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              THE LAKD "WE LOVE.
Ko. III. JULY, 1868. Vol. V.
COMPARATIVE GENEEALSHIP.
A feAV months after the capture
of Gen. Lee's army, in 1865, a
writer, in the editorial columns of
a widely circulating New York
journal, asserted that the achieve-ments
of Gen. Grant surpassed
those of Alexander, Hannibal,
Julius Csesar, Gustavus Adol-phus,
Marshal Turenne, Prince
Eugene of Savoy, Marlborough,
Trederick the Great, Napoleon,
and the Duke of Wellington, all
combined! The journal in ques-tion
is so much addicted to quiz-zing,
that we felt at a loss to de-termine
whether this stupendous
panegyric was uttered in good
faith, or whether it was merely an
echo of the popular exultation,
which at that moment very near-ly
approached the borders of
frenzy. Napoleon, in his review
of Jomini's "Art of War," tells
us that a great soldier cannot be
made by books of that sort—that
the " art" is best taught in the
field—that the best substitute for
VOL. v. NO. iir.
the field is the careful study of
eighty-four campaigns Avhich he
mentions, viz: the eight of Alex-ander,
seventeen of Hannibal,
and thirteen of Csesar, in ancient
times; the three of Gustavus,
sixteen of Turenne, nineteen of
Eugene, and eleven of Frederick,
in modern times. He did not, of
course, include his own and those
of Wellington. The panegyrist
of Gen. Grant, however, includes
them in his summary. In order
that the reader may see the enor-mous
character of this eulogy, we
propose to glance at the career of
each of these great captains, be-fore
sketching a brief outline of
Gen, Grant's.
Alexander the Great, with a
force 34,500 strong, invaded the
Persian empire, the mightiest, at
that time, upon which the sun
had ever shone, extending from
the shores of the Hellespont to
the banks of the Indus, from
Memphis on the Nile, to the
31
194 Coraxjarative GeneraJshij). [July,
great mountains of Korthern Asia,
embracing all those vast king-doms
which played parts so mem-orable
in the early history of man-kind,
as we find it recorded in the
Bible, peopled by innumerable
nations, able, at any time, to
send a million of men into the
field, divided into many provinces,
each governed by a satrap equal
in power and wealth to the great-est
king. In three campaigns,
and in three great pitched battles,
and Uxo memorable sieges, he
struck down the poAver of this
vast monarchy, and assumed the
crown of Asia. In five other
campaigns, and in innumerable
battles, he subdued those wild
and warlike tribes around him,
which the whole power of the
Persian monarchs had never been
able to subjugate, and but for the
refusal of his troops to follow him
farther, would undoubtedly have
anticipated Clive and his success-ors
by two thousand years, in
making India a province of an
European power.
Hannibal, with an army of
26,000 men, arrived on the Ital-ian
side of the Alps, wuth the
avowed purpose of overthrowing
the Republic of Rome, the most
powerful government, at that
time, existing in the world. Not
only his numbers, but his arms,
and the quality of his troops were
vastly inferior to those of his ene-my.
The latter were collected
from all quarters; twenty differ-ent
languages were spoken in his
camp, while the Romans were
homogeneous. After the battle
of Thrasymene, he made his
troops arm themselves with the
weapons of the dead Romans.
—
In eighteen months, and in three
pitched battles, remembered to
this day for the skill with which
they were planned, and the vigor
with which they were executed,
he not only defeated, but abso-lutely
and literally destroyed, five
Roman consular armies, and
shook the Roman power to its
very foundation. Exhausted by
his very victories, denied all re-enforcements
from home, shut up
in the foot of the Italian boot,
with no allies but the fierce and
intractable Breethans, his num-bers
weaning every day, for four-teen
years he defied the whole
power of Rome to drive him out
of Italy. Never, in his most tri-umphant
days, did his genius
shine so brightly as it did in this
gloomy season. He left Italy at
last, only in consequence of orders
from home.
Julius Ceesar, w^hen he took
possession of his government of
Gaul, found himself at the head
of six legions, about 24,000 men,
which he recruited to about 60,000
before commencing operations.
—
In the course of nine years he
was victorious in between forty
and fifty pitched battles, carried
by storm or took by siege eighty
fortified places, subdued 300 na-tions
or tribes, forming an aggre-gate
of 20,000,000 of souls, fought
in pitched battles or sieges 3,000-
000 of men, took 1,000,000 of pris-oners,
and slew as many fairly in
the field. Besides this, he made
several expeditions into Germany,
and twice crossed over to Britain,
where he fought two battles. In
the civil war, in a single pitched
battle, he destroyed the power of
Pompey, in another totally sub-
1868.] Comparative Generalship. 195
dued the revolted Egyptians, in a
third routed Pharnaces, on which
occasion he wrote "reni, vidi^
rici," and thus made himself
master of the Eastern world. In
a fourth he struck down the pow-er
of Pompey's followers in Africa,
and in a fifth put the finishing
stroke to his works by destroying
the army of Pompey's sons in
Spain. He certainly is a very
wonderful military man. Who
can be called superior to Julius
Caesar?
Gustavus Adolphus made his
first campaign in Poland, where,
after defeating the King in several
battles he compelled him to make
peace. The Emperor of Germany
was at that time waging the cruel
and unjust war, known as the
" Thirty Years' War," with his
Protestant subjects. His pro-gress,
through the skill of his
generals, Tilly and Wallenstein,
had given alarm to all Europe,
Catholic as well as Protestant.
—
Gustavus espoused the cause of
his Protestant brethren. He land-ed
in Pomerania, and made him-self
master of that province, after
having defeated the forces of the
Emperor in a bloody battle, and
stormed all the strong places in it.
He then proceeded south carrying
all the fortresses, for which Ger-many
is so famous, as fast as he
came to them. Tilly was sent
to arrest him. He attacked him
and received a bloody repulse.
Gustavus followed up the blow,
and attacking Tilly at Leipsic, a
great battle ensued, in which
Tilly lost half of his army. Gusta-vus
marched on, crossed the
Danube, invaded Bavaria, carried
every fortress before him in spite
of Tilly, and when that oflicer at-tempted
to stop him at the pas-sage
of the Lech he almost anni-hilated
his army, and Tilly him-self
was killed. He had gone as
far on his conquering progress to-wards
the Ehine as Ulm, when
he was recalled to Saxony to face
Wallenstein. He came in con-tact
with him at Lutzen. After
a bloody battle, in which he gain-ed
a signal victory, he was, un-fortunately,
killed. One month
more and he would have been in
Vienna.
Eugene first commanded in
chief in the campaign of 1697
against the Turks, which he ren-dered
memorable by defeating
Mustaphe II., in the battle of
Zenta, killing, wounding, or tak-ing
20,000 men, and all his artil-lery,
baggage, &c. This ended
the war. In the " War of the
Succession," he was sent to Italy,
where he completely defeated
Catinat, and afterwards Villeroi,
taking the latter prisoner at Cre-mona.
Called to Germany in
1704, he united his army with
that of Marlborough, and the two
gained the overwhelming battle
of Blenheim. Returning to Italy,
although he was at first foiled by
Vendome, yet he carried Turin
by storm, and virtually put an
end to the French power there.
He then penetrated into France,
and laid siege to Toulon, but was
not successful. Withdrawn from
Italy, he was sent to Flanders, to
command the Austrian forces
acting in concert with Marlbor-ough.
He participated in the
two great battles of Oudenarde
and Malplaquet, in 1708 and 1709.
In the war with the Turks, be
196 Comparative Generalship. [July,
fought the battle of Peterwardein,
with greatly inferior force, routed
the Turks with great slaughter,
and captured Belgrade; which
exploit led to peace. He was at
the head of the army of 1733 with
Poland, but no battle was fought.
He commanded in eighteen pitch-ed
battles and gained them all.
Marlborough was one of the
most fortunate generals that ever
lived. It was said of him, that
he never drew his sword that he
did not conquer. We know of no
other general of whom the same
can be said with truth. In 1704,
when the French marched an
overwhelming army into Bavaria,
and united with the Bavarian
forces, were about to push on to
Vienna, he made a sudden and
rapid march from Flanders, uni-ted
his forces to those of Eugene,
and gained the tremendous vic-tory
of Blenheim, in which the
French' lost 40,000 men out of
60,000. The way was open to
Paris, and Marlborough and Eu-gene
wished to take it, but the
Dutch deputies refused their con-sent.
Besides this battle, Marl-borough
also gained the great
victories of Kamillies, Oudenarde
and Malplaquet, and took all the
fortified towns of Flanders, be-sides
several in the North of
France. When Marlborough first
landed in Flanders, Louis XIY.
was the most powerful monarch
that had reigned in Europe
since Charlemagne. Marlborough
brought him almost to the dust.
Another campaign and he would
have been suing for peace on any
terms,when a faction at home over-threw
the great general and caus-ed
him to lose his command.
When the Seven Years' War
commenced, Russia, Sweden,
Austria, France, Saxony, and
Poland, with standing armies,
numbering 600,000 men, were
united against Prussia, which had
only 160,000. The combined
population of these countries was
100,000,000. The population of
Prussia, 5,000,000. England,
however, was with Prussia, and
sent an army to Hanover, which,
with her German subjects and
allies, it was thought would pro-tect
Prussia on the south. The
allies lay at great distances from
each other. Frederic lay in the
centre, and had a chance to strike
them in detail. He commenced
the war by overrunning Saxony,
seizing Dresden, besieging the
Saxon army, 17,000 strong, in the
camp of Pirna, leaving a suffi-cient
force to blockade the camp,
marching into Bohemia, and
totally defeating Marshal Brown,
who was approaching to raise the
siege, at Lowositz. In the spring
of 1757, he attacked Brown be-fore
Prague, waiting for Daun to
join him before advancing into
Saxony, and defeated him with a
loss of 24,000 men, he, himself,
losing 18,000. Part of the de-feated
force shut themselves up in
Prague, part fled to Daun.
—
Frederic left a part of his force to
blockade Prague, and with the
rest, on the 18th June, the same
day with the battle of Waterloo,
fifty-eight years after, attacked
Daun and Brown, at Kolin, and
was terribly defeated. But as
Daun made no use of his victory,
he was soon in the field again.
In the meantime the Duke of
Cumberland capitulated to the
1868.] Comparative GeneralsMp. 197
French army, which being now
at liberty, marched to invade the
south of Prussia. Silesia was in
possession of a powerful Austrian
army, and the Kussians were in
the Korthern provinces. Placed
in a central position, Frederic
was enabled to strike right and
left. He marched with great
rapidity on the French, and
gained a glorious victory over
them, at Eossbach, on the 5th
Kovember, came back on the
Austrians, and in a battle,
(fought 5th December,) which
Napoleon calls a master- piece,
(Leuthen) defeated them utterly,
killing, wounding, and taking
27,000 out of 60,000, and in the
spring inflicted a terrible defeat
on the Eussians, at Zorndorf.
—
But on the 14th October, 1758—
the same on which Napoleon
prostrated the power of Prussia,
fifty-eight years afterwards—he
was surprised in his camp, and
defeated by Daun and Laudohn,
at Hochkirchen, losing 13,000
men. In 1769, the Austrians
being in possession of Saxony,
and the Eussians of the country
bordering the Oder, the two
united, and Frederic attacking
them at Kunersdorf, where they
were strongly intrenched, suffered
a terrible defeat; the worst he had
ever sustained. Out of 50,000
men, he could rally that evening
but 3,000. But the allies grew
jealous of each other and did not
improve their victory. The next
day he had rallied 18,000 men,
and in a few weeks had an army
30,000 strong. At the commence-ment
of 1760, the enemy were in
possession of Berlin, but Frederic
gained a great victory over Lau-dohn
at Liegnitz, and another
great victory over Daun at Tor-gau,
which restored things to
their old condition. In 1761
there was no battle. The Em-press
of Eussia died, and her suc-cessor
immediately made peace,
clothed all the Prussian prisoners
in new suits, and sent them back
to Frederic, entering at the same
time into an alliance with him.
England and France made peace
soon after. Austria left by her-self
was not long in following the
example. Frederic relinquished
nothing whatever. The united
exertions of this mighty alliance
had been unable to wring any
thing from him.
The career of Napoleon is so
well known that we shall make
our summary as brief as possible.
In his first two campaigns, 1796
and 1797, in Italy, in the course
of ten months he was victorious
in fourteen pitched battles, and
seventy combats, destroyed five
Austrian armies, took 100,000
prisoners, and killed and wounded
as many more, captured six hun-dred
field pieces and two thou-sand
heavy guns, drove the Aus-trians
entirely out of Italy, and
forced a peace in sight of the
steeples of Vienna. All this he
effected with an army of less than
thirty thousand men,—the reen-forcements
he received never cov-ering
his losses. In the campaigns
of '98-'99 he carried the French
arms to the ancient Scripture lands
of Egypt and Syria, and won bat-tles
on spots renowned in the
earliest history of mankind, at
Alexandria, the Pyramids, Mount
Tabor, Jafta, (Joppa, the port of
Jerusalem.) and was obliged to
198 Comparative Generalship. [July,
raise the siege he had laid to
Acre, already immortalized in the
history of the crusaders. Ee-turning
to Egypt, he drove a
whole Turkish army into the sea
at Aboukir, returned to France,
seized the government, and had
himself proclaimed first consul.
—
All his conquests, except Genoa,
had been lost, and the Austrians
were besieging that, when, in
1800, he crossed the Alps, took
possession of Lombardy and Pied-mont
in their rear, cut off their
communications and forced them
to fight the battle of Marengo, by
which he recovered all the French
had lost, in one month from the
time he left Paris. In 1805, he de-stroyed
the Austrian Grand Army
at XJlm before it could unite with
the advancing Russians, and at
Austerlitz destroyed the Eussian
army likewise. In 1806, he de-stroyed
the Prussian army at
Jena before the Russians could
join, and pursuing it from one
end of Prussia to the other, in a
fortnight captured all the fortress-es
aud 140,000 prisoners. In 1807
he fought the great battle of
Eylau, and repulsed the Russians
with great slaughter, and of
Priedland, in which the Eussian
army was almost annihilated. In
1808, he swept over Spain like a
whirlwind. In 1809, in four great
battles, fought in four consecu-tive
days, he defeated the Arch-duke
Charles of Austria, and
drove him over the Danube, leav-ing
the way open to Vienna. He
took that city after a slight can-nonade,
crossed the Danube and
fought the bloody and indecisive
battle of Essling or Aspern, re-tired
to the Isle of Lobau, recross-ed
and utterly defeated Charles
at Wagram. In 1812 he fought
the terrible battle of Bor-odino,
seventy miles from Mos-cow,
in which the Eussians
lost 52,000. The fire at Moscow,
and the frost and snow, destroyed
his great army,and all Europe rose
against him. In the campaign
of 1813, his struggles were gigan-tic.
He fought and gained four
of the greatest battles recorded in
history; Lutzen, Bautzen, Wur-chen,
and Dresden. But the
numbers of his enemies constantly
increased, until at last, at Leip-sic,
they overwhelmed him. In
the campaign of 1814, in France,
with 40,000 men, he opposed for
weeks a force of 300,000, formed
into five armies, which he (mov-ing
on the chord of an arc while-they
moved on the circumference)
kept asunder, with infinite skill,
fighting a battle every day. He
would have succeeded at last, had
not Marmont treacherously given
up the city of Paris to the invaders.
In 1815, at the head of 122,000 men,
he marched into Belgium against
Wellington and Blucher, whose
armies, amounting in the aggre-gate
to 220,000, were quartered
separately. He thrust himself
between them, beat Blucher, sent
Grouchy in pursuit of him, order-ing
him to keep between Blucher
and the main army. He then
pursued Wellington, attacked him
at Waterloo, and was on the point
j
of beating him, when first Bulow J
and then Blucher came up.
Wellington landed in Portugal
in 1807 with about 30,000 troops.
The troops of Junot were dis-persed
all about the neighborhood
of Lisbon. He had about 21,000
1868.] Comparative Generalship. 199
in all, but could assemble only
9,000. "With these he attacked
Wellington at Vimeira, and was,
of course, beaten. His whole
army capitulated a few days after,
and the English had undisputed
posession of Portugal. In 1809,
"Wellington, by a sudden march
from Lisbon on Oporto, forced
Soult to retreat. He next march-ed
upon Madrid, and fought the
bloody battle of Talavera, with
doubtful result, it seems to us,
since he did not obtain his object,
and was forced to retreat back to
Lisbon. In 1810, Massena inva-ded
Portugal with 80,000 men.—
"Wellington had the better in the
battle of Busaco. He retired to
the lines of Torres-"Vedras. Mas-sena,
unable to force them, lay
before them until he lost half his
army. He then retreated, and
"Wellington following, the battle
of Puentes d'Onore was fought,
the English claiming the advan-tage.
In 1811, Wellington took
Ciudad Eodrigo by storm. In
1812, he stormed Badajoz—Kapo-leon
having called a great part of
his forces from Spain, Wellington
took this opportunity to march
into it. He attacked Marmont
at Salamanca and completely de-feated
him, but was compelled
afterwards to fall back on Portu-gal.
In 1813, Napoleon, in con-sequence
of his losses in Kussia,
was compelled to abandon Spain.
The army under King Joseph
was retiring in perfect disorder,
laden with plunder, and every way
demoralized. When Wellington
attacked them (1813) they scarcely
made a show of fight, but ran
and endeavored to save their
treasure. This shameful affair is
called the battle of Yittoria,
though in truth it was no battle
at all. In 1814, Wellington en-tered
the south of France, and
fought several battles with Soult,
at Bayonne, Orthes and Toulouse.
In 1815, he commanded in the
battle of Waterloo, which, we
suppose, is what chiefly gave him
his reputation.
Let us now take a brief glance
at the campaigns of Gen. Grant.
At the very outset we observe a
remarkable contrast between the
circumstances under which all
his operations were conducted,
and those under which the gene-rals
to whom he is preferred, con-ducted
theirs. They, in nearly
every instance, took the field with
inferior numbers ; he never moved
without an enormous numerical
superiority. They generally
fought against men whose re-sources
of every kind were at
least equal to their own ; he never
once encountered an enemy who
was not greatly his inferior, not
only in numbers, but in arms,
stores, provisions, clothing, medi-cal
appliances ; every thing except
skill and valor. That he was
right to make all he could out of
this species of superiority, is cer-tainly
true. He fought for an
object, and it was his duty to ob-tain
that object. But the fact
detracts very considerably from
his praise as a commander. Na-poleon
says, that the greatest
general is he, who, with the
smallest number of men in the
field, can bring the greatest num-ber
to bear on a given point. This
definition is perfect, and so pal-pable
that the unskilled can see
its correctness as well as Hanni-
200 Comparative Generalship. [July,
bal could. But where a general
operates with three or four to one,
he deserves no credit for bringing
a superior force to bear on one
given point. Kapoleon's defini-tion
is true, where the parties are
equal, or where the manceuvering
party is slightly superior. At
Eckmuhl, for instance, the
armies were equal—90,000 each.
Napoleon contrived, by his su-perior
skill, to throw 80,000 men
in full weight, upon 40,000 of the
enemy, while with 10,000 he kept
50,000 at long taw; and this, he
said, at St. Helena, was the most
skillful manoeuvre he ever execu-ted.
Had the French army been
greatly superior—had it been, for
instance, 130,000, he would have
deserved no high degree of credit.
He might have thrown the 80,000
upon the 40,000 on the important
point, and he could still have held
the other 50,000 at bay with a
power equal to their own. In-stances
of this kind abound in
his history. General Grant's
numbers were always so enor-mously
superior, that he could
throw half his army at any time,
upon one point, and still have a
force of two to one to oppose the
rest of his enemy's army. For
example. He had, at the Wilder-ness,
160,000 men; Lee had 47,-
000 all told. Suppose Lee to have
held a vital position with 30,000
of these men ; a position which if
carried must insure the destruc-tion
of his army. Grant could
throw 120,000 men upon it and still
retain 40,000 to make head against
the rest of Lee's army, amounting
to but 17,000. Victories gained
in this manner, by overwhelming
odds, are quite as useful as any
other victories, but they are hard-ly
so creditable to the victorious
party.
1868.] The Rhine. 201
THE RHINE.
{From the German of F. A. Krummacher.)
BY MART BAYARD CLARKE
"When grand St. Gothard stood complete
And Kature's noble work was done,
She smiled upon its heart of ice
And to the mountain gave a son.
*' 'Tis meet that goodness should proceed
From greatness such as thine,
Thy garnered strength have wider scope,
Thy gathered waters form the Khine.
Go forth," she said, " oh noble youth,
Well worthy of thy lineage grand,
And roll thy Heaven-born waters from
The hollow of thy Father's hand."
The stream obeyed and tore his way
Through rocks and crags with wanton force,
Parted the waves of Bodenlake
And boldly held his onward course.
Now smiling vineyards mark his path,
The turbid race of youth is run.
And bright luxuriant beauty crowns
The manhood of St. Gothard's son.
A hundred streams rich tribute yield.
He lays his vine-leaf wreath aside,
Bears noble ships upon his breast
And calmly rolls through cornflelds wide.
By many a branch he seeks the sea,
But wheresoever his waters pour
Men honored him as " father Ehine,"
Whom Nature to St. Gothard bore.
202 The Decay of Beligion in the South. [July,
THE DECAY OF RELIGION IN THE SOUTH.
Much as we may regret the
political and household ruin of a
"whole people, every Christian
must deem the decline and cor-ruption
of religion among them a
far greater evil. But any one,
who does not close his eyes to un-welcome
yet obvious facts, may
now witness the progress of this
decay in the Southern States, but
more especially in those contain-ing
the bulk of the negro popula-tion.
We would point out the indi-cations,
and trace the causes of
this decay ; but in order to
measure its progress, we must
first state what was the religious
condition of the South up to the
year 1860. What we have to say
is most applicable to the more
southern of these States; but es-pecially
to those, in which negro
slavery, having existed for gene-rations,
approached what may be
called its normal condition.
From the first settlement of the
country, the Christian mission-ary
had trodden close on the heels
of the pioneer in the wilderness
;
and for generations there had
been few families which did not,
in some form, profess the Christ-ian
faith. From the nature of
the country, farming and pastoral
pursuits engrossed the cares of
the bulk of the population, a very
small portion dwelling in towns.
A necessary result from this, was,
that literary education was gene-rally
superficial, and by no means
universal. In a sparsely peopled
country, most households must be
remote from schools; and the sup-port
necessary to the maintenance
of a school, of high order, can be
found in few neighborhoods. In-deed,
in many poor and thinly
settled parts of the country, it
would be difficult to collect twenty
scholars from as many square
miles. It was thus often less
easy to bring the young within
the reach of the means of educa-tion,
than it might be in a Tartar
horde, or an Arab tribe, which,
migrating in a body from pasture
to pasture, still always keeps the
household composing it, near
neighbors to each other; and the
schoolmaster would naturally ac-company
them in all their mi-grations.
Yet, however thinly settled
many parts of the South were,
few neighborhoods were without
one or more religious societies.
A christian church of some kind
was habitually frequented by the
bulk of the people, although
many families had to make al-most
a journey to worship there.
From the fewness, and the de-fects
of other sources of educa-tion,
a large part of the instruc-tion
received was of a religious
character. The Bible was, prac-tically,
the chief school book, and
the church the chief school of
young and old; but this was not
always under the charge of a
competent teacher.
Yet, from causes which we
need not here trace, it is notori-ously
true that religious impulses
and speculations have shown, in
1868.] The Decay of Beligion in the South. 203
the South, little of that tendency
to run into the extravagancies of
faith, so often and so variously
manifested in the Northern States,
in the shape of XJnitarianism, Uni-versalism,
Quakerism, Shakerism,
Spiritualism, Mormonism, Free-love
doctrines, and other aberra-tions,
from simple heresies in
dogmatic theology, down to the
utter perversion of all the princi-ples
of Christianity.
More than twenty years before
1860, there had been a marked
deepening and widening of the
current of Christian faith in the
South, and a corresponding in-crease
of effort to bring the truths
and obligations of Christianity
home to the hearts of all in the
land. More especially did this
zeal show itself in a deepening
sense of the responsibility of pro-fessed
Christians to labor at the
religious instruction of the ne-groes,
a duty which had hitherto
been much, but not altogether,
neglected. All branches of the
Church were moved by this im-pulse;
the effort of some were
peculiarly successful ; but we
might do injustice to others in
singling out any as having shown
peculiar zeal. The labors of
many clergymen, and not a few
laymen, in this field, have been
worthy of the high and pure
motives which prompted them;
nor will they lose their reward.
But the Christianizing of any
people is up-hill work; and the
difficulties increase with the depth
of their ignorance, and yet more
with the intellectual narrowness
of the race. While Christianity,
viewed in its merely earthly as-pect,
is the most powerful agent
in promoting civilization, there is
no doubt that civilization opens
the door for the entrance of
Christianity. Probably some
measure of it is essential among
any people, if not- to the recep-tion,
at least to the spontaneous
preservation of the faith. For
instance: For more than a cen-tury
the Moravians have main-tained
missions in Greenland, and
have made converts of many of
the natives, who, we are quite
willing to believe, are devout
members of their. Church. But,
should these missions be with-drawn,
and all intercourse with
Christendom cut off", does any
sane man believe that these peo-ple,
who are but Esquimaux, and,
from the very nature of their
country, cannot rise above the
pursuits and habits which char-acterize
that race—would they
preserve, uncorrupted, for gene-rations,
the learning. Church or-ganization,
and mutual control,
essential to the permanent up-holding
of the sacred truths and
institutions planted among them?
We might point out many other
countries in which the planting of
a self-sustaining Church would be
quite as hopeless. It is true that
most missionaries, laboring among
the heathen of the more degraded
types, would have us believe
otherwise. But, although the
common saying as to traveller's
tales is a rare example of a false
adage, originating far more in the
narrow ignorance of listeners,
than the falsehood of travellers,
yet, it is no where more justly ap-plicable
than to missionary narra-tives.
The mere traveller may be
an unbiased observer, seeking
204 The Decay of Beligion in the South. [July,
only truth, with no prejudged
conclusions to uphold. But the
missionary, relying on help from
on high, readily believes all he
hopes, and magnifies the conver-sion
of every doubtful proselyte
into a manifest widening of the
Kingdom of Christ. Blinded by
his zeal, misled by his hopes, he
deceives others by being self de-ceived.
As one people, from the physi-cal
conditions under which they
live, may be cut off from taking
the first steps in civilization ne-cessary
to enable them to main-tain
the Christian faith, after it
is introduced among them: so
another people, not from external
causes, accidental conditions, but
from the low order of their men-tal
and moral endowments, may
be equally unable to uphold the
civilization and Christianity ac-quired
through their relations
with another race.
The negro, out of Africa at
least, has always proved a docile
proselyte. The race is highly
susceptible of religious emotions,
and prone to devotional observ-ances.
Accordingly in the South
great success followed missionary
labors among them. This success
appeared greater than it was ; for
the negroes are peculiarly an im-itative
race; and it is easier to
imitate the externals of devotions,
than to understand its objects and
enter into its spirit. It was soon
obvious that those branches of
the Church in which the habits of
worship afforded the readiest vent
to devout excitement by external
manifestations of religious enthu-siasm,
and gave the greatest fa-cilities
to taking an active part in
public prayer, exhortation, and
in the dicipline of the congrega-tion,
took the strongest hold upon
them. The negro, constitution-ally,
loves excitement and a crowd.
He is by nature loquacious; in-stinctively
given to oratory.
We have often had occasion to
observe that, with him, no amount
of ignorance or of mental obtuse-ness,
proved the slightest bar to
the impulse to exhort, to instruct,
to dogmatize, or to lead in public
worship.
Their knowledge of the negro
convinced most of those who in-terested
themselves in their re-ligious
condition, that both their
Christianity and their civilization
could only be upheld by their con-stant
intercourse and contact with
a superior and dominant race.
—
Even in the heart of cultivated
communities, the oldest towns in
the South, negro congregations
under negro pastors showed a
perpetual tendency to glide into
a sensuous religion, into debasing
superstition and corrupt practices.
The negroes are prone to preserve
and even to revive rites worthy of
the grossest paganism. We will
give an example of this: In the
earliest settled part of South Car-olina,
on a plantation which had
been in the possession of the same
family for generations, the pro-prietor
found that, when a negro
died, his family, for many nights
after his death, would place a
dish of food on his grave; and
finding the dish empty in the
morning, were fully convinced
that their dead kinsman had enjoy-ed
the repast they had provided.
In a Christian country, among
negroes calling themselves Christ-
1868.] The Decay of Eeligion in the South. 205
ians, it cost their master frequent
expostulations, much explanation,
and repeated prohibitions, before
he could slowly eradicate this
heathen rite.
The negroes, in the country
especially, shunned the observa-tion
of the whites in their relig-ious
and funeral services. This
shyness of remark originated both
from the fear of ridicule, and of
prohibition of some of their pro-ceedings.
The writer of this ar-ticle,
although living habitually
the greater part of the year on
theplantation just spoken of, did
not often pry into their mysteries,
yet took an occasional opportuni-ty
of observing, unobserved, the
proceedings of a funeral. On the
plantations the funerals usually
took place at night, in order that
friends from other plantations
might attend. "We will give an
account of one we witnessed un-observed.
The night was dark
and somewhat rainy. The bier,
preceded, and followed by more
than three hundred negroes, many
of whom bore torches of pitch
pine, was borne from the negro
village to the plantation burial
ground in the heart of a cedar
grove. We took our post, hidden
by a large tree, while the blazing
torches lighted up the undulating
ground, and the trunks, branches
and foliage of the woodland scene.
The crowd assembled around the
grave with the torches blazing
over their heads, and a heavy
column of smoke soon formed a
canopy over them, while a prayer
was offered up and a discourse de-livered
by one of the head men of
the plantation with fluency and
fervor, and indications of no little
knowledge of Scripture. So far
all was well. But when the
preacher had concluded his ad-dress,
the men still stood grouped
around the grave, while the wo-men,
more than a hundred, drew
aside a few steps to a level spot.
Here one of them began a very
peculiar chant, and all the others
were soon circling around her
in a wild yet monotonous dance,
at every pause she made, repeat-ing
by way of a chorus what she
had last uttered. She sung in a
contralto voice, and was plainly
an improvisatrice, what she said
referring either to the individual
dead—lamenting his death, or
dwelling on some trait in his char-acter,
or else alluding to local and
contemporary matters. She dis-played,
amidst her extravagances,
some range of sentiment, com-mand
of language and rhythmical
powers, and was vociferously sec-onded
by her dancing body-guard
and somewhat bacchanalian cho-rus.
All evidently enjoyed the
occasion for venting their animal
spirits under the guise of religious
emotions. The whole concert ac-corded
so ill with the preceding
mournful occasion and the pre-ceding
solemnities, as to exhibit a
revolting mixture of heathen and
Christian rites. Yet most of
the negroes were Methodists, many
were Baptists, and others habitual-ly
catechised and preached to by
a clergyman of the Episcopal
Church. At the end of these cer-emonies
the blazing lights were
thrown on the ground and ex-tinguished,
nor could one of the
negroes have been afterwards in-duced
to apply these consecrated
torches to an}?- secular use.
206 The Decay of Beligion in the South. [July,
From all that we have seen of
the religious tendencies, we had
almost said instincts, of the ne-gro,
we have been forced to assent
to the conclusion of an able and
learned minister of the Presbyte-rian
Church, not a native of
America, who assured us that
those clergymen who had devoted
themselves to the instruction of
congregations composed exclu-sively
of blacks, had mistaken the
mode of promoting the Christian
progress; this end being best se-cured
by bringing them into the
church as adjuncts to the congre-gations
of whites. This he had
found the only means of temper-ing
and controlling their bent to
superstitious and corrupting ob-servances.
It was constantly remarked that
a strong profession of religious
zeal was far more common among
the negro men than women, while
the reverse is the case among
white people. But this, among
the blacks, was almost always ac-companied
by an eager desire to
assume, however ignorant the
party might be, the character of
a teacher, exhorter, and leader
among his people. "With some
marked exceptions, it was but too
evident that the hope of acquiring
influence and personal advantage
was the corner-stone at the found-ation
of their zeal. It may be
that their subject condition nar-rowed
the field of action open to
the designing and ambitious; but
what ever was the cause, no
where else could be found, among
the teachers of any class of Christ-ians,
so many wolves in sheep's
clothing.
A tendency to corrupt Christ-ianity
is common to all mankind;
but among the negroes it was
found peculiarly diflScult to abol-ish
and keep out superstitious
practices, to suppress a mere noisy
manifestation of religious excite-ment,
to impress upon them the
permanent nature of the marriage
bond, and to convince them of
the impossibility of divorcing god-liness
from righteousness. A
thorough knowledge of the negro
made it plain that both their civi-lization
and their Christianity
were dependent upon their inter-course
with and subjection to an-other
race.
^Ye do not mean to imply, by
any thing that we have said, that
the people of the South had ac-quitted
themselves of their obli-gation,
as Christians, to evangel-ize
the negroes among them and
under their control. The greater
part of the people of these States,
like the bulk of the population of
every country in Christendom, are
not truly followers of Christ.
—
Even using the term, Christian,
in the lowest sense, there were
still among the whites, as well as
the blacks, throughout the South,
large fields for apostolic labor al-most
unoccupied. But we can
truly say that for many years the
labors for the religious instruct-ion
of the negro, were far more
general, more earnest, and ap-parently
far more successful than
strangers to the South, and the
unobservant there, have imag-ined.
So much on the religious condi-tion
of the South u]) to 1860.
"We now come to the indications
and the causes of the decay of re-ligion
since that time. That the
1868.] The Decay of Beligion in the South. 207
change has been great and the
downward progress rapid, can be
made obvious to all. This is ow-ing
to certain material, as well as
moral, causes. Of their material
causes we will speak first.
In a country at once Christian
and rich, the very Mammon of
unrighteousness is made a power-ful
agent in advancing the glory
of God. Even men, careless of
the future, and base in their
morals, often give freely of their
superfluities to the building of
churches, the support of minis-ters,
the extension of missions,
the publication of religious books,
and the education of those des-tined
to become instrumental for
enlarging the kingdom of Christ.
All history tells us that there is a
close connection between the civi-lization
and prosperity of a peo-ple,
and their religious condition.
We need but look at the degraded
churches, and the corrupted faith
of the Christian population of the
first seat of our religion, and of
the nations around it, now the
servants of the Turk. Christi-anity
was yet new on earth when
its corruption was hastened by
the wars and devastations, the
decay of commerce, arts, learning,
and civilization, that followed the
dismemberment of the Eoman
Empire. At this day we see the
Church of Kome every where
identical in dogmas, discipline,
and rites, yet widely varying in
different countries in its practical
nature, in its results on priest and
laymen, according to the charac-ter
and condition of the people of
each land. It is one thing in
Germany, France, and England;
quite another in Spain, Portugal,
Mexico, and South America.
—
Here at home, within the pale of
other Churches than that of
Eome, we can mark wide differ-ences
in the Christianity pro-fessed
and practiced in the more
enlightened and more ignorant
parts of the world.
The people of the Southern
States, after a strenuous effort to
defend their political rights, and
social organization, and ward off
the ruin impending at the hands
of their more numerous and
domineering confederates, suffer-ed
an overthrow more disastrous
to their material prosperity, than
nine out of ten of the conquests
recorded in history, ever proved
to the vanquished people. For
this conquest, and the social revo-lution
resulting from it, destroy-ed
the very elements of prosperi-ty.
The Korman conquests of
England did not stamp sterility
upon the soil, or paralyze the
laborer's arm. The Russian con-quest
of Poland did not sweep
away the elements of fertility, or
the means of making them avail-able.
We might summon in wit-ness
a long array of conquests,
which left the material resources
of the conquered regions unim-paired.
But the overthrow of
the South, and of its social or-ganization
is surely, and not
slowly, conyerting its most pro-ductive
territories into barren
wastes, hastening to return to the
wilderness from which they were
laboriously won.
For these States are fertile only
in a certain sense, and it is not
the labor of every race that can
make that fertility available.
The climate, in most parts below.
208 The Decay of Eeligion in tJie South. [July,
and many above the thirty-fifth
degree of latitude, is ill-suited to
the winter growing grain crops,
which furnish the chief food of
civilized man. Here the yield is
most uncertain, and always small.
The summer's sun parches up the
pastures and cuts short the pro-duce
of the meadows, so that
little profit is derived from cattle
and the products of the dairy.
The South is dependent for food
on summer-growing crops, re-quiring
frequent tillage during
their growth, most of it by-manual
labor, during the hottest
and most unhealthy season of the
year.
But if the climate, and perhaps
the soil, of the southern part of
this continent, and those of the
adjacent islands have been found
ill-suited to the ordinary crops of
the farm, they are admirably
adapted to some great agricultu-ral
staples, which at once become
the basis of a world-wide com-merce
; for, while they can be
grown to advantage, only, under
peculiar climates, they are easily
transported to, and eagerly sought
after in, every land.
A great field was here opened
for agricultural enterprise, in-dustry,
and skill. But, from the
first settlement of the country, it
has been found that, on the more
productive soils of this bountiful
region, the man of Caucasian race
followed the labors of the field at
the cost of health, and the hazard
of life. He cultivated summer-growing
crops, unlike the crops
sowed from their first germina-tion,
in autumn, and growing
through the winter, they strug-gled
for air and soil with a host
of rank-growing weeds. They
can only be preserved and pro-tected
by frequent tillage, during
their growth, chiefly by manual
labor, at the hottest season of the
year. We hear sometimes of
great returns to farming with
white labor in the South. The
instances are few, are confined to
peculiarly healthy spots, and the
success grossly exaggerated.—
What says the experience of two
centuries? The constitutions of
few white men long stand the
wasting efiects of the climate,
when laid open to its worst in-fluences
by the fatigue and ex-posure
of the husbandman's toil
under our almost tropical sun.
The country was settled at a
frightful cost of human life.
Families of European laborers
either ceased to toil as they were
wont at home, or died out.
Every one who has witnessed the
amount of toil undergone, the
year round, by the hard working
peasantry of England, Scotland,
Ireland, and Germany, knows
that in the productive parts of
the Southern States, such a class
neither does, nor can exist.
But this was not the result with
all races. The negroes brought
hither from Africa, by the ships
of old and New England, found a
climate and country congenial to
their nature, difiering indeed
somewhat from their native land,
but, perhaps, more favorable to
them. This we may infer from
their speedy multiplication by
natural increase, and their im-provement
in eflSciency, intelli-gence
and civilization; or must
we attribute these eflects, not in
part to country and climate, but
1868.] The Decay of Beligion in the South. 209
altogether to their improved so-cial
condition? Less than three
hundred thousand Africans, the
first of whom were brought to the
English Colonies in North Ameri-ca
since the middle of the 17th
century, and most of them a hun-dred
years later, were represented,
in 1860, by more than four mil-lions
of their oflfspring. Certain
it is that, in numberless regions
of the South, the same air that
breathes pestilence and death to
the white man, wafts health and
vigor to the black.
If the experience of two centu-ries
proves that no great and
profitable return can be looked
for from the soil of the South but
through negro labor, the expe-rience
of the three years which
have elapsed since the emancipa-tion
of the negroes—backed by
the results of negro freedom in
Hayti, Jamaica, Cape Colony and
in the Northern States—equally
proves that, with few exceptions,
the negro, as a free man, is un-profitable
to himself, and as a
hireling, worthless and ruinous to
all who employ him. In 1790,
French St. Domingo exported
§25,000,000 in sugar and cofiee
alone—the Empire of Hayti has
taken its place, and exports
—
nothing worth naming. Its peo-lole
are truly 'fruges consumere
nati,^ for their scanty diet is little
else than fruit, the spontaneous
gift of the soil. Chronic revolu-tion
seems to be the only other
production. In Jamaica the strong
hand of Great Britain has failed
to sustain industry; and after
thirty years of experiment, it has
been found necessary, to enforce
order and protect life, by abolish-
^YOL. V. NO. III.
ing the local legislature, and put-ting
the Queen's authority in its
place. Such is the testimony of
Hayti and Jamaica. Every wit-ness
from abroad tells a similar
tale. Here in the South, except
in small farming in the least fer-tile,
and therefore more healthy
parts of the country, where white
men can labor without ruin to
their health, agricultural labor
has been so far annihilated that
the outlay on almost every agri-cultural
enterprise, and indeed on
all undertakings requiring much
unskilled labor, has far exceeded
the returns. They must all be
abandoned. The planter reaps
only ruin. The people of the
South find themselves poorer and
less hopeful year by year. Many,
formerly wealthy and still holding
large landed property, once of
great value, are reduced to abso-lute
want. Their land is worth-less,
for the only labor that can
render it productive can hardly
be said to exist. The few fields
cultivated yearly shrink within
narrower bounds. The idleness
and consequent destitution of the
negroes drives them to depredate
on the crops before they are har-vested
or even ripe—and are a
yet more fatal obstacle to all pas-toral
industry; for live stock of
all kinds rapidly disappears be-fore
the nocturnal enterprises of
these hungry marauders. Al-ready,
in some parts of the coun-try,
the impulses of desperate
want, guided by the emissaries
of evil sent among them, gather
them into armed bands, in open
day light, and drive them to acts
of wholesale plunder, violence and
outrage. These may be local and
14
210 The Decay of Beligion in the South. [July.
temporary ; but the destruction of
the agricultural and pastoral pros-perity
of the country is perma-nent,
and involves the utter loss ,
of value in all fixed capital there.
The mass of the people of the
South, formerly so prosperous,
are stinted in the necessaries of
life. Many neighborhoods have
been almost deserted by the edu-cated,
the influential, and the
once wealthy classes. There is
not now in the South remunera-tive
employment for a fifth of
those whose professions imply a
liberal and costly education. The
greater number of them must
seek new homes, where their skill
and knowledge may be valued
and rewarded—or remain to starve
on incomes falling short of the
wages of a ploughman. This falls
with peculiar weight on the clergy.
Although their calling relates
chiefly to man's interest in an-other
world, they must be fed,
clothed, and housed in this; for
' the laborer is worthy of his hire.'
But, when the wants of this life
come to press heavily on a needy
people, men begin to retrench by
dispensing with the services of a
profession whose duties refer to a
life yet to come. The minister is
starved out on a curtailed and
often unpaid salary. Soon he
must neglect dispensing 'the
bread of life' to earn that bread
which feeds the body. ' Por he,
who provideth not for his own
household, hath denied the faith,
and is worse than an infidel.'
—
Churches are closed and not re-opened,
they decay and are not
repaired, they crumble to the
earth and are not rebuilt. Even
churches richly endowed are no
better off", for their glebe lands be-come
valueless like all other prop-erty
in the country.
Upon those branches of the
church, like the Episcopal and
Presbyterian, which require of
their ministers a high standard in
education and social position, the
evil falls soonest and heaviest;
but it has gradually a ruinous ef-fect
on all. Even the church of
Eome, in which, from the celibacy
of the clergy, a high standard of
education is maintained at com-paratively
a small cost, will be
slowly starved out.
Now though numbers of man-kind
pass through life apparently
without a thought beyond the bare
and fleeting objects of this world,
yetj by his very nature, man is
prone to some kind of worship;
and by his fallen and corrupt na-ture
he is prone to the gradual
degradation of the mode and ob-ject
of that worship. No people
are long without religious teach-ers;
for their's is a post of power,
the greater in proportion to the
ignorance of their flock, often too
great to measure that of the pas-tor.
Nor is it mere ignorance
that takes the place of knowledge.
Error in its most corrupting
forms, soon fills the place of truth.
We can only shut out from the
church gross imposture, groveling
superstition, revolting rites, and
mad fanaticism through the la-bors
of an educated class of men
especially devoted to the study
and teaching of the word of God.
But throughout large portions of
the South the people have no
longer the means of maintaining
this class, indispensible as their
services may be.
1868.]" The Decay of Beligion in the South. 211
But besides the causes origina-ting
in the poverty and ruin of
the country, others of a moral
nature are exerting an evil influ-ence
on the religious faith of too
many in the South.
The people of these States
entered on secession with a good
conscience, and defended their
rights, in arms, with undoubting
faith , fully believing it to be not
only their right, but their duty,
to break off all partnership with
their Northern confederates. This
conviction , which had been grow-ing
on them for years, sprung
into action at the new light,
thrown by late and startling de-velopments,
on the true charac-ter
and designs of the mass of the
Northern people.
The people of the Southern
States felt that they had a civili-zation
worth preserving, and that
it was altogether dependent on the
maintenance of their political and
social organization. Observing
and. reflecting men , among them
,
had long foreseen , and proclaimed
that the triumph of the Northern
policy and machinations must at
once bring down political and
moral degradation on the South
with its economical ruin ; and con-demn
the negro to barbarism,
godless superstition , and ultimate
extinction.
"When denounced and anathe-matized
by the Northern abo-litionists,
the Southern slave-hold-er
had looked to the North to
ascertain the true motives and
character of his vituperative as-sailants
, and the condition of the
negroes living among them. He
at once saw that there was no ac-cord
between the words and ac-tions
of the Northern people.
The negro there was but a master-less
slave, needing, but destitute
of, an individual protector; the
]pariah of the community , thrown
oft" to find for himself the neces-saries
of life , yet excluded , by a
social excommunicatioH , from
every profitable and reputable
calling. Although recruited by
occasional fugitives from the
South, the negroes there were
dwindling in numbers, and dying
out from destitution. For the
working classes at the North,,
universally treated the black man
as an interloper, standing in the
way of the whites ; and if he at-tempted
to follow any trade or
craft, which the former found it
profitable to engage in, the mob
soon taught him, by club law, tO'
repent his presumption. "We
will give a single illustration of
this feeling: In a Northern city,
a negro fugitive from the South,
where he had been bred a brick-layer,
obtained employment as a
hodman on a house, then build-ing,
on one of the principal
streets. "When the workmen went
to dinner, the negro, who had no
dinner to go to, thought he would
try if his hand had lost its skill,
and began to lay a few bricks.
This attracted the notice of some
workmen passing by , and a group
of them gathered together, the
exclamation was soon heard,
' Look at that damned negro pre-tending
to do a white man's
work ! ' A shower of brick-bats
at once drove him from his trowel
,
and obliged him to seek refuge
within the building, to escape a
fracture of the skull.
It was easy to see that there
212 The Decay of Beligion in the South. [July,
was mingled with the jSTorthern
hostility to negro slavery, a large
amount of hostility to the negro.
There were, in fact, two classes of
Abolitionists, one seeking to
abolish negro slavery, the other
to abolish the negro himself, as a
nuisance and obstruction in the
white man's way. Many who
professed to be of the former class
,
really belonged to the latter.
Southern men saw so many
proofs, both open and latent, of
this animosity against the blacks,
that they were forced to recog-nize
in themselves, as the masters,
the only real friends and protec-tors
of the race. In the day of
secession we doubt if there was a
single secessionist who believed
that the negroes would be as well
off in freedom as they then were.
The belief of that day has now
ripened into knowledge.
We might bring forward a
thousand proofs of the hollowness
of the anti-slavery sentiment. A
few will suffice. This same peo-ple
of the Korth, while they pro-claim
the universal equality of
man, in their animosity against
the whites of the South, are
moving heaven and earth to give
the negroes the control of the
local governments there; yet, at
home, amoiig themselves, they
deny all social and political
equality to the black, shut him
out from all share of power, all
lucrative and creditable pursuits.
Again : All remember the im-mense
success at the Korth, of
Helper's 'Impending Crisis,' a
book written to rouse the people
there to tear down the barriers of
the Constitution, in order to
abolish negro slavery. Its object
and sentiments procured it the
public endorsement of a large
portion of the Northern Senators
and Representatives. The book
was but a tissue of abuse of the
South, except in its shallow and
blundering attempt to prove to
Southern men who had no slaves,
that slavery was a debasing ob-struction
to them , while the slave-holders,
not one-twentieth part of
the whites in the Soutli, alone,
drew profit and power from it.
Insidious as his reasoning was,
few in the South were misled by
it, and its utter falsehood is now
known to all. But his aim is at-tained
; the work is accomplished
;
the negro is free. And Helper
now writes a second book to prove
that the negro is an encumbrance
and curse upon the land, and
must be driven out, or extermi-nated.
Are these the vagaries of
a madman? No. They are -the
successive and well-timed strokes
of a concocted policy. Now, as
in 1860, Helper finds readers and
approvers in crowds. His book
is the manifesto of a party. He
is a representative man.
For years the world has rung
with clamorous anathemas against
the enormities perpetrated by the
slave-holders in the South. Lis-ten
to the Abolitionists, and ne-gro
slavery was the only shape
evil assumed on earth. All the
world was an Eden, and this the
black and crawling viper which
poisoned its innocence, polluted
its zephyrs, and desolated its
fruitful groves. They raked up
every fact and falsehood that
could illustrate their history of
' The Great Iniquity.' But they
chose their facts like that unim-
1868.] The Decay of Beligion in the South. 213
aginative painter, who sketched
each distorted limb and feature he
got sight of, in order by com-bining
them, to paint his monster.
We have no wish to deny that,
in this, as in other cases, the
possession of power led to in-stances
of brutal tyranny. "We
might add thrilling incidents to
' Uncle Tom's Cabin ,' perhaps
more authentic than those found
there, but liable to the same ob-jection,
that they represented the
rare exceptions, and not the rule.
Nor would we perpetuate the
blunder of making the negro and
mulatto the superior race. But
we could quite as easily make up
our fagot of social horrors in
the free communities of London
and New York.
There are two or three broad
facts, which no man can deny,
yet which give the ' lie direct ' to
the oft-repeated assertions as to
the cruelty of the Southern mas-ter,
and the misery of the slave.
The rapid multiplication of the
negroes throughout the South,
and their increased efficiency over
native Africans, is, itself, suffi-cient
proof that they were not in
an unnatural or disadvantageous
condition. Being chiefly occupied
in rural labors, they were spread-ing
over the country even more
rapidly than the whites, fast as
they grew in numbers. This
slave population, so assiduously
pictured, by the Yankee and Eng-lish
anti- slavery press, as bowed
down and worn out by un-ceasing
toil, and ruled with brutal
severity, was, in general, well
provided for, not over worked,
and easily controlled by their
masters, among whom oppression
and harshness was the exception,
and not the rule. It is a libel on
human nature, contradicted by all
experience, to assert that the ex-ercise
of power engenders the de-sire
only to oppress, and not to
benefit those under our control.
In this case the result proved its
falsehood. A natural, and there-fore
general , though not univer-sal,
union of selfish interests and
kindly feelings led the master to
take care that his negro should be
fed, and not hungry, clothed and
not naked, sheltered and not
houseless; that he should seek
comfort in a house, and not
fly as from a prison ; that he
should be, not a beast goaded on
under the yoke, but a laborer to
be employed; not an enemy to
be watched and feared even in his
bonds, but a dependent who could
be trusted. And that these ob-jects
were not only aimed at but
attained, is proved by undeniable
facts. The natural docility of the
negro, a certain sluggishness of
body and mind, a sense of infe-riority
lead him to look beyond
himself and his own race for guid-ance
and command, and render
him the most easily governed and
most incapable of ruling, of all
people. All the intrigues and
machinations of the Northern
Abolitionists failed to throw the
negroes into a rebellious or even
discontented mood. Nothing can
more conclusively prove this, and
that the negroes were in a natural
and comfortable condition, than
the absence, not only befor^, but
during the war, of insurrection or
even insubordination; even when,
in many parts of the country, the
greater number of the few mas-
214 The Decay of Eeligion in the South. [July,
ters were absent on military ser-vice,
leaving the women and chil-dren
surrounded by, and to the
protection of, large gangs of ne-groes,
whose only change of con-duct,
as time passed on, was a
gradual slackening of industry for
the indulgence of the indolence
so natural to them. Even in the
midst of the war, at points not
remote from the enemy, but daily
reverberating with the sound of
their cannon, many negroes were
habitually entrusted with fire-arms,
as plantation watchmen,
or when sent in pursuit of game,
:and no ill consequence ensued.
—
In every ' part of the South it
required the actual presence and
exhortations of the enemy to in-duce
them to throw oft' what had
been constantly pictured as a
grievous and galling yoke. What
the negroes sought, when left to
themselves, was not freedom, but
exemption from that labor which
is the lot of man. To the end of
the war it was starvation and im-pressment,
not voluntary enlist-
2nent that filled the ranks, con-stantly
thinned by desertion, of
the negro regiments raised by the
United States Government in the
South. It was only when goaded
on by the counsels and exhorta-tions
of the Northern agitator
that the negro, when freed, ex-hibited
feelings of hostility against
the Southern man, and generally
least of all against his former mas-ter.
These feelings were not found
in their hearts, but had to be
sown and cultivated there. There
were of course, exceptional cases.
Four millions of people can be no
where found who do not include
characters of every kind. But of
the negroes as a class, the whites,
as their former masters, had no
cause to complain. The same na-ture
makes him worthless as a
hireling, which made him so use-ful
as a slave. Of all races he
alone accepts servitude as a decree
of nature and not of necessity.
—
But spontaneous industry seems
foreign to his constitution. When
free, laziness is his master. He
must be trained to systematic la-bor
by authority, example, and
some penalty on indolence, nearer
at hand and more definite than
the mere prospect of want.
1868.] Storm ayid Calm. 215
STORM AND CALM.
BY HENRY TIMEOD.
Sweet are these kisses of the South
J^& if they dropped from maiden's mouth;
And softer are these cloudless skies
Than many a tender maiden's eyes.
But, ah! beneath such influence
Thought is too often lost in sense;
And Action, faltering, as we thrill,
Sinks in the. unnerved arms of Will!
Awake, thou Stormy Korth! and blast
The subtle spells around us cast;
Beat from our limbs these flowery chains
"With the sharp scourges of thy rains!
Bring with thee from thy polar cave
All the wild sounds of wind and wave.
Of toppling berg and grinding floe.
And the dread avalanche of snow.
"Wrap us in Arctic night and clouds,
Yell like a fiend amid the shrouds
Of some slow-sinking vessel, when
He hears the shrieks of drowning men.
Blend in thy mighty voice whate'er
Of danger, terror, and despair,
Thou hast encountered in thy sweep
Across the land and o'er the deep.
Pour in our ears all notes of woe
That, as these very moments flow,
Rise like a harsh, discordant psalm,
"While we lie here in tropic calm.
Sting our weak hearts with bitter shame,
Bear us along with thee like flame;
And show that even to destroy
More godlike may be than to toy.
And rust or rot in idle joy!
216 The State of Franklin. [July,
THE STATE OF FRANKLIN.
At the return of the members
from Tarborough, in July, of
1788, it was announced that the
parent State had no intention of
acceding to the views of those
who favored the establishment of
the Franklin Government. A fit
opportunity soon after occurred of
testing the supremacy of the old
and new dynasty. "We copy or
condense from Haywood an ac-count
of it. A fieri facias had
been placed in the hands of the
sheriff of Washington county to
be executed against the property
of Sevier. The sheriff, acting un-der
the authority of Korth Caro-lina,
seized Sevier's negroes and
removed them for safe keeping to
the house of Col. Tipton. Sevier
was, at this time, on the frontier
providing for the defence of the
inhabitants against the Indians.
Hearing of the seizure of his ne-groes,
by virtue of an illegal pro-cess,
as he deemed it, and by an
officer not legally constituted, he re-solved
to suppress all opposition to
the new government. He raised a
hundred and fifty men and march-ed
directly to Tipton's house, near
to which he arrived in the after-noon.
Kot more than fifteen
men of Tipton's party were then
with him. Sevier halted his troops
two or three hundred yards from
the house, on a sunken piece of
ground, where they were covered
from annoyance by those in the
house. Tipton had gained some
intimation af Sevier's approach
and barricaded the house against
the expected assault. The Gov-ernor
presented himself and his
troops, with a small piece of ord-nance,
took post in front of
the house and demanded the un-conditional
surrender of Tipton
and of all who were with him.
—
Tipton sent word to Sevier to
"fire and be damned." Sevier
then sent a written summons.
This, with a letter calling for as-sistance,
Tipton sent immediately
to Col. Maxwell, in Sullivan coun-ty.
For some time Tipton would
not permit any communication
with Sevier. Early next morn-ing,
however, he consented that
one of his men should correspond
with Sevier. This correspondence
resulted in nothing, only allowed
time for Tipton's expected rein-forcements,
which did arrive, and
by their junction with the be-sieged,
infused fresh vigor into
their resolutions. Elholm, who
was second in command to Sevier,
in order to make short work, and
to avoid the danger of delay, pro-posed
the erection of a light mov-able
battery, under cover of which
the troops might safely advance
to the walls of the house. In the
mean time, those coming in and
going out of the house, were fired
upon and one man was killed and
another wounded. Col. Maxwell,
with one hundred and eighty men,
had, at night, reached nearly to
the camp of Sevier, and avoiding
his sentinels, approached Tipton's
house and awaited the dawn of
day to raise the siege. As soon
as objects had become visible,
the snow falling, and Sevier's
1868.] The State of Franklin. 217
men advancing on the house, the
troops under Maxwell fired a vol-ley
and raised a shout which
seemed to reach the heavens, and
communicated to the besieged
that deliverance was at hand.
—
From the house they reechoed the
shout and immediately sallied out
upon the besiegers. In the midst
of these loud rejoicings a tremor
seized the dismayed adherents of
Sevier, and they fled in all di-rections,
through every avenue
that promised escape from the
victors. Tipton and Maxwell
did not follow them more than
two hundred yards. Within one
hour afterwards Sevier sent in a
flag, proposing terms of accom-modation.
One man had been
mortally wounded. Among the
prisoners were two of Sevier's
sons. Tipton forthwith determ-ined
to hang them both, but by
solicitations of some of Tipton's
party, with whom the young men
were at good understanding, he
desisted from his purpose.
This is the account usually
given of the afiair between Sevier
and Tipton. It is believed to
be mainly correct. The declara-tion
put into the mouth of Gov.
Sevier, that he intended to sup-press
all opposition to Franklin
by force, needs confirmation, or
ought to be qualified. From the
commencement of the difliculties
between the parent State and her
revolted counties, Sevier had de-termined
to avoid, and did pre-vent,
violence and bloodshed.
His moderation and his good
temper, have been attested by the
narrative of every pioneer this
writer has had the opportunity to
examine. The Governor in every
instance dissuaded from violence,
or even tumult. His own letters
private and ofiicial, breathe the
same spirit. In one of them he
deprecated pathetically to Gov.
Mathews, a resort to force, and
speaks of the mother State with
afiection and regard—indeed in a
tone of filial piety, which cannot
be too much admired. His con-duct
during the siege of Tipton's
house, and until he withdrew
from it, demonstrates what is in-tended
here to be said, that Gov.
Sevier did not intend to maintain
the authority of Franklin by
force. It is known that in order
to recover his property, then in
the custody of Tipton's adherents,
and confined in the house, the de-termined
spirit of that brave man
defied Sevier. Major Elholm ad-vised
an immediate assault, and
oftered to lead it. The Governor
restrained the ardor of his Ad-jutant
and declared, that not a gun
should be fired. Elholm renewed
his application for leave to storm
the house, when he was silenced
by the remark that he came not
there to kill his countrymen, and
that those who followed him had
no such wish or design. Sevier
himself, and most of his ad-herents,
were too patriotic not to
be dissatisfied with the position
which surrounding circumstances
had forced him to assume, and
which he now most reluctantly
occupied, at the head of the in-surgents,
and prompted to engage
them in a fratricidal warfare.
His sword had been often drawn
for his country—his heart had
never quailed before its enemies.
Over these he had often triumph-ed
; but now he refused to imbrue
218 The State of Franklin. [July,
his hands in the blood of patriotic
countrymen and friends. The
patriot prevailed over the officer,
the citizen over the soldier. The
sternness of the commander yield-ed
to the claims of duty, and of a
common citizenship. His de-meanor
during the siege, and es-pecially
on the night before the
assault, is represented by those of
his party who served under him,
before and after this occasion, to
have been very different from
that which he usually manifested.
The men under his command ex-hibited
the same altered be-havior.
In all their campaigns,
ardor and enthusiasm attended
the march—care and vigilance
the bivouac,—the mirthful song
and the merry jest were heard in
every tent. On these occasions,
it was the custom of Sevier to
visit every mess and to participate
in their hilarity. He spoke of
enemies and dangers before, and
of friends and home behind them.
He was thus the companion and
friend and idol of his soldiery.
But now the camp of the Gover-nor
of Franklin was dreary and
cheerless. No merry laugh was
heard—nor song—nor jest. Little
care and less vigilance was taken
in placing out his sentinels.
—
Sevier was silent, appeared ab-stracted,
thoughtful, and at this
time only in his whole public life,
morose and ascetic. Elholm's
vivacity failed to arouse him.
He communicated little to that
officer, he said nothing to his men.
He took no precaution, suggested
no plans, either of attack or de-fence.
The enemies of his coun-try
were not before him, and the
patriot Governor repressed the
aspirations of the "Commander-in-
Chief of the army of the State
of Franklin." In no other in-stance
can be found a livelier ex-hibition
of the true moral sub-lime
of patriotism.
The example of Sevier was con-tagious.
The energy and skill of
Elholm eifected nothing. Even
he could not convert American
citizens into fratricides.
A similar spirit actuated the
adverse party. Their courageous
leader acted only on the defensive.
When the siege was raised no im-mediate
pursuit was made. The
besiegers and the besieged were
soon after friends and peaceable
neighbors. It is still strange, un-der
all the circumstances, that so
few of both parties were killed or
wounded. This has sometimes
been ascribed to, and accounted
for, by the heavy snow storm
which occurred during the siege,
and especially at the assault.
—
One of the besieged, the late Dr.
Taylor, may explain it in his own
words: "We did not go thereto
fight. Neither party intended to
do that. Many on both sides
were unarmed, and some who had
guns did not even load them.
Most of us went to prevent mis-chief,
and did not intend to let
the neighbors kill one another.
Our men shot into the air, and
Sevier's men into the corners of the
house. As to the storm of snow
keeping the men from taking sure
aim, it is all a mistake. Both
sides had the best marksmen in
the world, who had often killed a
deer, and shot it in the head too,
when a heavier snow was falling.
The men did not try to kill any
body. They could easily have
1868.] The State of FranTcUn. 219
done so if they had been enemies."
Of the same import is another
authority. " Col. Pemberton or-dered
a general discharge of the
rifles of his party. The discharge
was made intentionally to avoid
shooting any of Sevier's men."
—
Other testimony to the same ef-fect
might be given, all confirma-tory
of the position that is here
taken, that both parties, leaders
and adherents, were alike indis-posed
to shed blood.
The date of this affair was the
28th of February, 1788. Agree-ably
to the Constitution of Frank-lin,
the duration of Sevier's office
as Grovernor continued no longer
than the 1st of March, and as the
Assembly had failed to make a
new appointment of a successor,
as Sevier himself was ineligible,
he was now without office and au-thority,
and a mere private citizen.
During the time he had adminis-tered
the affairs of Franklin, little
disturbance existed from the In-dians
on the frontier. The Chero-kees
had learned, by past expe-rience,
the danger of hostilities
with the Franklin people, when
commanded by an officer of such
vigor and capacity, as in all his
campaigns, had been manifested
by Sevier. But during the short
absence of such of the riflemen as
had gone from the lower settle-ments
to the camp of the Govern-or
near Tipton's house, a Chero-kee
invasion occurred. Messen-gers
were immediately dispatch-ed
from the frontier after Sevier,
urging his immediate return.
These he received just after his
fruitless siege of Tipton's house,
and when the disasters of the day
hung like a pall around him, and
ulcerated his wounded spirit. In
a moment Sevier was himself
again; elastic, brave, energetic,
daring and patriotic. At the
head of a body of mounted rifle-men,
he was at once upon the
frontier to guard and protect its
most defenceless points and to
chastise the enemy in their dis-tant
villages.
General Martin who now com-manded
the brigade of Korth
Carolina militia west of the
mountains, continued the policy
of conciliation which had so long
characterized both of the con-tending
parties. He wrote to
General Kennedy, late a Frank-lin
brigadier, and an adherent of
Sevier, begging " his friendly in-terposition
to bring about a re-conciliation.
You well know this
is the only way to bring about a
separation, and also a reconcilia-tion
for our worthy friend (mean-ing
Sevier) whose situation at
this time, is very disagreeable.
I most sensibly feel for him, and
will go very great lengths to serve
him. Pray see him often and
give him all the comfort you can.
Tell the people my object is re-conciliation,
not war."
There were few—perhaps none-even
of the adherents of the old
State, whose feelings and wishes,
in reference to Sevier, were not in
exact consonance with those ex-pressed
by General Martin in this
letter. Its tone, its moderation,
its wisdom, its sympathy for a
soldier and a patriot, constitute
the highest eulogy upon his own
good sense, his patriotism and his
kind feeling. They cannot be too
much admired or too closely imi-tated.
They saved the country
220 The State of Franklin. [Jiiiy,
from further tumult and violence,
and all opposition, on the part of
Franklin to North Carolina,
ceased. Still there were not
wanting in the West, extra loyal
men—the simon pures of a later
day—ultra-patriots, who repre-sented
to Governor Johnston (the
successor of Governor Caswell)
that the conduct and motives of
Sevier were treasonable. Instruc-tions
were accordingly sent by
Johnston, to Judge Campbell, to
issue a warrant for his arrest and
confinement in jail, as guilty of
high treason. Sevier was now
really a private citizen, without
command or authority, and yet
he was constantly at the head of
troops—volunteers, who selected
him as their commander, and who
followed his standard and obeyed
his orders, as fully and as cheer-fully
as if he were yet in power.
The frontier people knew that
they could not be safe, but by
their own exertions and military
services. They needed a leader
to combine their strength, dis-cipline
the troops, project expe-ditions,
secure their exposed
stations, expel their Indian ene-mies,
and give quiet and safety
to a scattered and defenceless peo-ple.
This responsible duty they
imposed on Sevier. He could not
decline the position thus assigned
him by acclamation. He assum-ed
it cheerfully and executed its
duties well.
The order for the arrest of Se-vier
was not obeyed by Judge
Campbell. The past relations of
that officer with the Governor of
Franklin, and his own agency in
several transactions of that Gov-ernment,
made him unwilling, if
he was not otherwise incapacita-ted,
to execute that duty. But
Spencer, another of the judges, is-sued
the warrant against Sevier,
for the crime of high treason.
Sevier, in the mean time, after
his return from his Indian cam-paigns,
appeared openly in all
public places, and was present at
Jonesboro when a council of mili-tary
oflttcers was held. During
the day, some of the officers and
Sevier had an altercation, which
revived past difficulties between
them and the ex-Governor. They
had separated and left town.
Next morning Tipton and a few
of his friends pursued and arrest-ed
Sevier a few miles in the coun-try,
and brought him back to
Jonesboro. From here, under
guard, he was sent for trial,
across the mountains to Morgan-ton
where he was delivered to Wm.
Morrison, the then Sheriff" of
Burke county. The guard with
Sevier, had passed through the
McDowell settlement, two of
whom had experienced his hos-pitality
when refugees on Nolli-chuckee,
and had seen service
with him at King's Mountain.
—
These became sureties for the
appearance of Sevier at Morgan-ton,
and he was allowed a few
days' absence. He returned punct-ually
as he had promised, and was
afterwards still further enlarged
by the Sheriff'. In a few days his
two sons, and other friends from
the west, came into town singly
and were with the people gener-ally,
without suspicion. At night
when the court broke up and the
people dispersed, they, with the
ex- Governor, pushed forward to-ward
the mountains with the
1868.] The State of Franklin. 221
greatest rapidity, and before
morning arrived at them, and
were beyond the reach of pur-suit.*
Morganton had been selected
for the trial of the prisoner as be-ing
the most convenient and ac-cessible
court in the State, and be-yond
the limits of the late Frank-lin
jurisdiction; the authorities
wisely concluding that at home
Sevier could not be successfully
prosecuted. The change of venue,
however, operated nothing in fa-vor
of the prosecution. Burke had
been a strong whig county, and no
where were whig principles, whig
sacrifices, and whig efforts held in
higher esteem or more properly
appreciated. The McDowells,
McGinsies, Alexanders, and all
the whigs of that neighborhood
had witnessed, and still gratefully
recollected, the timely succor and
substantial aid rendered to them
and their cause, in the hour of
trial, by Sevier and his country-men.
He was now a prisoner in
their .midst, charged with the
highest offence known to the
laws; they knew him to be a pa-triot,
in exile and distress; they
felt for his sufferings, and sym-pathized
in his fallen fortunes.
These noble patriots of North
Carolina, while sensible that the
majesty of law had been offended,
were yet unwilling that its pen-alty
should be enforced, or that
Sevier should be made its victim.
They stood around the court
yard in approving silence, wit-nessed
and connived at the rescue,
and discountenanced pursuit.
* An account of the arrest and ro-mantic
rescue of Sevier is given in
Ramsey's Tennessee, page 425-429.
The capture and brief expatria-tion
of Sevier served only to
awaken, in his behalf, the higher
appreciation of his services and a
deeper conviction of his claims to
the esteem and consideration of
his countrymen. His return was
every where greeted with en-thusiasm
and joy.
The Assembly of North Caro-lina
again extended the Act of
pardon and oblivion to such of
the Franklin revolters as chose to
avail themselves of its provisions.
But it was at the same time dis-tinctly
provided " that the benefit
of this Act shall not entitle John.
Sevier to the enjoyment of any
ofiice of profit, of honor, or trust
in the State of North Carolina,
but that he be expressly debarred
therefrom."
An enactment of this kind may
have been due to the supremacy
of law. It was in exact conflict,
however, with the wishes and
voice and decision of the people.
Public sentiment, even in high
places, demanded its immediate
repeal. Technically, Sevier was
an insurgent. In all respects,
however, he was a lover of his
country, and had entitled him-self
to its highest honors, and its
richest rewards. His country-men
could not spare him from
their military service ; they would
not refuse him employment in
their civil affairs. At the August
election of the next year, after
the legislative infliction of these
disabilities, the people of Greene
county called upon Sevier to rep-resent
them in the Senate of
North Carolina. He was elected,
it need not be added, without dif-ficulty.
At the appointed time,
222 The State of Franklin. [July,
Kovember 2, 1789, he attended,
at Fayetteville, but waited a few
days before he took his seat. Dur-ing
this interval, the Assembly
repealed the clause of the Act
excluding him from holding office.
Sevier then took his seat after the
usual oath of allegiance to Korth
Carolina was administered. Some
days after. General Davie intro-duced
a resolution, to enquire
into the conduct of the Senator
from Greene. It was well known
that the proposition would not be
favorably received, and to the
great satisfaction of the mover
the motion for enquiry was laid
on the table.
But the work of entire con-ciliation
was not yet completed,
on the part of North Carolina,
and by the appointment of the
Assembly, Sevier was reinstated
in the command he had held be-fore
the Franklin Kevolt, of
Brigadier General for all the
western counties, and laws were
passed confirmatory of adminis-trations,
granted by the Franklin
courts, and legalizing marriages,
celebrated under the authority of
that government. The magna-nimity
of the Assembly went fur-ther
in providing for the wants,
and promoting the interests of
the western people. They laid
oif a new Congressional District,
embracing all her territory west
of the Alleghanies, now consti-tuting
the great State of Ten-nessee.
From this District thus
provided for his laudable ambi-tion,
his invaluable services, and
his great abilities, John Sevier
was elected, and he is thus pro-bably
the first member of Con-gress
from the great valley of the
Mississippi. " Wednesday, June
16th, 1790, John Sevier, another
member from North Carolina,
appeared and took his seat."*
VINDICATION OF FRANKLIN.
This may be considered as the
finale of Franklin. In speaking
of it, in the preceding pages,
terms have been used requiring
qualification, which, without in-terrupting
the current narrative,
could not be elsewhere given.
—
Insurrection, revolt, dismember-ment,
defection, as here used,
need to be explained, when ap-plied
either to those of the "West-ern
people, who separated from
the parent State, or those of them
who afterwards renounced the
new government. In either case,
the action of the parties need not
be ascribed to fickleness of pur-pose
or bad faith, much less to
disloyalty to their proj)er rulers,
or insubordination to regular gov-ernment
and law. In vindica-tion
of those who once appeared
on the side of Franklin and
now appeared on the side of
Korth Carolina, it has been
well remarked by Haywood " that
the face of affairs was quite
different at the time of the
Convention which resolved on In-dependence,
and in the Autumn of
1786. Before this juncture there
was no governmental head, to
which the people of the "Western
counties could carry their com-plaints.
In 1784, it is true, the
assembly which passed the Ces-sion
Act, retained the sovereignty
and jurisdiction of North Caroli-na
in and over the ceded territory,
* Annals of Congress. Vol. 2, page
1,640.
1868.] The State of Franklin. 223
and all the inhabitants thereof,
until the United States, in Con-gress,
should have accepted the
Cession. Yet, in reality, so long
as the Cession Act continued un-repealed,
Korth Carolina felt her-self
as much estranged from the
inhabitants of the Western coun-ties,
as she was from any other State
or territory in the Union, until
induced by the bonds of Federal-ism
and a common interest, so far
as concerned their external rela-tions
with the other nations of the
globe, but wholly unconnected, so
far as regarded their internal reg-ulations
and engagements. And
as any one State was not obliged,
by the nature of the Federal du-ties,
to. advance monies, for the
maintenance of another in the
possession of her rights, but
through the intervention of all in
Congress assembled; so neither
did Korth Carolina conceive her-self
bound to exert her strength
and resources for the defence of
the Western counties, unless in
the proportion for which she was
liable to other Federal contribu-tions.
It was in vain, then, to
solicit her interference in behalf
of the Western counties, so long
as the Cession Act subsisted, but
when that was repealed, and the
precipitancy of the Western peo-ple
obliterated, it cannot be a
matter of surprise, that well mean-ing
and intelligent people should,
thenceforward, deem it their duty
to return to their dependence on
North Carolina.
In behalf of those who sus-tained
their separation from Korth
Carolina until 1788, it may be
further added, that in withdraw-ing
from the parent State, and
establishing a separate govern-ment,
the secessionists believed
that the course adopted by them,
would, at least im2Jerfectly jyreserve
quiet and order, under the cir-cumstances
in which the Cession
act had placed them. Their
course was pacific and conserva-tive,
and at first, united and har-monized
all. Nothing destruct-ive
or revolutionary, much less
belligerent, was intended or con-templated.
In 1784, the Con-federation
had demonstrated the
inadequacy of that organization,
as a permanent system of General
Government. The transfer, by
North Carolina, of her western
counties to Congress, at that time
imbecile and powerless, even over
the original Confederated States,
and the novelty of the experi-ment,
had produced alarm, ex-cited
apprehension, and aroused
a deep discontent in the new set-tlements.
And, perhaps, these
could have been quieted and ap-peased
as effectually, in no other
way, as the temporary assump-tion
and exercise of the power of
separate and distinct self-govern-ment.
Again. Heretofore, no instance
had presented itself of the for-mation
of an independent State
from the territory embraced with-in
the boundaries of a political
sovereignty. The process of
separation, and the mode of ac-complishing
it, were all new and
unattempted, alike by the people
and the State and General Gov-erments.
Now, when the crea-tion
of these new political or-ganizations
has become matter
of frequent occurrence, and plain
and easy by its successful trial
224 The State of Frayililin. [July,
and repetition, little or no cause
can be seen why the subject
should then have been viewed as
embarrassed with inherent diffi-culties.
But let it be remember-ed
that " in the Articles of Con-federation,
no provision was made
for the creation or admission of
ISTew States. Canada was to be
admitted of right, on her joining
in the measures of the United
States, and the other colonies^ at
the discretion of nine States.
The eventual establishment of
new States, seems to have been
entirely overlooked by the com-pilers
of that instrument."^' The
inconvenience of this omission, in
the Articles of Confederation, was
most apparent, and it may be
well questioned whether the Con-gress
of the Confederacy, could,
without an assumption of power,
have given to the people of the
territory, ceded in 1784, a form of
State government, such as was
guaranteed to them by the pro-visions
of the constitution of
North Carolina.
Under this view of the subject,
it is not strange that the Cession
Act was followed by dissatisfac-tion
and revolt in the Western
counties. Their people had been
represented in the State Conven-tion
of 1770, and it had been
probably at the instance of their
own delegates in that body, that
the provision was then made for
"the establishment of one or
more governments westward of
this State, by consent of the legis-lature."
Indeed, it may be well
questioned, whether with this
provision of the Bill of Eights,
preceding the Constitution itself,
* Mr. Madison in the Federalist.
the Act of Cession was not un-authorized
and invalid.
Be that as it may, the Cession
of her Western territory by North
Carolina to Congress, as it was,
under the Articles of Confedera-tion
in 1784, was obviously inex-pedient
and impQlitic. And it
was not till the adoption of the
Federal Constitution in 1788, that
this measure became either wise
or practicable. This did not es-cape
the discernment of the mal-content
but virtuous and patriotic
people of Franklin when the new
State ceased to be and they re-turned
to their allegiance to the
mother State. This event was
not unexpected by its most stead-fast
friends and supporters, nor
were its effects to be deplored. It
resulted from no legislative error
or want of executive skill, no
fickleness of popular sentiment,
no defect of public virtue.
Every review of the conduct of
both parties in the disaffected
counties, from 1784 to 1788, re-flects
honor upon their patriotism,
their moderation, their love of
order and their virtue. Ko other
instance is recollected in which
two antagonistic governments, ex-isted
so long over th^; same peo-ple
with so little anarchy, so little
misrule, so little violence. A pe-riod
of nearly four years was
passed under two political sys-tems
of government, each having
its separate Executive, State
Council, Legislature and Judici-ary,
each its own county and
military organizations, its own
partizans and adherents. And
amidst all the rivalry and conflict,
personal and official, which must
have arisen from this unexampled
1868.] The State of Franklin. 225
condition of things, the annalist
of these early times, has recorded
but two deaths, almost no blood-shed,
and little violation of prop-erty.
Private rights were held
sacred and inviolable. If, in the
collisions between the oflScers of
the two governments, an occasion-al
feat of pugilism did occur, re-sulting
in a trifling mutilation of
one or both of the combatants,
there followed less of acrimony,
unmanly revenge and pitiful spite,
than is produced by the dis-reputable
squabbles of the as-pirants
and functionaries of the
present day — members of the
same government, and united
under the same constitution and
laws. In all that was done in
Franklin, it is impossible to de-tect
any tendency to radicalism.
In their warmest aspirations for
self-government and indepen-dence,
there cannot be found one
feature of modern agrarianism or
the prostration of all law, but
only a disposition to protect
themselves from violence and ag-gression,
and possible danger to
their rights. This is no partial
judgment. It is sustained by the
testimony of competent tribunals,
east and west of the Alleghanies.
Their decisions may be briefly
stated.
The formation of a new State
was only a question as to time.
In all the letters, manifestoes,
and proclamations of the Gover-nor
of the parent State, the sepa-ration
is spoken of as not only
right in itself, but desirable, and,
at the proper time, expedient.
So general was the sentiment,
even in North Carolina, in favor
of the separation, and so little in-
YOL. Y.—NO. III.
clination was there to prevent it by
legislative interference, that the
General Assembly, though con-vened
by the proclamation of the
Governor and Council, " failed to
meet." Such was the decision of
the people and authorities of
ISTorth Carolina, east of the
mountains, on the abstract ques-tion
of a new State, west of it.
The same opinion was entertain-ed
by Dr. Franklin—by three of
the Governors of Georgia, and by
other statesmen.
As to the time and mode of a
measure of such magnitude, there
could not be expected to be entire
unanimity—there never is—there
never will be. Those adopted in
1784, at first, as has been seen,
gave very general satisfaction,
and harmonized the community
most directly interested, as being
the best time and manner of pro-viding
the least objectionable
measures to quiet the discontented
and aggravated citizens of the
ceded territory. "Was the Revolt
of 1784 justifiable—was it wise—
was it patriotic— did it prevent
greater evils—would a diflerent
policy have secured greater good,
or produced better results? may
be questions of difficult solution.
However these may be answered,
the verdict of the contempora-ries
of the Revolters has ever
been in their favor, vindicating
their patriotism and asserting the
integrity of their motives. Those
most active and determined and
steadfast in the revolt, were, and
never ceased to be, the greatest
favorites of their countrymen
everywhere. General public sen-timent
is seldom wrong, it never
condemns the innocent—it rarely
15
226 The State of FranTclin. [July,
vindicates the guilty. "While it
scorns the wilful ofl'ender, it ex-cuses
or palliates unintentional
error. It always sustains good
intentions and wise purposes, and
rewards the faithful public ser-vant.
This was emphatically
true of the Franklin leaders.
"We have already mentioned the
election of Sevier to Congress.
So soon as the western counties
became the " Territory of the
United States, south of the Ohio,"
Sevier and his Captains be-came
prominent among its offi-cers.
The Territory becomes the
State of Tennessee, and the Ex-
Governor of Pranklin is at once
called upon to become its Chief
Magistrate, in which office the
partiality of his countrymen con-tinued
him for twelve years, when
being no longer eligible, he is
transferred again to Congress—is
appointed to a distant service by
President Madison, and while ab-sent
on that duty, by the con-tinued
confidence of his constitu-ents,
is elected again to Congress,
without opposition, and without
his knowledge or consent.
The associates of Gov. Sevier,
in the Franklin Government,
also received through life similar
attestations of public regard and
confidence. During the Terri-torial
Government, and that of
the State of Tennessee, they filled
the highest offices, implying abili-ty,
probity, efficiency and zeal in
the public service and high per-sonal
character. Pioneers of the
State of Tennessee in all the
varied phases of political or-ganization,
through which her
people passed, these evidences of
trustworthiness, capacity, and
patriotism were never withheld
from them. They not only held
offices of honor and trust, but dis-charged
their duties to the entire
satisfaction of the people and of
the authorities of government.
—
Eevolters in 1784, they were nev-ertheless,
the purest patriots and
the best men of their day. It is
singular and well worthy of re-mark,
that not one of the master
spirits of Franklin—perhaps not
one of its officers, in a long life of
usefulness and distinction after-ward,
ever forfeited the esteem or
lost the confidence of his country-men.
A beautiful comment upon
the purity of their principles and
the loftiness of their love of coun-try—
a fit tribute of respect for
their public services and their
private virtue.
The subject is by no means ex-hausted.
But this is not the place
for extended comments ; and still
the occasion is neither inoppor-tune,
nor inappropriate, for a few
closing remarks.
The time at which the occur-rences,
which have been narrated,
took place, was emminently au-spicious
for their pacific termina-tion.
The two communities chief-ly
concerned in the Eevolt of 1784,
were then in their infancy, as self
governing Associations. The con-sent
of the governed was then ad-mitted
to be the very genius of
Kepublicanism—the essence of
free government. As with indi-viduals,
so also with political or-ganizations,
'(/oui/i is the period of
greatest innocence, purity and
virtue. Age, in the latter es-pecially,
produces rivalries, cor-ruption,
venality, selfishness, fac-tion,
ambition, discontent and
1868.] The State of Franklin. 227
crime. In those days of primi-tive
simplicity, the great Christian
rule of doing to others as we wish
others to do to us, formed a prev-alent
public sentiment, which had
all the validity and force of law
—
affecting alike the rich and the
poor, the enlightened and the ig-norant.
To do justice and right
was the law, to violate them was
the exception, in the pure days of
these infant Kepublics. Had the
rulers of that early period—un-like
Martin and Caswell—assumed
the language of menace and the
tone of authority and dictation,
and issued their Pronunciamentos
of defiance and revenge against
the best men and patriots of any
time and place; had they usurped
a power unknown to the Consti-tution
and laws of the land; had
they fulminated their bitter anath-emas—
full of reproach and cen-sure,
and defamation and false-hood,
denouncing them as out-laws
and traitors "against the
best government the world ever
saw;" had they levied troops to
enforce obedience at the point of
the bayonet; had they marched
them to the distant theatre of the
Revolt and involved their remote
countrymen in all the nameless
atrocities of invasion, banishment,
confiscation and disfranchisement;
had they imposed penalties, for-feitures,
and unusual oaths, upon
a brave and patriotic people; had
the rulers done all this, could the
benign work of the Reconstruct-ion
of 1788 have been consumma-ted?
Or had a low demagogue, or an
upstart politician, from one of the
revolted counties, ingloriously de-serting
his former sentiments, and
discarding his faithful constitu-ents,
and allying himself with the
enemies of his section, denounced
in his seat in Fayetteville, the
men who had confided to him
their interests and had given him
his present elevation ; had he de-nounced
these as Rebels, and in-cited
against them all the horrors
of civil war; had he stood in his
place and prated with Sophomoric
wisdom and self-complacency, the
weak sophistries and puerile tru-isms
and the sublime virtues of
the Coercive policy which he ad-vocated
; or had a weak and wick-ed
colleague in the Lower House,
joined him in the strange and un-natural
opposition to the benig-nant
policy of compromise and
negotiation through a Peace Con-ference
and thus urged an incau-tious
and brave constituency into
an internecine war—a war of tyr-anny,
spoliation, oppression, sub-jugation;
had all this been done,
could the difficulties between
ISTorth Carolina and Pranklin
have ever been pacifically settled?
Could the old State find a general
so lost to all the pleasant chari-ities
of life, so unmindful of the
high and noble sentiments of the
soldier and the gentleman, as to
consent to become the instrument
of the low revenges of his govern-ment
against noncombatants, or
of outrage and insult to unpro-tected
woman? Such an officer
could not have been found in
Korth Carolina—thus to disgrace
his epaulets and degrade the
honorable profession of arms.
—
On the contrary. General Ruth-erford
himself introduced in the
Legislature of the State he had so
efficiently served in war, the first
228 The State of Franklin. [July,
Act for reconstruction and peace.
The entire people of the State
heartily sympathized in the same
sentiment. The Legislature, when
called by the governor to take
into consideration the. State of
public affairs "failed to meet".
The statesman-patriot, Governor
Caswell, even dissuaded from co-ercion
and advised to " let things
remain as they were."
Such was the course pursued
by North Carolina in quieting
the rebellion. How was it in the
disaffected counties amongst the
Revolters themselves? The same
moderation and forbearance char-acterized
their conduct. No
lawlessness, no radicalism, no dis-franchisement,
little violence or
tumult—no burglary—no incen-diarism,
no invasion of private
rights. The principal rebel. Gov.
Sevier, consented to negotiate.
Compromise quieted the insur-gents,
and laid the foundation of
a permanent pacification and re-construction.
Both parties were
sincere. It was easy to be so.
Each was just, and intended to
do justice to its rival. The paci-fication
was perfect and complete.
No lingering animosities were
left to ulcerate the proud spirit of
the respective partizans of the
Old North State. There were no
unmanly triumphs—there were
no bitter reproaches. It is still
diflScult even now to decide which
was successful—or which the van-quished
party. Each succeeded.
North Carolina attained her
primary object—the integrity of
her government. Eranklin was
not put down by force, and Sevlfer
himself, at Philadelphia, officially
witnessed the cession of the late
revolted country, to the Federal
Congress—its separation and its
subsequent independence ofNorth
Carolina. The cradle of the in-fant
Hercules he had watched
over and protected. It soon after,
under the same gallant chieftain,
became the giant Tennessee. Each
countryman of his, has already
erected in his heart, a cenotaph
to his memory. It is still a
problem, which, most to admire,
the magnanimity, forbearance,,
moderation and wisdom of the
parent State, or the manly self-reliance,
enlarged patriotism, and
filial piety of her daughter in the
wilderness. In each of these
communities their Solons and
Aristides, were their leaders, and
their rulers. Their WorJc^ is the
highest eulogy upon the skill and
virtue of the Eeconstructionists
of 1788.
Happily, as in the material
creation, so, also, in political
economy, the conservative is
stronger than the destructive
principle.
In the vegetable kingdom we
see a branch of a tree rudely torn
from its trunk. The spontaneous
action of nature, unaided by man,
reproduces the limb. The beauty
and gracefulness of the tree is pre-served
and no mutilation—scarce-ly
a scar is left. A man is wound-ed,
his surgeon pronounces the
case incurable unless he ampu-tates
or applies the actual cautery.
Another surgeon, less incautious,
perhaps more timid, dissuades
from the more heroic treatment,
makes use of cooling and emolient
remedies—the wound heals by the
first intention—the vis conserva-tive
nature has restored the pa-
1868.] The Soldier Son. 229
tient. So in the body politic there
are medicable wounds, often ren-dered
incurable and deadly by the
charlatanism of political empyrics
and noisy demagogues. As in the
one case the nimia diligentia med-icorum
destroyed the patient, so
the officious zeal of the unfledged
politician in the other, often in-flicts
an immedicable wound upon
his country. It prescribes ampu-tation,
caustics, irritants, and es-charotics.
The country is ruined
and her liberty destroyed. The
refrigerant and soothing policy
would have saved both.
On this subject ancient Profane
History has taught a lesson which
this Christian Republic should
study well. " When Latium, a
Roman Province, revolted, and
the revolt was suppressed, the
question arose in the Roman Sen-ate,
what shall be done with
Latium and the people of Latium?
There were some who cried, dis-franchise.
Then others said, con-fiscate
their property. There
were none who said, subject them
in vassalage to their slaves.
But old Camillus, in that speech
which revealed his true greatness,
and made his name immortal,
said, ' Senators! make them your
fellow- citizens, and thus add to
the power and glory of Rome.' "
(concluded.)
THE SOLDIER SON.
BY L. CART WILDEN.
An old man sat on his door step low.
Watching the shadows come and go,
The shadows that were creeping fast.
Over the roof on the trailing grass;
And his heart grew sad with its own refrain,
When he asked of it with inward pain,
" Will my soldier son come back again?
" He went away in the prime of life.
In the vigor of youth he went to the strife
;
Will my child the dreadful missiles spare?
They'll pity sure my silvery hair;
—
Will I hear him whistle in the glen?
Will I see him o'er the ripe sheaves bend?
His face behold but once again?"
230 The Soldier Son. [July,
His good dame sat with her knitting by,
"Watching the needles glance and fly;
She tried to talk of happier days,
And thus her husband's hopes to raise;
But anon the tears come in her eyes,
And the restless needles idle lie,
For tho' she asks, there's no reply.
She sees the tasseled ranks of corn.
Without a martial drum or horn;
Before her is the unreaped field,
"With its bending wealth of golden yield;
And the meadow, though in verdant dress.
Seems to feel a loneliness,
As if it too bore some distress.
Soon the news comes from afar
—
News comes from the dreadful war.
A desperate battle had been fought;
A victory gained—by much blood bought.
One side had failed— the other won;
And the dead, alas! there was many a one,
And 'mongst them was the old man's son.
He hears the tale—but, lo, no tears
Come to those eyes, so dimmed with years.
The neighbors shake their heads and say,
" I thought he'd take it in a difierent way,"
Then leave him in his grief alone,
And pass out sadly one by one,
He heedeth not that they are gone.
They come again—still in his chair
The old man sits as unaware
;
They take his hand, but drop their hold^
For stiff the fingers are and cold;
His arms hang by his side like lead.
And motionless his snowy head,
"With pulseless brow—the old man's dead.
The good dame looks from the window sill,
On the lonely meadow lonelier still,
1868.] Mary Ashburton. 231
For unreaped grain still waves in the breeze,
The birds still sing in the apple trees,
But she heaves a sigh of secret pain,
And the tears that she cares not to restrain
Fall down her withered cheeks like rain.
MARY ASHBURTON.*
A TALE OF MARYLAND LIFE.
CHAPTER IX.
Thus passed the summer. The
lonely, unloved bride was devoted
entirely to his service; to antici-pate
what I supposed might be
his wishes; to consult his former
tastes, to minister to his comfort
in every way that I could ; to win
him back to life by all the hum-ble
means in my power; was my
hourly study. It seemed to pro-duce
no effect,—I do not think he
even noticed my eflforts, for I,
made them so unobtrusive that
he, restless and wretched as he
was, could not have known who
was instrumental in this, without
inquiry. He spent whole days
away from home, wandering, I
know not whither, and making
me doubly anxious about him in
the terrible possibilities my un-easiness
suggested ; that he would
be brought home a corpse or
perish for want of food, in some
unfrequented woods.
He was always restless, his
foot seemed never to weary of
that constant motion. When at
home, I could hear his steady
tramp, tramp up and down his
* Continued from page 135.
room, ceasing for a few moments
sometimes when his weary frame
would sink upon a chair, to be
resumed almost immediately
when an agonizing reflection
would cause him to start up and
continue his restless movements.
When I knew him to be out, I
would venture in his room, ar-range
a thousand little things
that needed repairing, restore the
ornaments to their pristine glory
;
wipe the dust from the books and
papers, carefully cleanse the
statuettes, sometimes timidly open
his drawers and search among
their contents for rents and miss-ing
buttons, very tremblingly,
and in mortal dread of his sudden
return, to find me among his
secret treasures. When I grew
bolder, I ventured upon various
little improvements;—once a new
dressing gown that my own hands
had made, and placed it in his
room, on his easy chair; then
breathless with fright when he
returned, lest he should notice it
and wonder at the liberty I had
taken; keeping out of his way
from the dread of meeting his eye
232 Mary Ashhurton, [July,
after my unprecedented boldness
and longing, when I saw him
coming, for time to rush up and
seize it away before he could enter
and see it there. I put it there
several times before I had the
courage to let it stay. I need not
have troubled myself as to his
discovery of my agency in it, for
when I went up in his room after-wards,
I found it thrown in a
corner with some other things
that had stood in his way as he
walked to and fro across the
floor. I picked it up with a sigh
and just fixed it all over again.
Then I embroidered him a new
pair of slippers, seeing that his
old ones were beginning to wear,
and placed them conspicuously
where he might see them. They
were not even touched, remaining
there day after day, unnoticed
and unused. Disheartening as
this was, I persevered ; it was the
post I had assumed voluntarily,
and as its fulfillment depended
upon my own efforts, unaided but
by Providence, I bowed beneath
the burden and worked again, re-joicing
that it was at least my
privilege to work for him I loved,
woman's highest honor and
crowning glory.
But father did not approve of
this condition of affairs. He re-garded
the neglect of his daugh-ter
with resentment, and the neg-lect
of his monetary affairs, also,
a sort of breach of honor, being
incapable,—poor father,—of con-sidering
a mental trouble greater
than the emptmess of purse.
One evening he came through
the fields wandering hither and
thither, with an air of dissatis-faction,
which was further ex-pressed
upon his arrival at the
house, where he scarcely returned
my warm salutation with more
than a frown of displeasure.
" I don't like the way things is
conducted, Mary," he said as he
came in, "this is not what I in-tended
doing with my money, to
throw it away in this style. Why,
it'll go to the dogs at this rate.
—
jSTo improvements; nothing doing
but the little you can do 'round
the house; all goin' to waste; my
money gone, my security given
for the rest. It'll ruin me as well
as him. I can't stand it no long-er.
I must speak to him."
Father, don't." I had listened
to this resolution in speechless
horror.
"Don't?" my father broke forth,
" What do you mean, you fool?
Do you think that I'm goose
enough to be goin to stand this?
Never in the world. I can't see
my hard earnings, that I got by
the sweat of my brow, befoodled
off in this style. We shall all go
to the dogs together in no time.
Where is he? I must and will
speak to him about it, or him and
me will have to part. Where is
he? I'm a goin to him; you
need'nt try to bamboozle me any
longer. Don't say a word. I
stay here till he comes in if he
isn't. If he is, I go to him at
once and have it out."
"Father!" To my terror I heard
Alfred in his room. He turned
to me then. I had fallen in a
chair and was wringing my hands
in an agony of supplication. "Oh!
oh! oh! what s/iaZZ I do?"
"Whafsthe matter?" he an-swered
crossly, compelled to pity
in spite of himself.
1868.] Mary Ashhurton, 233
" Just hear me for one moment.
Tou will kill me if you persist in
this."
"People are not so easily kill-ed,"
he muttered.
"But just stop one moment,
father. I love Mr. Chauncey,"
—
the acknowledgement which had
never been made aloud before,
was wrung from me at last by
circumstances—" better than any-thing
in the world."
He eyed me with an expression
indicative of so little abatement
of his resentment, that I was com-pelled
to throw off my reserve
once more.
"If I had not loved him, I
should never have married him."
"Queer," he muttered, "to
love a chap that takes no more
noticfe of you than an old shoe,
better than us who have shelter-ed
and cared for you all your
" Dear father, I cannot help it.
I love you and mother, but then
it's so different. I married Mr.
Chauncey for love, nothing else.
You know he loved another lady;
he can't help that. I want to
win him from it, and am trying
by all in my power. If you talk
to him this way, you'll drive him
from me forever, and only seal
my misery, indeed you will. Oh!
please let him alone now. Let's
see together what can be done.
Mr. Chauncey says I can do
what I please. Then let us, you
and I, manage together. You
direct me, and I'll show the ser-vants
what to do."
" What are you going to do
with Mm then," father asked
contemptuously, "put him in a
'sylum for mad people, for I think
he's mad if no one ever was."
" He does not care now, father.
Please don't speak of him, or say
anything about him. Let's carry
out our plans and we'll get along,
never fear, dear father, won't
you? Your money shan't be
thrown away, I promise you."
He eyed me again, then soften-ed
the hard lines about his face a
little. "Well, well, we'll see
about it, but I've no notion, let me
tell you, of losing my money."
" We won't lose it, father, can't
you cultivate some of the fields
with your own?"
" If Chauncey don't object,
I'll see "
" He will not object.
"
" Then perhaps I can manage
it, upon a stress. I have much
to do already."
"Indeed you have, dear father."
" And I don't feel as much like
work now as in my younger
" Yes, but you'll have so many
more servants."
"True, though they make the
work too. But I'll undertake
it for the present. I'll do it for
your sake anyhow."
I threw my arms around his
neck and kissed him, which un-usual
demonstration affected him
more than he wished me to see,
putting me from him with a
—
"Well, that'll do, child. I
promise to do what I can."
And he did. With our com-bined
management the G-rove
blossomed soon almost as of yore.
I journeyed busily around the
farm, renewing the fences, hav-ing
caps put on the posts where
the cattle could remove the rails
234 Mary Ashburton. [July,
and jump in the fields, seeing that
breaches in the out-houses were
nailed up, while father overlooked
the agricultural department and
saw that the servants did their
work properly. The wheat had
not been attended to, so there
was little to expect from harvest,
but for next fall we discussed our
arrangements in a most business
like manner. I waged destruct-ive
war with the enemies of the
poultry yard, when the servants
informed me that much of the
young brood had disappeared
mysteriously, though the elders
of the flock paraded about the
premises with their wonted dig-nity.
Proper attention paid to
the condition of their houses and
yard, soon remedied that, and
—
shall I confess it?—before the
summer was over, a trusty mes-senger
seated in a wagon well
loaded with baskets of protesting
feathered creatures, conveyed
them to market, whence he re-turned
with a goodly result,
which I received with a pleasure
that the lovers of romance and
sentiment would have scoffed at.
But it was so much towards re-deeming
my loved one's patrimo-ny,
and was carefully laid aside
till the addition of similar sums
should make it something of im-portance.
Then there was the dairy—my
only source of pleasure. This
was not like that at home, being
larger and had once been most
elegantly arranged; but from
careless usage since Mrs. Chaun-cey's
death, was now much
out of repair. The well sweep
behind it was broken, and the
stone trough through which the
water had been wont to flow
around its semi-circular floor, had
been removed for some purpose
—
I believe to water the horses
while the poultry roosted imme-diately
around it to the destruc-tion
of all cleanliness.
In a short time the sweep was
mended, the trough replaced by a
temporary wooden one, the fowls
driven away and new lattice-work
erected by which they were
securely kept at a distance, while
the richest, most golden of butter
was turned out from it in such
quantities that the proceeds were
soon laid beside that from the
poultry yard.
How eagerly I hoped for the time
when I could show a sum of such
importance that it might go far
towards disburdening the estate,
and freeing it from the claims of
importunate creditors.
Letters came from old Mr.
Chauncey to father and my-self
—I never saw his to Al-fred,
of course—bidding us let
a portion of the land go to-wards
satisfying the claims upon
the estate. The farm consisted of
twelve hundred acres, one-third
of which had been purchased in
my name, so that four hundred
were in reality all we owned. It
grieved me to see any portion of
what had belonged to them for
generations, the land that their
titled ancestors had bought when
they first came and settled in this
country, go into the hands of
strangers; yet I knew that, work
as I might, it would take years,
a lifetime to reclaim it all, so it
had better go. It cannot bring
happiness, the possession of all the
land on the earth, I sighed; so it
1868.] Mary Ashhurton. 235
was done as Mr. Chauncey had
bidden, Alfred merely saying
when he was referred to, " Let it
be as my father desires. It is
all alike to me." It took a
load from my shoulders, for I
could more easily manage now
that the size of the farm was so
much reduced.
Outwardly, affairs looked more
prosperous than when I went
there; the grounds around the
house neat and orderly, the house
itself freshened and renewed, no
longer with shutters slamming on
broken hinges, the wind and rain
beating through shivered panes.
But though I worked on, my
hands were often numbed, a faint-ness
stole over me, while a quick
pain shot through my aching
heart, as the conviction would
flash upon me with sudden force
that I was as far as ever from my
goal, that these efforts brought
me no nearer to him, I was as un-loved,
as unheeded as ever. In-deed
I saw less of him ; for the
native kindness that had not en-tirely
deserted him upon my first
arrival, had led him to attempt
the courteousness he would show
to a stranger; but after a while I
seldom met him even at meal
time, inclining his head gravely
when we met, but seldom speak-ing.
Oh! how I longed for a word of
some kind from him ; even anger
would have been preferable to
this steady indifterence. "With
it all too he was so exceedingly
handsome, even thin and worn as
he now was. I toiled for him
when absent and trembled ner-vously
when he was present, the
poor, shy country girl that he
must look upon with scorn, still
loving him passionately, yet ex-tremely
in awe of him.
Mr. Chauncey wrote to me sev-eral
times such kind, fatherly let-ters,
full ofanxious inquiries about
his son, and with delicate hesi-tancy
entreated me to care for
him, now that there was no one
else.
Useless admonition! I smiled
bitterly over the letter, thinking
of my work—its forlorn results.
He that I was to care for seldom
ever looked at me. But—I si-lenced
my heart's pleadings
—
what could you expect? You
haye what you humbly prayed
for. Be content and forget thy
poor self. What is there in you
to replace what he has lost? Do
thy task patiently still unto the
last. He needs thee without know-ing
it, and some time may thank
thee at least.
I had no visitors. Once or
twice an old acquaintance ven-tured
to see me, but though I
treated them kindly, they did not
seem to find the atmosphere of the
Grove congenial and did not come
again. Of all the Chauncey
friends, but one benevolent lady,
who lived nine miles from us,
called to see me during that first
summer. I was glad that even
curiosity did not subject me to an
intrusion I should have been ob-liged
to sustain alone, our affairs
a prey to vulgar remark, his ab-sence
noted and inquired into.
My own old acquaintances I had
kept at a distance—not from
pride, but to save myself so much
annoyance from their questions;
while the few in the country that
the Chaunceys had visited hardly
236 Mary Ashhurton. [July,
regarded it as worth their while
to call there, now that such gloom
prevailed at the old place, the own-er
ruined, and his promising heir
united to a common country girl.
So my days were spent busily and
quietly, my evenings in a resort
to the extensive library that form-ed
my great recreation when the
work of the day was over. There
I had my choice of all I desired in
literature, and a great intellectual
feast it was, enriching my mind at
a time when my heart was starv-ing
for afiection.
So passed the summer; the au-tumn
came on, when one day it
happened—oh! I shall never for-get
the bitter humiliation of that
'day!—that a party of fox-hunting
gentlemen, who had been in the
habit of dining at the Grove once
•a year, to be joined afterwards by
the proprietor and his guests,
came down from a neighboring
county, and, as usual, directed
their course to their old hospita-ble
place of entertainment.
I heard the shrill whistle of the
bugle, the trampling of the many
horses' feet, and looking from an
upper window, near which I stood
at the time, saw a company of
twenty gentlemen with dogs herd-ing
around them, advancing up
the avenue.
I called Melissa to know whence
they came. She told me that it
was an established habit of her
old master's friends.
"They is perfect gentlemen,"
she said, "and mistress alwaj^s
entertained 'em herself."
I wondered in my heart what
Alfred, who fled the face of man,
would do at this juncture. He
was in his room, had returned
pale and exhausted the evening
before, and I had seen him but for
a moment.
"Will he meet them, do you
think?" I asked of the old wo-man.
" I dunno how he can get out
of it, madam, they're here, and
see him too, ketched him down
there arter all."
They had made much noise be-fore
the door, as no sign of a mas-ter
appeared about the premises.
They asked the servant, who
went to the door, if the gentlemen
were at home. He answered that
his old master was away, and
that his young master—here he
muttered something confusedly.
" Stand aside, Tom," called out
an authoritative voice, and as the
startled servant turned around,
Alfred stood there to welcome,
with his cold, calm dignity, his
father's friends.
The clanging of the horses'
feet ceased, and the trampling of
the dogs, as their bark echoed
from the distant stable yard, in-dicated
that they were disposed of
as usual.
There were many voices below
stairs, and mindful of my duties,
I descended by a private stairway
to the kitchen to make prepara-tion
for a suitable entertainment,
determining to be equal in this
respect at least to their former
hostess.
"Mars Alfred says, madam,
would you like to come in the
parlor?" asked Tom, appearing
at the door of the pantry when I
was surrounded with various dish-es,
the contents of which I was
arranging for the cook. Appear
before those strangers in my nom-
1868.] Mary AshBurton. 237
inal character of the young wife
and mistress? How could I? and
yet how could I do otherwise than
appear? how account to them for
my absence? Then Alfred had
not forgotten me. I understood
his message to mean, the lady of
the house should appear before
the guests that his mother had
been wont to entertain so ele-gantly.
" But she had ladies with her,"
I said, doubtfully.
"No, madam, not always," re-plied
Melissa, who was helping
me. " Since they were first rate
gentlemen, she did not care for
that, and always sat at the head
of the table."
How bitterly I felt my anoma-lous
position, which I feared
would be only too obvious to
them, that the eyes of strangers
could not fail to notice the differ-ence
between me and a loved and
honored wife. To my shame it
would be plain to perceive, that
neither of us was happy, that
there was no affection for me
upon his side, and, without any
previous knowledge of the cir-cumstances,
would draw their
own inferences very derogatory
to one or both of us. I wonder-ed
at his message, situated as we
were, with respect to one another,
that he would think of my ap-pearance,
neglected as I had been,
before strangers. But he did not
know, he meant it differently, his
feeling was not like mine, and
most probably he intended to
show me that—that he was but
treating me as he would any
other lady. He so little regarded
me as connected with him in any
way, that he failed to perceive
others would not think thus ; then
he did not know me, having the
poorest opinion of me, I knew,
for accepting such an offer as was
made when I permitted myself to
be led to the altar.
I had to go over a retrospect of
the past to nerve me up to the
effort, before I could venture upon
exposure by going down, feeling
it as keenly as I did.
When the dinner bell sounded,
I timidly took my post and stood
at the head of the table, awaiting
their entrance. It sounded like a
vast throng as they came in,
Alfred preceding them to perform
the necessary introduction.
"Mrs. Chauncey," he said
briefly and coolly, while I was
too much embarrassed to be
startled at his first recognition of
my right to that appellation; bow-ing
my drooping head, as Melissa
told me one of the gentlemen said,
like a lily on a stalk, and blushing
as I felt I did, to welcome my—my
husband's friends. They bowed
in return, and I had to run the
gauntlet of many pairs of eyes as
they took their places. Several
of the older gentlemen came up
and courteously took my hand.
" Most fortunate has the son of
my old friend been," said one, an
elderly gentleman of the "old
school." " Alfred, I congratulate
you."
" And I, and I also," exclaim-ed
two or three others.
The blood that stained my face
now was painful in its heat. I
glanced at Alfred. To their con-gratulations
he uttered not one
word; he could not diss