The “citizen-soldier” knew no more about “dressing the line,” than about dressing himself, and the front of his company presented as many inequalities as a “worm-fence.” Tall men and short men—beaver hats and raccoon-skin caps—rusty firelocks and long corn-stalks—stiff brogans and naked feet—composed the grand display. There were as many officers as men, and each was continually commanding and instructing his neighbor, but never thinking of himself. At the command “Right dress!” (when the officer par excellence knew enough to deliver it) some looked right, others left—some thrust their heads out before—some leaned back to get a glimpse behind—and the whole line waved like a streamer in the wind. “Silence in line!” produced a greater clamor than ever, for each repeated the command to every other, sending the order along the ranks like a rolling fire, and not unfrequently enforcing it with the push of a corn-stalk, or a vigorous elbow-hint. When a movement was directed, the order reached the men successively, by the same process of repetition—so that while some files were walking slowly, and looking back to beckon on their lagging fellow-soldiers, others were forced to a quick run to regain their places, and the scramble often continued many minutes after the word “halt!” The longer the parade lasted, the worse was the drill; and after a tedious day's “muster,” each man knew less, if possible, of military tactics, than he did in the morning.
But the most ludicrous part of the display, was the earnest solemnity with which the politician-colonel endeavored “to lick the mass into shape.” If you had judged only by the expression of his face, you would have supposed that an invading army was already within our borders, and that this democratic army was the only hope of patriotism to repel the foreign foe. And, indeed, it might not be too much to say, that some such idea actually occupied his mind: for he was so fond of “supposing cases,” that bare possibilities sometimes grew in his mind to actual realities; and it was a part of his creed, as well as his policy to preach, that “a nation's best defence” is to be found in “the undisciplined valor of its citizens.” His military maxims were not based upon the history of such countries as Poland and Spain—and Hungary had not then added her example to the list. He never understood the relation between discipline and efficiency; and the doctrine of the “largest liberty” was so popular, that, on his theory, it must be universally right. Tempered thus, and modified by some of the tendencies of the demagogue, his love of military parade amounted to a propensity, a trait which he shared with most of the people among whom he lived.
The inference from this characteristic, that he possessed what phrenologists used to call “combativeness,” is not unavoidable, though such was the fact. He was, indeed, quite pugnacious, ready, at all times, to fight for himself or for his friends, and never with any very special or discriminating reference to the cause of quarrel. He was, however, seldom at feud with any one whose enmity could materially injure him: extensive connections he always conciliated, and every popular man was his friend. Nor was he compelled, in order to compass these ends, to descend to any very low arts; for “the people,” were not so fastidious in those days, as they seem since to have become; and a straightforward sincerity was then the first element of popularity. The politician was not forced to affect an exemplary “walk and conversation;” nor was an open declaration of principle or opinion dangerous to his success.
This liberality in public sentiment had its evils: since, for example, the politician was not generally the less esteemed for being rather a hard swearer. In the majority of the class, indeed, this amounted only to an energetic or emphatic mode of expression; and such the people did not less respect, than if, in the same person, they had had reason to believe the opposite tone hypocritical. The western people—to their honor be it written!—were, and are, mortal enemies to everything like cant: though they might regret, that one's morals were no better than they appeared, they were still more grieved, if they found evidence, that they were worse than they claimed to be.
But, though the politician was really very open and candid in all the affairs of life, in his own estimation he was a very dexterous and dangerous intriguer: he often deceived himself into the belief, that the success, which was in fact the result of his manly candor, was attributable only to his cunning management. He was always forming, and attempting to execute, schemes for circumventing his political opponents; but, if he bore down all opposition, it was in spite of his chicanery, and not by its assistance. Left-handed courses are never advantageous “in the long run;” and, perhaps, it would be well if this lesson were better understood by politicians, even in our own enlightened day.
For the arts of rhetoric he had small respect; in his opinion, the man who was capable of making a long, florid speech, was fit for little else. His own oratorical efforts were usually brief, pithy, and to the point. For example, here follows a specimen, which the writer heard delivered in Illinois, by a candidate for the legislature:—
“Fellow-citizens: I am no speech-maker, but what I say, I'll do. I've lived among you twenty years, and if I've shown myself a clever fellow, you know it, without a speech: if I'm not a clever fellow, you know that, too, and wouldn't forget it with a speech. I'm a candidate for the legislature: if you think I'm 'the clear grit,' vote for me: if you think Major R—— of a better 'stripe' than I am, vote for him. The fact is, that either of us will make a devilish good representative!”
For the satisfaction of the reader, we should record that the orator was triumphantly elected, and, though “no speech-maker,” was an excellent member for several years.
The saddest, yet cheerfullest—the quaintest, yet most unaffected of moralists, has written “A Complaint upon the Decay of Beggars,” which will not cease to be read, so long as pure English and pure feeling are understood and appreciated. They were a part of the recollections of his childhood—images painted upon his heart, impressions made in his soft and pitying nature; and the “besom of societarian reformation,” legislating busybodies, and tinkers of the general welfare, were sweeping them away, with all their humanizing influences, their deep lessons of dire adversity and gentle charity.
There are some memories of the childhood of western men—unlike, and yet similar in their generous persuasions on all pure young hearts—upon whose “Decay” might, also, be written a “Complaint,” which should come as truly, and yet as sadly, from the heart of him, who remembers his boyhood, as did that from the heart of Elia. Gatherings of the militia, burgou-hunts, barbecues, and anniversaries—phases of a primitive, yet true and hearty time!—are fast giving way, before the march of a barbarous “progress” (erroneously christened) “of intelligence.” The hard spirit of money-getting, the harder spirit of education-getting, and the hardest of all spirits, that of pharisaical morality, have divorced our youth, a vinculo, from every species of amusement; and life has come to be a probationary struggle, too fierce to allow a moment's relaxation. The bodies of children are drugged and worried into health, their intellects are stuffed and forced into premature development, or early decay—but their hearts are utterly forgotten! Enjoyment is a forbidden thing, and only the miserable cant of “intellectual pleasure” is allowed. Ideas—of philosophy, religious observance, and mathematics—are supplied ad nauseam; but the encouragement of a generous impulse, or a magnanimous feeling, is too frivolous a thing to have a place in our vile system. Children are “brought up,” and “brought out,” as if they were composed exclusively of intellect and body: And, since the manifestations of any other element are pronounced pernicious—even if the existence of the element itself be recognised—the means of fostering it, innocent amusements, which make the sunshine brighter, the spirits more cheerful, and the heart purer and lighter, are sternly prohibited. Alas! for the generation which shall grow up, and be “educated” (God save the mark!) as if it had no heart! And wo to the blasphemy which dares to offer, as service to Heaven, an arrogant contempt of Heaven's gifts, and claims a reward, like the self-tormentors of the middle ages, for its vain mortifica
tions.
But, in the time of the politician, of whom we write, these things were far different. We have already seen him at a “militia muster,” and fain would we pause here, to display him at a barbecue. What memories, sweet, though sad, we might evoke of “the glorious fourth” in the olden time! How savory are even the dim recollections of the dripping viands, which hung, and fried, and crisped, and crackled, over the great fires, in the long deep trenches! Our nostrils grow young again with the thought—and the flavor of the feast floats on the breezes of memory, even “across the waste of years” which lie between! And the cool, luxuriant foliage of the grove, the verdant thickets, and among them pleasant vistas, little patches of green sward, covered with gay and laughing parties—even the rosy-cheeked girls, in their rustling gingham dresses, cast now and then a longing glance, toward the yet forbidden tables! how fresh and clear these images return upon the fancy!
And then the waving banners, roaring cannon, and the slow procession, moving all too solemnly for our impatient wishes! And finally, the dropping of the ropes, the simultaneous rush upon the open feast, and the rapid, perhaps ravenous consumption of the smoking viands, the jest, the laugh, all pleasant merriment, the exhilaration of the crowd, the music, and the occasion! What glories we heard from the orator, of victories achieved by our fathers! How we longed—O! brief, but glorious dream! to be one day spoken of like Washington! How wildly our hearts leaped in our boyish bosoms, as we listened to the accents of the solemn pledge and “declaration”—“our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor!” The whole year went lighter for that one day, and at each return, we went home happier, and better!
How measureless we thought the politician's greatness then! This was his proper element—here he was at home; and, as he ordered and directed everything about him, flourishing his marshal's baton, clearing the way for the march of the procession—settling the “order of exercises,” and reading the programme, in a stentorian voice—there was, probably in his own estimation, and certainly in ours, no more important or honored individual in all that multitude!
In such scenes as these, he was, indeed, without a rival; but there were others, also, in which he was quite as useful, if not so conspicuous. On election days, for instance, when a free people assembled to exercise their “inestimable privilege,” to choose their own rulers—he was as busy as a witch in a tempest. His talents shone forth with especial and peculiar lustre—for, with him, this was “the day for which all other days were made.” He marshalled his retainers, and led them to “the polls”—not as an inexperienced tactician would have done, with much waste of time, in seeking every private voter, but after the manner of feudal times—by calling upon his immediate dependants, captains over tens and twenties, through whom he managed the more numerous masses. These were the “file-leaders,” the “fugle-men,” and “heads of messes;” and it was by a judicious management of these, that he was able to acquire and retain an extensive influence.
The first article of his electioneering creed was, that every voter was controlled by somebody; and that the only way to sway the privates was, to govern the officers: and, whether true or not, it must be admitted that his theory worked well in practice. He affected to entertain a high respect for those whom he described as “the boys from the heads of the hollows”—men who were never seen beyond the precincts of their own little “clearings,” except upon the Fourth of July and election day, from one end of the year to the other. With these he drank bad whiskey, made stale jokes, and affected a flattering condescension. With others, more important or less easily imposed upon, he “whittled” sociably in the fence-corners, talked solemnly in conspicuous places, and always looked confidential and mysterious.
But, however earnestly engaged, he never forgot the warfare in which he was chief combatant. Like a general upon a field of battle, with his staff about him, he had sundry of his friends always near, to undertake any commission, or convey any order, which he desired to have executed; and not a voter could come upon the ground, whom there was the remotest chance to influence, that his vigilance did not at once discover and seize upon, through some one of these lieutenants. He resorted to every conceivable art, to induce the freemen to vote properly; and, when he could not succeed in this, his next study was to prevent their voting at all. The consequence usually was, that he secured his own election, or that of his chosen candidate; for, in him, vigilance and shrewdness were happily combined.
But, perhaps fortunately for the country, his ambition was generally limited to such small offices, as he was quite capable of filling. The highest point at which he aimed, was a seat in the state legislature; and on reaching that goal, he signalized his term, chiefly, if at all, in advocating laws about division fences, and trespassers upon timber—measures which he deemed desirable for his own immediate constituency, with very little care for the question of their general utility. Indeed, he never went to the capital, without having his pockets full of “private bills,” for the gratification of his personal friends, or near neighbors; and if, after a reasonable term of service, he had succeeded in getting all these passed into laws, he came home, contented to “subside,” and live the remainder of his days, upon the recollection of his legislative honors.
In the course of time, like all other earthly things, his class began to decay. The tide of immigration, or the increasing intelligence of the people, raised up men of larger views; and he speedily found himself outstripped in the race, and forgotten by his ancient retainers. Then—like his predecessor, the original frontierman—disgusted with civilization and its refinements—he migrated to more congenial regions, and, in the scenes of his former triumphs, was heard of no more.
FOOTNOTES:
[82] Translate “donum,” talent.
[83] A kind of soup, made by boiling all sorts of game with corn, onions, tomatoes, and a variety of other vegetables. When skilfully concocted and properly seasoned, not at all unsavory. So called from a soup made by seamen.
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EPILOGUE.
Here we must pause.
On the hither side of the period, represented by the early politician, and between that and the present, the space of time is much too narrow, to contain any distinct development: those who superseded the primitive oracles, are yet in possession of the temple. We could not, therefore, pursue our plan further, without hazarding the charge of drawing from the life.
It is remarkable, that anything like a fair or candid estimate of—for example—a public man's character, while he is yet favored with the people's suffrages, is very certain to be pronounced a caricature; and it is not less singular, that, while the complaints of popular critics, in effect, affirm that there is fidelity enough in the picture to enable even obtuse minds to fit the copy to the original, they at the same time vehemently assert that the whole portrait is a libel. A just admeasurement of a demagogue's ability is thus always abated by the imputation of partisan falsehood or prejudice; and whosoever declines to join in the adulation of a temporary idol, may consider himself fortunate, if he escape with only the reproach of envy. Sketches of contemporaneous character—if they seek recognition among the masses, must, therefore, not reduce the altitude which blind admiration has assigned, nor cut away the foreign lace, nor tear the ornaments, with which excited parties have bedaubed their images of clay. And, yet, so prone are men to overrate their leaders, that no estimate of a prominent man can be just, without impugning popular opinion.
There is probably no other ground quite so perilous as politics, unless it be literature: and, as yet, the west is comparatively barren of those “sensitive plants,” literary men. But any attempt to delineate society, by portraiture of living characters, even though the pictures were purely ideal, would, upon the present plan, involve the suspicion (and perhaps the temptation to deserve it), indicated above. Before venturing upon such uncertain paths, therefore, we must display a little generalship, and call a halt, if not a council of war. Wheth
er we are to march forward, will be determined by the “General Orders.”
THE END.
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J. S. REDFIELD,
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110 AND 112 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK,
HAS JUST PUBLISHED:
EPISODES OF INSECT LIFE.
By Acheta Domestica. In Three Series: I. Insects of Spring.—II. Insects of Summer.—III. Insects of Autumn. Beautifully illustrated. Crown 8vo., cloth, gilt, price $2.00 each. The same beautifully colored after nature, extra gilt, $4.00 each.
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Western Characters Page 24
