The Boys of '61 Part 8

"Well, I wonder what he was thinking of when he carried out those forty thousand handcuffs?"

"I did not suppose any one gave credence to that absurd story."

"Absurd? Indeed, sir, it is not. I have seen some of the handcuffs. There are several pairs of them in this city. They were brought directly from the field by some of our citizens who went on as soon as they heard of the fight. I have several trophies of the fight which our men picked up."

No doubt the young lady was sincere. It was universally believed throughout the South that McDowell had thousands of pairs of handcuffs in his train, which were to be clapped upon the wrists of the Southern soldiers.

"We have some terrible uncompromising Union men in this State," said the eldest, "who would rather see every negro swept into the Gulf of Mexico, and the whole country sunk, than give up the Union. We have more Abolitionists here in this city than they have in Boston."

It was spoken bitterly. She did not mean that the Union men of the State were committed to immediate emanc.i.p.ation, but that they would accept emanc.i.p.ation rather than have the Secessionists succeed.

A gentleman came in, sat down by the fire, warmed his hands, and joined in the conversation. Said he: "I am a Southerner. I have lived all my life among slaves. I own one slave, but I hate the system. There are counties in this State where there are but few slaves, and in all such counties you will find a great many Abolitionists. It is the brutalizing influence of slavery that makes me hate it,-brutalizing to whites and blacks alike. I hate this keeping n.i.g.g.e.rs to raise human stock,-to sell, just as you do horses and sheep."

In all places the theme of conversation was the war and the negroes. The ultra pro-slavery element was thoroughly secession, and the Unionists were beginning to understand that slavery was at the bottom of the rebellion. As in the dim light of the morning we already behold the approach of the full day, so they saw that these which seemed the events of an hour might broaden into that which would overthrow the entire slave system.

Anthony Trollope, an English traveller and novelist, was stopping at the hotel at the time,-a pleasant gentleman, thoroughly English in his personal appearance, with a plump face, indicative of good living and good cheer. In his work ent.i.tled "North America" he mentions the teamsters in the hall, and draws a contrast between English and American society. He says:-

"While I was at supper the seventy-five teamsters were summoned into the common eating-room by a loud gong, and sat down to their meal at the public table. They were very dirty; I doubt whether I ever saw dirtier men; but they were orderly and well-behaved, and but for their extreme dirt might have pa.s.sed as the ordinary occupants of a well-filled hotel in the West. Such men in the States are less clumsy with their knives and forks, less astray in an unused position, more intelligent in adapting themselves to a new life, than are Englishmen of the same rank. It is always the same story. With us there is no level of society. Men stand on a long staircase, but the crowd congregates near the bottom, and the lower steps are very broad. In America, men stand on a common platform, but the platform is raised above the ground, though it does not approach in height the top of our staircase. If we take the average alt.i.tude in the two countries, we shall find that the American heads are the more elevated of the two. I conceived rather an affection for those dirty teamsters; they answered me civilly when I spoke to them, and sat in quietness smoking their pipes, with a dull and dirty but orderly demeanor."[4]

If Mr. Trollope, who has a very just appreciation of the character of those quiet and orderly teamsters, will but wait a century or two, perhaps he will find that democracy can build a staircase as high and complete as that reared by the aristocracy of England. We have had but two centuries for the construction of our elevated common platform, while England has had a thousand years. There the base of the staircase, where the mult.i.tude stand, is either stationary or sinking; but here the platform is always rising, and bearing the mult.i.tude to a higher plane.

A short distance north of the city of the living is the city of the dead. It is a pleasant suburb,-one which is adding week by week to its population. It is laid out in beautiful avenues, gra.s.s bordered, and shaded by grand old forest-trees. It is the resting-place of the dust of Henry Clay. The monument to his memory is not yet finished. It is a tall, round column upon a broad base, with a capital, such as the Greeks never saw or dreamed of, surmounted by a figure intended to represent the great statesman as he stood when enchaining vast audiences by his matchless oratory. Within the chamber, exposed to view through the iron-latticed door, star-embellished and bronzed, lies the sarcophagus of purest marble. It is chaste in design, ornamented with gathered rods and bonds emblematic of union, and wreathed with cypress around its sides. The pure white marble drapery is thrown partly back, exposing above the breast of the sleeper a wreath, and

HENRY CLAY.

Upon the slab beneath the sarcophagus is this simple inscription:-

"I can, with unbroken confidence, appeal to the Divine Arbiter for the truth of the declaration, that I have been influenced by no impure purpose, no personal motive,-have sought no personal aggrandizement, but that in all my public acts I have had a sole and single eye, and a warm devoted heart, directed and dedicated to what in my best judgment I believed to be the true interests of my country."

It is not a declaration which goes home to the heart as that simple recognition of the Christian religion which his compeer, Daniel Webster, directed should be placed above his grave in the secluded churchyard at Marshfield, but Mr. Clay was a remarkable man. Of all Americans who have lived, he could hold completest sway of popular a.s.semblies. Hating slavery in his early life, he at last became tolerant of its existence. He cast the whole trouble of the nation upon the Abolitionists. In some things he was far-sighted; in others, obtuse. In 1843 he addressed a letter to a friend who was about to write a pamphlet against the Abolitionists, giving him an outline of the argument to be used. Thus he wrote:-

"The great aim and object of your tract should be to arouse the laboring cla.s.ses in the Free States against abolition. Depict the consequences to them of immediate abolition. The slaves being free, would be dispersed throughout the Union; they would enter into compet.i.tion with the free laborer, with the American, the Irish, the German; reduce his wages; be confounded with him, and affect his moral and social standing. And as the ultras go for both abolition and amalgamation, show that their object is to unite in marriage the laboring white man and the laboring black man, and to reduce the white laboring man to the despised and degraded condition of the black man.

"I would show their opposition to colonization. Show its humane, religious, and patriotic aims, that they are to separate those whom G.o.d has separated. Why do the Abolitionists oppose colonization? To keep and amalgamate together the two races in violation of G.o.d's will, and to keep the blacks here, that they may interfere with, degrade, and debase the laboring whites. Show that the British nation is co-operating with the Abolitionists, for the purpose of dissolving the Union."[5]

This was written by a reputed statesman, who was supposed to understand the principles of political economy. The slaves being made free would enter in compet.i.tion with the free laborer. But has not the free American laborer been forced to compete through all the years of the past with unrequited slave labor? Without inquiring into the aims and purposes of the Abolitionists,-what they intended to do, and how they were to do it,-Mr. Clay accepted the current talk of the day, and shaped his course accordingly. That letter will read strangely fifty years hence. It reads strangely now, and goes far to lower our estimate of the real greatness of one who for half a century was the idol of a great political party,-whose words were taken as the utterances of an oracle. But ideas and principles have advanced since 1843. We stand upon a higher plane, and are moving on to one still higher.

Returning to the hotel, I fell into conversation with a Presbyterian minister, who began to deplore the war.

"We should conduct it," said he, "not as savages or barbarians, but as Christians, as civilized beings, on human principles."

"In what way would you have our generals act to carry out what you conceive to be such principles?"

"Well, sir, the blockade is terribly severe on our friends in the South, who are our brothers. The innocent are suffering with the guilty. We should let them have food, and raiment, and medicines, but we should not let them have cannon, guns, and powder."

"When do you think the war would end if such a plan was adopted?"

He took a new tack, not replying to the question, but said,-

"The North began the trouble in an unchristian spirit."

"Was not the first gun fired by the Rebels upon Fort Sumter?"

"That was not the beginning of the war. It was the election of Lincoln."

"Then you would not have a majority of the people elect their officers in the const.i.tuted way?"

"Well, if Lincoln had been a wise man he would have resigned, and saved this terrible conflict."

There is a point beyond which forbearance ceases to be a virtue, and I expressed the hope that the war would be waged with shot and sh.e.l.l, fire and sword, naval expeditions and blockades, and every possible means, upon the men who had conspired to subvert the government. There was no reply, and he soon left the room.

Buell's right wing under General Crittenden, was at Calhoun, on Green River. Intelligence arrived that it was to be put in motion.

Leaving Lexington in the morning, and pa.s.sing by cars through Frankfort,-an old town, the capital of the State, like Lexington, seedy and dilapidated,-we reached Louisville in season to take our choice of the two steamers, Gray Eagle and Eugene, to Henderson. They were both excellent boats, running in opposition, carrying pa.s.sengers one hundred and eighty miles, providing for them two excellent meals and a night's lodging, all for fifty cents! People were patronizing both boats, because it was much cheaper than staying at home.

Taking the Gray Eagle,-a large side-wheel steamer,-we swept along with the speed of a railroad train. The water was very high and rising. The pa.s.sengers were almost all from Kentucky. Some of the ladies thronging the saloon were accustomed to move in the "best society," which had not literary culture and moral worth for its standards, but broad acres, wealth in lands and distilleries. They were "raised" in Lexington or Louisville or Frankfort. They spoke of the "right smart" crowd on board, nearly "tew" hundred, according to their idea.

But there is another cla.s.s of Kentuckians as distinct from these excellent ladies as chalk from cheese. They are of that cla.s.s to which David Crocket belonged in his early years,-born in a cane-brake and cradled in a trough. There were two in the saloon, seated upon an ottoman,-a brother and sister. The brother was more than six feet tall, had a sharp, thin, lank countenance, with a tuft of hair on his chin and on his upper lip. His face was of the color of milk and mola.s.ses. He wore a Kentucky homespun suit,-coat, vest and pants of the same material, and colored with b.u.t.ternut bark. He had on, although in the saloon, a broad-brimmed, slouched hat, with an ornament of blotched mud. He was evidently more at home with his hat on than to sit bareheaded,-and so consulted his own pleasure, without mistrusting that there was such a thing as politeness in the world. He had been plashing through the streets of Louisville. He had sc.r.a.ped off the thickest of the mud. There he sat, the right foot thrown across the left knee, with as much complacency as it is possible for a mortal to manifest. In his own estimation he was all right, although there was a gap between his pants and vest of about six inches,-a yellowish tawny streak of shirt. He sat in unconcerned silence, or stalked through the saloon with his hands in his pockets, or stretched himself at full length upon the sofa and took a comfortable snooze.

His sister,-a girl of eighteen,-had an oval face, arched eyebrows, and full cheeks, flowing, flaxen hair, and gray eyes. She wore a plain dress of gray homespun without hoops, and when standing, appeared as if she had encased herself in a meal-bag. There was no neat white collar or bit of ribbon, or cord, or ta.s.sel,-no attempt at feminine adornment. She was a "nut-brown maid,"-bronzed by exposure, with a countenance as inexpressive as a piece of putty. A dozen ladies and gentlemen who came on board at a little town twenty miles below Louisville were enjoying themselves, in a circle of their own, with the play of "Consequences." The cabin rang with their merry laughter, and we who looked on enjoyed their happiness; but there was no sign of animation in her countenance,-a block of wood could not have been more unsympathetic.

Among the ladies on board was one a resident of Owensboro', who, upon her marriage eight years before, had moved from the town of Auburn, New York, the home of Mr. Seward.

"I was an Abolitionist," she said, "before I left home, but now that I know what slavery is, I like it. The slaveholders are so independent and live so easy! They can get rich in a few years; and there is no cla.s.s in the world who can enjoy so much of life as they."

It was evidently a sincere expression of her sentiments.

She was for the Union, but wanted slavery let alone. The strife in Owensboro' had been exceedingly bitter. Nearly all her old friends and neighbors were rampant Secessionists. Secession, like a sharp sword, had cut through society and left it in two parts, as irreconcilable as vice and virtue. There was uncompromising hostility ready to flame out into war at any moment in all the Kentucky towns. There was also on board a loud-talking man who walked the saloon with his hands in his pockets, looking everybody square in the face; he was intensely loyal to the Union.

"Why don't Buell move? Why don't Halleck move? It is my opinion that they are both of 'em old grannies. I want to see the Rebels licked. I have lived in Tophet for the last six months. I live in Henderson, and it has been a perfect h.e.l.l ever since the Rebels fired on Fort Sumter. I have lost my property through the d-d scoundrels. I want a regiment of Union troops to go down there and clean out the devils."

It was early morning when the scream of the Gray Eagle roused the usual crowd of loafers from their sleep and inanition at Owensboro'. A motley mob came down to the wharf eager to hear the news. I had been informed that the place was one where whiskey distilleries abound, and the information proved to be correct. The distillery buildings were distinctly recognized by their smoking chimneys, creaking pumps, and steaming vats. The crowd on the sh.o.r.e had whiskey in their looks and behavior. Among them was one enthusiastic admirer of Abraham Lincoln. He was bloated, blear-eyed, a tatterdemalion, with just enough whiskey in him to make him thick-spoken, reckless, and irresponsible in the eyes of his liquor-loving companions. While we were at a distance he swung his hat and gave a cheer for Old Abe; as we came nearer he repeated it; and as the plank was being thrown ash.o.r.e he fairly danced with ecstasy, shouting, "Hurrah for Old Abe! He'll fix 'em. Hurrah for Old Abe! Hurrah for Old Abe!"

"Shet up, you drunken cuss. Hurrah for Jeff Davis!" was the response of another blear-eyed, tipsy loafer.

The steamer Storm was tolling its bell as the Gray Eagle came to the landing at Evansville, bound for Green River. Her decks were piled with bags of corn and coffee. A barge was tethered to her side, loaded with bundle hay and a half-dozen ambulances. We were just in time to reach the deck before the plank was drawn in. Then with hoa.r.s.e puffs the heavily laden old craft swung into the stream and surged slowly against the swollen tide of the Ohio. Green River joins the Ohio ten miles above Evansville. It is a beautiful stream, with forest-bordered banks. At that season of the year there was nothing particularly inspiring to the muse along this stream, unless one can kindle a poetic flame in swamps, lagoons, creeks, and log-cabins standing on stilts, with water beneath, around, and often within them. On the spit of land between the Ohio and Green rivers, on posts several feet under water, was a log-cabin; a row-boat was tied to the steps, a woman and a half-dozen children stared at us from the open door. All around was forest. A gentleman on board said it was a fishing family. If so, the family, little ones and all, might ply the piscatory art from doors and windows. A more dreary, watery place cannot be imagined.

The Storm was not a floating palace with gilded saloons, velvet tapestry carpets, French mirrors, and a grand piano, but an old wheezy tow-boat, with great capacity below and little above. There was a room for the gentlemen, and a little box of a place for any ladies who might be under the necessity of patronizing the craft.

There were no soldiers on board, but thirty or forty pa.s.sengers. We were a hard-looking set. Our clothes were muddy, our beards s.h.a.ggy, our countenances far from being Caucasian in color, with sundry other peculiarities of dress, feature, and demeanor.

There was one stout man with an enormous quant.i.ty of brown hair, and a thick yellow beard, belonging to Hopkinsville, near the Tennessee line, who had been compelled to flee for his life.

"We got up a cannon company, and I was captain. We had as neat a little six-pounder as you ever saw; but I was obliged to cut and run when the Rebels came in December; but I buried the pup and the Secessionists don't know where she is! If I ever get back there I'll make some of them cusses-my old neighbors-bite the dust. I have just heard that they have tied my brother up and almost whipped him to death. They gouged out his eyes, stamped in his face, and have taken all his property."

Here he was obliged to stop his narrative and give vent to a long string of oaths, consigning the Rebels to all the tortures and pains of the bottomless pit forever. Having disgorged his wrath, he said,-

"Now, sir, there is a grave judicial question on my mind, and I would like your opinion upon it. If you owned a darkey who should get over into Indiana, a bright, intelligent darkey, and he should take with him ten n.i.g.g.e.rs from your secession neighbors, and you should happen to know it, would you send them back?"