon, That, I s'pose, you call free trading,--I p.r.o.nounce it utter gammon.

No, my lad, a 'cuter vision than your own might soon have seen, That a true Columbian ogle carries little that is green; That we never will surrender useful privateering rights, Stoutly won at glorious Bunker's Hill, and other famous fights; That we keep our native dollars for our native scribbling gents, And on British manufacture only waste our straggling cents; Quite enough we pay, I reckon, when we stump of these a few For the voyages and travels of a freshman such as you.

I have been at Niagara, I have stood beneath the Falls, I have marked the water twisting over its rampagious walls; But "a holy calm sensation," one, in fact, of perfect peace, Was as much my first idea as the thought of Christmas geese.

As for "old familiar faces," looking through the misty air, Surely you were strongly liquored when you saw your Chuckster there.

One familiar face, however, you will very likely see, If you'll only treat the natives to a call in Tennessee, Of a certain individual, true Columbian every inch, In a high judicial station, called by 'manc.i.p.ators Lynch.

Half an hour of conversation with his worship in a wood, Would, I strongly notion, do you an infernal deal of good.

Then you'd understand more clearly than you ever did before, Why an independent patriot freely spits upon the floor, Why he gouges when he pleases, why he whittles at the chairs, Why for swift and deadly combat still the bowie-knife he bears,-- Why he sneers at the old country with republican disdain, And, unheedful of the negro's cry, still tighter draws his chain.

All these things the judge shall teach thee of the land thou hast reviled; Get thee o'er the wide Atlantic, worthless London's puling child!