Part 28
But I argued with her; says I: “Sister, you are well meanin’, no doubt, but you ort to remember that the battle haint always to the swift.” Says I, “It wont harm none of us to foller Nater’s ways a little more close; and Nater is a female that—if she is ruther slow motioned—generally has her way in the end to an uncommon degree. You don’t catch her gittin’ mad, wild, impatient, tearin’ open a kernel of corn, or grain of wheat, or anything, and growin’ a stalk out of it sudden and at once. No! jest like all patient toilers for the Right, she plants the seed, and then lets it take time to swell out, and git full to bustin’ with its own convictions and desires to grow, till it gits so sick of the dark ground where it is hid, and longs so for the light and the free air above it, that it can’t be kep’ back a minute longer, but soars right up of its own free will and accord, towards the high heavens and the blessed sunlight. But if seeds haint good for nothin’, they wont come up; all the sunshine and rain on earth can’t make ’em grow, nor cultivators, nor horse rakes, nor nothin’.
“And so with principles. Lots of folks spend most of their days a plantin’ seeds that wont come up. What is worthless wont amount to nothin’—in accordance with that great mathematical fact, that scientific folks like me apply to lots of things, and find that it comes right every time—that ort from ort leaves nothin’, and nothin’ to carry. But if the idee is true and has got life in it, no matter how dark the mould that covers it, it is morally bound to sprout—positively bound to, and can’t be hindered. Don’t you know, when a big forest has been cut down, berry bushes will spring right up, seem to have stood all ready to spring up for the refreshin’ of men and wimmen jest as quick as the shadders of the tall trees had got offen ’em; curious, but so it is. Who knows how many centuries them seeds have laid there a waitin’ their time to grow, gittin’ sick of the shadders mebby, but jest a waitin’ with considerable patience after all.
“And thinkin’ of these things mom, ort to make us considerable patient too, willin’ to work, and willin’ to wait; knowin’ that gittin’ mad and actin’ haint a goin’ to help us a mite; knowin’ that the seeds of good and right, planted with tears and prayers, are bound to spring up triumphant; knowin’ that the laughin’ and cold sneers of the multitude haint a goin’ to frost bite ’em; knowin’ that the tears of weakness, and weariness, and loneliness, fallin’ from human eyes over the hoe handle in plantin’ time, only moistens the sod, and kinder loosens it up first-rate. And that even the ashes of persecution, and all the blood that falls in righteous cause, only nourishes the snowy flowers and golden grain of the future. Mebby it is our mission to clear away trees and stumps—sort o’ wood choppers, or sawyers—I don’t care a mite what I am called. We may never see the seed spring up; we may not be here when it breaks through the dark mould triumphant; but somebody will see it; happy skies will bend over it; happy hearts will hail it; and if Freedom, Truth, and Justice is remembered, what matters it if Josiah Allen’s wife is forgotten.”
Says she, “I _will_ hammer ’em.”
I declare for’t I had forgot where I was, and who I was, and who she was, and who Josiah was—I was carried away such a distance by my emotions. But her remark soared up like a brass pin or a tack nail, and pierced my wrapped mood. I see I hadn’t convinced her, her eyes looked wild and glarin’.
“Well,” says I, “if you do you will probable have the worst of it, besides injurin’ the hammer.”
Jest at that very minute I see Josiah a comin’, and I watched that beloved and approachin’ form for mebby half or two thirds of a minute, and when I looked round again she was gone, and I was glad on’t; I never liked her looks. And in a few minutes Miss Bean come too, and says she: “Don’t you want to go and see some relicks?”
Says I, “I haint particular either way. Bein’ a respectable married woman with a livin’ pardner of my own, I shant make no move either way, I shant run towards ’em or from ’em. Havin’ lived a vegetable widow for so many years, I s’pose _you_ feel different about relicks.”
Says she, “I mean relicks from Jerusalem and other old places, made out of wood from Mount Olive, and the cross, and the Holy Sepulchre, and so 4th.” And then she kinder whispered to me: “They do say that they have used up more than ten cords of stove-wood right here in the village of Filadelphy, a makin’ relicks for Turks to sell—Turks right from Ireland.” Says she, “You are so awful patriotic you ort to see George Washington’s clothes, and old Independence Hall, and Liberty bell.”
[Sidenote: AMONG THE RELICS]
Says I in agitated axents: “Cousin Bean has George Washington got any clothes here to the Sentinal?”
“Yes,” says she, “they are in the United States Government Buildin’.”
I gripped holt of her hand, and says I, “Lead me there instantly!” and she led the way to the buildin’.
But though I see everything on my way and more too seeminly, I didn’t seem to sense anything as it should be sensed, till I stood before them relicks; and then, oh! what feelins I did feel as I see that coat and vest that George had buttoned up so many times over true patriotism, truthfulness, and honor. When I see the bed he had slept on, the little round table he had eat on, the wooden bottomed chair he had sot down on, the belluses he had blowed the fire with in cold storms and discouragements; and then to see the bed quilts worked by his own mother, and to think what powerful emotions, what burnin’ plans, what eager hopes, and what dark despairs they had covered up in 76. And then to see—a layin’ on the bed—the cane that Benjamin give to George, and to see George’s glasses and candle stick, and trunks and etcetery. Why, they all rousted up my mind so, that I told Josiah I must see Independance Hall before I slept, or I wouldn’t answer for the consequences. I was fearfully rousted up in my mind, as much so as if my emotions had been all stirred up with that little hatchet that G. W. couldn’t tell a lie with.
Leavin’ Miss Bean, we started off for Independance Hall. What feelins I felt, as I stood in the room where our 4 fathers signed the papers givin’ their childern liberty; where them old fathers signed the deed without flinchin’ a hair, though they well knew that it had got to be sealed red with their blood. To stand on that very floor—kinder checkered off—that they had stood on, to see them very chairs that they had sot in, and then to see their brave, heroic faces a lookin’ down on me—I felt strange, curious. And there was that old bell that had rung out the old slavery and oppression, and rung in the new times of freedom and liberty. My emotions tuckered me out so that when I got to sleep that night, I was dreamin’ that I was upon the top of that bell a swingin’ over the land, soarin’ right back and forth; a swingin’ back into them times that tried men’s and wimmen’s souls, and then forth again into the glorious nineteenth century. I had a awful time of it, and so did Josiah, and I wouldn’t go through it again for a dollar bill, and Josiah says he wouldn’t.
ANOTHER DAY ON THE GROUNDS.
The next mornin’ we got onto the grounds early and took a short tower through the Main Buildin’ when Josiah says to me all of a sudden:
“Less go and be elevated Samantha!”
Says I, “What do you mean, Josiah Allen?” I was skairt; I thought he was goin’ the way of lunys.
“Why,” says he “I mean less go and be elevated up in the elevator.”
“Oh!” says I, “I thought you wanted me to go and git intoxicated with you.”
I didn’t blame Josiah, for I knew it was a principle implanted in his sect to see all they could see, but still I hung back; I didn’t feel like it; somehow I didn’t feel like bein’ elevated; and knowin’ what would be the strongest argument to bear onto him, I mentioned the expense, but he argued back again:
“Ten cents won’t make or break us. Do less be elevated Samantha; come on, less.”
So seein’ he was determined on’t, we went back again into the Main Buildin’ and was elevated. And what a sight that was that was spread out below us. Never shall I forget it while memory sets up in her high chair. As I looked on it all, I couldn’t think of but jest one thing, how the—the—D—D—David took the Master up on a high mountain, and showed him all the kingdoms and glory of the world, and—Josiah hunched me jest then and says he: “Haint you glad I took you up here, Samantha?”
And then I told him what I was thinkin’ of, and he didn’t seem to like it; he wanted to know in a cross, surly tone “if I was a hingin’ on him;” I told him I wasn’t.
And then we traipsed around to see several other things, until I was tired completely out. I thought seein’ so much would sort o’ quiet Josiah down, but it only made him more rampant to see more; he wanted to see some wild beasts; he said he wanted to go to the bear pits.
Says I, “_I_ don’t want to see any wild beasts.”
“Well,” says he, “you set down here and rest, and I will come back in half an hour or three quarters.”
So he left me, and soon after, I thought I would saunter around the grounds all alone by myself, and while doin’ so, I arrove at the same fountain I and Josiah had looked upon several days previous; where the beautiful girls was upholdin’ the platter on which the water was a fallin’; and as my eyes fell upon it, they also fell upon the form of my Josiah, a gazin’ upon the female figgers in wrapped attention.
[Sidenote: AMONG THE WILD BEASTS]
But as I have remarked once before (I believe,) I haint a jealous hair in my head, but I can’t deny that I was dumbfoundered now. I took him firmly by the arm; says I:
“What are you a lookin’ at, Josiah Allen?”
He was awful surprised; but it’s wonderful how the male sect will turn off anything. Says he: “I was a admirin’ the water, Samantha, how beautiful it biles up and then falls down into the platter.” And he turned round to the fountain.
Says I, “Josiah Allen, are these the wild beasts, is this the bear pit you wanted to see?” And I added in dry tones: “You had better hereafter remain near your pardner.” And I led him away. We sauntered along for some time, but Josiah was dretful uneasy. I never see him so restless; and anon, says he: “I feel to-day, somehow, Samantha, jest like meanderin.”
I see it was no use to restrain him, and says I:
“Well, _you_ can keep right on a meanderin’, but _I_ can’t meander another step.” Says I—wipin’ my heated forward on my white cotton handkerchief—“I have meandered too much now for my own good, and I must go to some quiet spot, where I can rest both my limbs and the eyes of my spectacles, for they are both fearfully weary. I must have a little quiet, Josiah Allen.”
Says he, “How will you git holt of any quiet here, Samantha?”
Says I, “I have heerd it is to be obtained down in the raven between this Hall and the Artemus Gallery;” so he said he would meet me there in a couple of hours, and started off. The raven (probable so called from ravens bein’ found there in the past) is perfectly delightful. A brook goes laughin’ through it; there is beautiful shady walks and bridges, easy benches are to be found under the great noble forest trees, and there is green grass, and ferns, and daisies, and a spring with a tin-dipper. It is a lovely place, and I sot down feelin’ first-rate. Nobody’s arms, not even the most trained nurses, can rest a tired baby so well as its mother’s; nobody can rest the weary, and fatigued out like Nater. I hadn’t been there more’n 2 minutes before I begun to feel rested off, and as it is my way to do, I begun to think deeply and allegore to myself. Thinks’es I, here I be in Pennsylvany; and then I went to thinkin’ of Penn,—thought what a noble, good man he was; thinks’es I, no wonder the Pennsylvanyans have prospered; no wonder the Sentinal stands firm, for they all stand on ground honestly bought from their true owners, by that noble Penn, and paid for.
[Sidenote: THE INDIAN QUESTION]
And then I thought a sight about Penn; how firm his scalp always stood, how peaceful his frontiers was, and I wondered if there would be so much Injun difficulty if the spirit of honesty, justice, and truth, that he showed to the Injuns, could be showed to ’em now. Anyway, as I sot there, I wished eloquently to myself, that when he ascended to the Heavens prepared for just men, his mantilly could have fell onto the men who make our laws, and could be wore now in Washington by them, and laid gracefully accrost the Injun Buro.
I was just a thinkin’ this to myself when I see a dretful pleasant lookin’ lady come and set down on a bench only a little ways from me. She had such a good look onto her that I says to a man who happened to be a goin’ by where I sot, “Can you tell me who that lady is?” “Mrs. Ulysses Grant,” says he. “Not she that was Julia Dent?” says I. “Yes,” says he. I walked right up to her and says I—holdin’ out my hand in a warm and affectionate manner:
“How do you do, Julia? I am highly tickled to see you; how does the baby do—and how does Mr. Dent’ses folks do? Are they all so as to be about?” says I, “I am Josiah Allen’s wife.”
“Oh!” says she, “I have heerd my husband speak of you.” And she shook hands with me, and made room on the bench for me to set down by her.
“Yes,” says I, “I rescued him when he called for peace and couldn’t find it; I had the honor of savin’ him from pain and Betsey Bobbet.” I thought I would explain it to her, though she didn’t act jealous a mite. But it is always best to explain to wimmen jest what business you and her pardner have been talkin’ about.’ It may save some bad feelin’ towards _you_, and some curtain lectures for _him_.
Says I, “I had a talk with your husband in the cause of Right, and advised the Nation promiscously through him. But there was several other things I wanted to say, but I see he was gittin’ hungry, and so, of course, fractious and worrysome, and I stopped in a minute, for I well know there is a time to advise men, and a time to refrain from it.” Says I, “Wimmen who have had a man to deal with for any length of time, learn to take advantage of times and seasons.”
I see by her looks she didn’t want no tutorin’ on that subject—she haint nobody’s fool. Says she, “What did you want to speak to my husband about?”
Says I, “I wanted to talk to him more about the Injuns.”
Says she, “My husband has honestly tried to do the best he could with ’em.”
Says I, “I believe it Julia; I believe it from nearly the bottom of my heart.”
Says she, “They are a low, dirty, degraded race.”
Says I, “It haint reasonable to expect to git high-toned virtues and principles from ignorance and superstition. Think of minds narrowed down to one thought, by a total lack of culture and objects of interest; think of their constant broodin’ over the centuries of wrongs they think they have endured from the white race; and what wonder is it that this spirit flames out occasionally in deeds that make the world shudder. And then, people will shet their eyes to the causes that led to it, and lift up their hands in horrer, and cry out for extermination.”
Says Julia, “It is Destiny; it is the wave of civilization and progress that is movin’ on from the East to the West. The great resistless wave whose rush and might nothin’ can withstand. Rushin’ grandly onward, sweepin’ down all obstacles in its path.”
Says I, “Julia, that is a sublime idee of yourn, very sublime, and dretful comfortin’ to the waves; but let me ask you in a friendly way, haint it a little tough on the obstacles?”
She said that it was, though she hadn’t never looked at it so much in that light before.
“Yes,” says I, “I know jest how it is; you have looked at the idee with the eye of a wave. But that wont do, Julia; when we look at an idee we must look at it from more than one side; we must look at it with several pair of eyes in order to git the right light onto it;” says I, “I don’t blame you for lookin’ at it with the eye of a wave—a noble, sublime eye, full of power, and might, and glory, calm and stiddy as eternity. And then to be fair, we ort to look at it with the eye of a obstacle, pleadin’, and frightened, and melancholly, with a prophecy of comin’ doom. And when we s’posen the case, it wont do for us to s’posen ourselves waves all the hull time, we must, in order to be just, s’posen ourselves obstacles part of the time. And s’posen you was a obstacle, Julia, and your Ulysses was one, and s’posen I was one, and my Josiah was another one; this wouldn’t hinder us from bein’ faint when we hadn’t nothin’ to eat; and our legs from achin’ when we had been drove clear from the Atlantic to the Pacific; and our hearts from greivin’ when we was forced from our homes to let our enemies live there; and our eyes from rainin’ floods of tears when they see our loved ones fallin’ by our side for defendin’ our homes from what we look upon as a invader. It wouldn’t hinder our hearts from breakin’ when we was drove off and denied the right even to weep over the graves where our hopes was a lyin’ buried up with our beloved obstacles.”
Julia was almost in tears, but she reminded me that they only used the land for low, triflin’ pursuits; such as huntin’ and other worthless amusements; that we put it to better use.
Says I, “Julia, I haint a denyin’ of it, I haint said, and I haint a goin’ to say that it wasn’t necessary to plough up and smooth out their graveyards to make race courses and base ball and crokay grounds for our nobler race; I haint denied it; I was only remindin’ you, that it seemed to be uncommon tough on ’em; that is all. I think on ’em a sight;” says I, “how they used to own the hull of this continent; a friendly, peaceable set Columbus said they was; would have done anything for him, knelt right down and worshipped him, they was so glad to see him. It seems sort o’ pitiful to me, to think they looked with such reverent admirin’ eyes on the comin’ race that was to destroy ’em; knelt down and kissed the white hands that was to strike ’em such fearful blows; thought they come right down from heaven; and how soon they didn’t think so—how soon they thought they come from a different place. I s’pose they was a simple, well meanin’, childlike lot, livin’ so near to Nater, that they got nearer to her heart than we can ever think of gittin’. And the mountains and waters cling to their names yet; it seems as if they don’t forget ’em; the Alleghany’s seem to be a liftin’ up their heads a lookin’ for the Alleghanies and wonderin’ what has become of ’em. The Deleware seems to be a rushin’ along clear to the sea, a huntin’ for the Delewares; and Huron and Erie git fairly mad, and storm and rage a hollerin’ for the Hurons and Eries; and old Ontario, I never see her but what she seems to be a murmurin’ and whisperin’ sunthin’ about the Ontarios; her blue waters have a sort of a mournful sound to me; a nevermore sounds in the wave as it swashes up on the beach, as if it was a cryin’ out to me, askin’ me what we have done with ’em. Her great breast seems to be a heavin’ up and sithin’ for the fate of them whose canoes used to float on her bosom—them light canoes that have floated off further and further, till pretty soon the last one will float off into that ocian whose further shore we haint never seen.”
Says Julia, “I will speak to my husband on the subject at once.”
Says I, “So do; and choose the time when he is cleverer than common, jest as I would deal with my Josiah.”
Then I told her, that I would be glad to stay right by her all the afternoon, I felt such a friendship for her but, says I, “you know Julia that even respect and admiration, when they come in conflict with love, have to stand back; and my companion I know is almost famishin’ with hunger, and I have got the key to the satchel bag containin’ our lunch;” and says I, “you know what ravages hunger makes in a man.” She said she knew it well and that I was perfectly excusable. And I bid her good-bye and started on towards the place where I promised to meet my Josiah. I found him a watchin’ the satchel bag, with a gloomy and fractious face, but after he eat, he looked well and happy again. His plan for the afternoon was to see all the live stock on the ground, all the iron work, the mineral annex, the warlike preparations of the different nations, their ships and farmin’ tools, the dairy, brewery, the model of Paris, the newspaper offices, the lighthouses, cheese factory, wagon shops, wind mills and the different tarverns, and he sot right out.
[Sidenote: MY SUCCESS AS P. A. AND P. I.]
The statement of his plan—added to my meanderins and outlay of eloquence—had wearied me nearly out, but I knew well where to go and git rested. I knew what could take me right up—though my heft was great—and waft me off into a land where weariness was never admitted through its gate, where pain and tiredness and care never climbed over its fence. I didn’t know whether to go and be lifted up to this beautiful realm by the music in the glen, or the piano and organ concert in the Main Buildin’; but finally I chose the latter. And seatin’ my body on a seat I peacefully left this weary world, and for about a half or three quarters of an hour I was a triumphant and blessed citizen of that other world which is so near to ours that we can be transported to it in half a moment, and so fur off that no one can ever find the path a leadin’ to it, or tell how it is bounded, or how big it is, or who made it, or why it was made, or anything. But that it is a land of entrancin’ beauty and delight, _that_ we all know; and I don’t know but I should have lingered in it all day, if a rollin’ chair containin’ a woman hadn’t rolled right onto me as I sot on the end of the seat; and bein’ rousted up and brought down to the world again, thinks’es I, I will take a short roll round the buildin’ myself. So I beconed to a young feller whose chair a lady had jest got out of, and took her place; but the move wasn’t a happyfyin’ one to me; I got to thinkin’; thinks’es I who knows where he’ll roll me off to—no knowin’ but what all of a sudden he’ll take a start and run with me clear out of sight. I put in a appearance of calm, and I thought I’d try to stand it a little longer, for I knew he’d think strange my gittin’ out so soon. But I couldn’t seem to sense a thing I see; I kep’ a thinkin’ of Josiah and the peril he was in mebby; I turned round and looked at the chap, and I mistrusted he looked sort o’ wild out of his eye; and I told him in agitated axents that if he was willin’, I’d pay him for the hull hour I bargained for, and git out on the spot. He seemed willin’, and I descended down out of the chair—and was glad of the chance.
Then I went and sot down on a bench by the noble fountain of Moses and Temperance, and I was episodin’ to myself what a hard time Mr. Moses did have in the wilderness, and how he made water flow out of a rock. And I wondered dreamily if he was here now if he wouldn’t have to give a harder knock ag’inst rocky hearts and the rocks of selfishness and custom, before he made water flow instead of likker; when first I knew, Josiah come and sot right down by me, and says he: “You know I told you this mornin’ Samantha, about the ‘Creation Searchers’ all wanderin’ off last night a searchin’ round and gittin’ lost again, and how Shakespeare Bobbet estimated that they had travelled in the neighborhood of one hundred and forty miles, and that he thought his father and old Dagget would be bed rid for life; and how that Shakespeare had shipped ’em home this mornin’ by car load—he goin’ along to lift ’em round, and keep ’em together—all but Solomon Cypher, Cornelius Cork, and the Editor of the Auger.”
“Yes,” says I, “you told me of it, but what of it?”