CHAPTER V. T'OTHER EEND OF THE GUN.
"Squire," said Mr. Hopewell, one morning when we were alone on thequarter-deck, "sit down by me, if you please. I wish to have a littleprivate conversation with you. I am a good deal concerned about Sam. Inever liked this appointment he has received: neither his education, hishabits, nor his manners have qualified him for it. He is fitted for atrader and for nothing else. He looks upon politics as he does upon histraffic in clocks, rather as profitable to himself than beneficial toothers. Self is predominant with him. He overrates the importance ofhis office, as he will find when he arrives in London; but what is stillworse, he overrates the importance of the opinions of others regardingthe States.
"He has been reading that foolish book of Cooper's 'Gleanings inEurope,' and intends to shew fight, he says. He called my attention,yesterday, to this absurd passage, which he maintains is the most manlyand sensible thing that Cooper ever wrote: 'This indifference to thefeelings of others, is a dark spot on the national manners of England.The only way to put it down, is to become belligerent yourself, byintroducing Pauperism, Radicalism, Ireland, the Indies, or some othersore point. Like all who make butts of others, they do not manifestthe proper forbearance when the tables are turned. Of this, I have hadabundance of proof in my own experience. Sometimes their remarks areabsolutely rude, and personally offensive, as a disregard of one'snational character, is a disrespect to his principles; but as personalquarrels on such grounds are to be avoided, I have uniformly retorted inkind, if there was the smallest opening for such retaliation."
"Now, every gentleman in the States repudiates such sentiments as these.My object in mentioning the subject to you, is to request the favourof you, to persuade Sam not to be too sensitive on these topics; notto take offence, where it is not intended; and, above all, ratherto vindicate his nationality by his conduct, than to justify thoseaspersions, by his intemperate behaviour. But here he comes; I shallwithdraw and leave you together."
Fortunately, Mr. Slick commenced talking upon a topic, which naturallyled to that to which Mr. Hopewell had wished me to direct his attention.
"Well, Squire," said he, "I am glad too, you are a goin' to Englandalong with me: we will take a rise out of John Bull, won't we?--We'vehit Blue-nose and Brother Jonathan both pretty considerable tarnationhard, and John has split his sides with larfter. Let's tickle him now,by feeling his own short ribs, and see how he will like it; we'llsoon see whose hide is the thickest, hisn or ourn, won't we? Let's seewhether he will say chee, chee, chee, when he gets to the t'other eendof the gun."
"What is the meaning of that saying?" I asked. "I never heard itbefore."
"Why," said he, "when I was a considerable of a grown up saplin of aboy to Slickville, I used to be a gunnin' for everlastinly amost in ourhickory woods, a shootin' of squirrels with a rifle, and I got amazin'expart at it. I could take the head off of them chatterin' little imps,when I got a fair shot at 'em with a ball, at any reasonable distance,a'most in nine cases out of ten.
"Well, one day I was out as usual, and our Irish help Paddy Burke wasalong with me, and every time he see'd me a drawin' of the bead fineon 'em, he used to say, 'Well, you've an excellent gun entirely, MasterSam. Oh by Jakers! the squirrel has no chance with that gun, it's anexcellent one entirely.'
"At last I got tired a hearin' of him a jawin' so for ever and a dayabout the excellent gun entirely; so, sais I, 'You fool you, do youthink it's the gun that does it _entirely_ as you say; ain't there alittle dust of skill in it? Do you think you could fetch one down?'
"'Oh, it's a capital gun entirely,' said he.
"'Well,' said I, 'if it 'tis, try it now, and see what sort of a fistyou'll make of it.'
"So Paddy takes the rifle, lookin' as knowin' all the time as if hehad ever seed one afore. Well, there was a great red squirrel, on thetip-top of a limb, chatterin' away like any thing, chee, chee, chee,proper frightened; he know'd it warn't me, that was a parsecutin'of him, and he expected he'd be hurt. They know'd me, did the littlecritters, when they seed me, and they know'd I never had hurt one on'em, my balls never givin' 'em a chance to feel what was the matterof them; but Pat they didn't know, and they see'd he warn't the manto handle 'old Bull-Dog.' I used to call my rifle Bull-Dog, cause shealways bit afore she barked.
"Pat threw one foot out astarn, like a skullin' oar, and then bentforrards like a hoop, and fetched the rifle slowly up to the line, andshot to the right eye. Chee, chee, chee, went the squirrel. He see'd itwas wrong. 'By the powers!' sais Pat, 'this is a left-handed boot,' andhe brought the gun to the other shoulder, and then shot to his left eye.'Fegs!' sais Pat, 'this gun was made for a squint eye, for I can't geta right strait sight of the critter, either side.' So I fixt it for himand told him which eye to sight by. 'An excellent gun entirely,' saisPat, 'but it tante made like the rifles we have.'
"Ain't they strange critters, them Irish, Squire? That feller neverhandled a rifle afore in all his born days; but unless it was to apriest, he wouldn't confess that much for the world. They are as bad asthe English that way; they always pretend they know every thing.
"'Come, Pat,' sais I, 'blaze away now.' Back goes the hind leg agin, upbends the back, and Bull-Dog rises slowly to his shoulder; and then hestared, and stared, until his arm shook like palsy. Chee, chee, chee,went the squirrel agin, louder than ever, as much as to say, 'Why theplague don't you fire? I'm not a goin' to stand here all day, for youthis way,' and then throwin' his tail over his back, he jumped on to thenext branch.
"'By the piper that played before Moses!' sais Pat, 'I'll stop yourchee, chee, cheein' for you, you chatterin' spalpeen of a devil, you'.So he ups with the rifle agin, takes a fair aim at him, shuts both eyes,turns his head round, and fires; and "Bull-Dog," findin' he didn't knowhow to hold her tight to the shoulder, got mad, and kicked him head overheels, on the broad of his back. Pat got up, a makin' awful wry faces,and began to limp, to show how lame his shoulder was, and to rub hisarm, to see if he had one left, and the squirrel ran about the treehoppin' mad, hollerin' out as loud as it could scream, chee, chee, chee.
"'Oh bad luck to you,' sais Pat, 'if you had a been at t'other eend ofthe gun,' and he rubbed his shoulder agin, and cried like a baby, 'youwouldn't have said chee, chee, chee, that way, I know.'
"Now when your gun, Squire, was a knockin' over Blue-nose, and makin' aproper fool of him, and a knockin' over Jonathan, and a spilin' of hisbran-new clothes, the English sung out chee, chee, chee, till all wasblue agin. You had an excellent gun entirely then: let's see if theywill sing out chee, chee, chee, now, when we take a shot at _them_. Doyou take?" and he laid his thumb on his nose, as if perfectly satisfiedwith the application of his story. "Do you take, Squire? you have anexcellent gun entirely, as Pat says. It's what I call puttin' the leakeinto 'em properly. If you had a written this book fust, the Englishwould have said your gun was no good; it wouldn't have been like therifles they had seen. Lord, I could tell you stories about the English,that would make even them cryin' devils the Mississippi crocodileslaugh, if they was to hear 'em."
"Pardon me, Mr. Slick," I said, "this is not the temper with which youshould visit England."
"What is the temper," he replied with much warmth, "that they visit usin? Cuss 'em! Look at Dickens; was there ever a man made so much of,except La Fayette? And who was Dickens? Not a Frenchman that is a friendto us, not a native that has a claim on us; not a colonist, who, thoughEnglish by name is still an American by birth, six of one and half adozen of t'other, and therefore a kind of half-breed brother. No! he wasa cussed Britisher; and what is wus, a British author; and yet, becausehe was a man of genius, because genius has the 'tarnal globe for itstheme, and the world for its home, and mankind for its readers, andbean't a citizen of this state or that state, but a native of theunivarse, why we welcomed him, and feasted him, and leveed him, andescorted him, and cheered him, and honoured him, did he honour us? Whatdid he say of us when he returned? Read his book.
"No, don't read his book, for it ta
nte worth readin'. Has he said oneword of all that reception in his book? that book that will be read,translated, and read agin all over Europe--has he said one word of thatreception? Answer me that, will you? Darned the word, his memory wasbad; he lost it over the tafrail when he was sea-sick. But his notebookwas safe under lock and key, and the pigs in New York, and the chap therats eat in jail, and the rough man from Kentucky, and the entire raftof galls emprisoned in one night, and the spittin' boxes and all thatstuff, warn't trusted to memory, it was noted down, and printed.
"But it tante no matter. Let any man give me any sarce in England, aboutmy country, or not give me the right _po_-sition in society, as Attacheto our Legation, and, as Cooper says, I'll become belligerent, too, Iwill, I snore. I can snuff a candle with a pistol as fast as you canlight it; hang up an orange, and I'll first peel it with ball andthen quarter it. Heavens! I'll let daylight dawn through some o' theirjackets, I know.
"Jube, you infarnal black scoundrel, you odoriferous nigger you, what'sthat you've got there?"
"An apple, massa."
"Take off your cap and put that apple on your head, then stand sidewaysby that port-hole, and hold steady, or you might stand a smart chance tohave your wool carded, that's all."
Then taking a pistol out of the side-pocket of his mackintosh, hedeliberately walked over to the other side of the deck, and examined hispriming.
"Good heavens, Mr. Slick!" said I in great alarm, "what are you about?"
"I am goin'," he said with the greatest coolness, but at the same timewith equal sternness, "to bore a hole through that apple, Sir."
"For shame! Sir," I said. "How can you think of such a thing? Supposeyou were to miss your shot, and kill that unfortunate boy?"
"I won't suppose no such thing, Sir. I can't miss it. I couldn't missit if I was to try. Hold your head steady, Jube--and if I did, it's nogreat matter. The onsarcumcised Amalikite ain't worth over three hundreddollars at the furthest, that's a fact; and the way he'd pyson a sharkain't no matter. Are you ready, Jube?"
"Yes, massa."
"You shall do no such thing, Sir," I said, seizing his arm with both myhands. "If you attempt to shoot at that apple, I shall hold no furtherintercourse with you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Sir."
"Ky! massa," said Jube, "let him fire, Sar; he no hurt Jube; he nofoozle de hair. I isn't one mossel afeerd. He often do it, jist to keephim hand in, Sar. Massa most a grand shot, Sar. He take off de ear oh desquirrel so slick, he neber miss it, till he go scratchin' his head. Lethim appel hab it, massa."
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Slick, "he is a Christian is Jube, he is as good asa white Britisher: same flesh, only a leetle, jist a leetle darker; sameblood, only not quite so old, ain't quite so much tarter on the bottleas a lord's has; oh him and a Britisher is all one brother--oh by allmeans--
Him fader's hope--him mudder's joy, Him darlin little nigger boy.
You'd better cry over him, hadn't you. Buss him, call him brother, hughim, give him the "Abolition" kiss, write an article on slavery, likeDickens; marry him to a white gall to England, get him a saint's darterwith a good fortin, and well soon see whether her father was a talkin'cant or no, about niggers. Cuss 'em, let any o' these Britishers giveme slack, and I'll give 'em cranberry for their goose, I know. I'd jumpright down their throat with spurs on, and gallop their sarce out."
"Mr. Slick I've done; I shall say no more; we part, and part for ever. Ihad no idea whatever, that a man, whose whole conduct has evinced akind heart, and cheerful disposition, could have entertained sucha revengeful spirit, or given utterance to such unchristian anduncharitable language, as you have used to-day. We part"--
"No, we don't," said he; "don't kick afore you are spurred. I guess Ihave feelins as well as other folks have, that's a fact; one can't helpbeing ryled to hear foreigners talk this way; and these critters areenough to make a man spotty on the back. I won't deny I've got somegrit, but I ain't ugly. Pat me on the back and I soon cool down, drop ina soft word and I won't bile over; but don't talk big, don't threaten,or I curl directly."
"Mr. Slick," said I, "neither my countrymen, the Nova Scotians, nor yourfriends, the Americans, took any thing amiss, in our previous remarks,because, though satirical, they were good natured. There was nothingmalicious in them. They were not made for the mere purpose of shewingthem up, but were incidental to the topic we were discussing, and theirwhole tenor shewed that while "we were alive to the ludicrous, we fullyappreciated, and properly valued their many excellent and sterlingqualities. My countrymen, for whose good I published them, had the mostreason to complain, for I took the liberty to apply ridicule to themwith no sparing hand. They understood the motive, and joined in thelaugh, which was raised at their expense. Let us treat the English inthe same style; let us keep our temper. John Bull is a good-naturedfellow, and has no objection to a joke, provided it is not made thevehicle of conveying an insult. Don't adopt Cooper's maxims;nobody approves of them, on either side of the water; don't be toothin-skinned. If the English have been amused by the sketches theirtourists have drawn of, the Yankees, perhaps the Americans may laughover our sketches of the English. Let us make both of them smile, if wecan, and endeavour to offend neither. If Dickens omitted to mention thefestivals that were given in honour of his arrival in the States, hewas doubtless actuated by a desire to avoid the appearance of personalvanity. A man cannot well make himself the hero of his own book."
"Well, well," said he, "I believe the black ox did tread on my toe thattime. I don't know but what you're right. Soft words are good enough intheir way, but still they butter no parsnips, as the sayin' is. John maybe a good-natured critter, tho' I never see'd any of it yet; and he maybe fond of a joke, and p'raps is, seein' that he haw-haws considerableloud at his own. Let's try him at all events. We'll soon see how helikes other folks' jokes; I have my scruple about him, I must say. I amdubersome whether he will say 'chee, chee, chee' when he gets 'T'othereend of the gun.'"
The Attaché; or, Sam Slick in England — Complete Page 5
