CHAPTER II.
OUR SCOTCH-IRISH.
A person on entering the library in an old-fashioned mansion, situatedin the heart of a country that was very beautiful in the landscaping ofnature, at eleven a. m. of the 12th of November, would have observed avenerable gentleman reclining upon an antique sofa, plainly upholsteredin morocco. The gentleman was reading from a book entitled, "The Lifeand Speeches of Daniel Webster." The stranger might have furtherobserved, that the right hand of the old gentleman would now and againmove with some energy of expression, as if he were punctuating aparticular paragraph by an emphatic dissent. If the reader had beenasked for an opinion as to the character and ability of the illustriouscommoner, whose views were so logically expressed in the memoir, hewould have said without hesitation, that "He possessed the acumen of thewisest of statesmen, but that his opinions as a strict constructionistwere extra hazardous, indeed out of harmony with the true theory of arepublican form of government--a government of co-ordinate states thathad entered voluntarily into a compact for a more perfect union. But (hemay have continued) against the doctrine of nullification, indeedagainst the ordinances of secession, the irony of fate, through thisgreat man, projected an argument whose logic was irrefutable in its lastanalysis. Foreshadowed events put into the mouth of Mr. Webster amenace, whose uninterpretable meaning in 1833 was clearly understoodwhen the baleful power of the storm swept from the high seas the lastprivateer with its letter of marque, disbanded the last armed scoutsouth of the breakwater of the Delaware, and broke the heart of thegreatest warrior since Charlemagne; a chieftain more honored in defeatthan Hannibal, or Napoleon, or Sobieski, or the great Frederick. Thismaster craftsman in the construction corps of the Republic; whoseresourceful intellect engrafted a principle as fixed and inviolable intothe Constitution as fate, propelled against the equity of 'peacefulseparation' the weight of an overmastering influence. This menace to theSouth marked the tumultuous heart-beats of the commercial North, when itcontemplated the separation of indestructible states. It made of theRepublic a huge camp of instruction, into which the nations of the earthwere perpetually dumping their refuse populations; it girdled the Southwith a cincture of embattled mercenaries; it imparted to theConstitution a disciplinary vigor; it gave to partisan legislation aninspiration; it gave to centralized power an omnipotent reserve thatunnerved every arm, paralyzed every tongue, and rendered organizedeffort abortive in the crucial struggle for Southern independence. But,sir, (and the eyes of the old man would gleam as with the light of anoverpowering genius), a government created by the States, amendable bythe States, preserved by the States, may be annihilated by the States."
It was one of those leaky, bleak November days, when the weather, out oftemper with itself, is continually making wry faces at the rain and theforest and the cattle, that a gentleman lately arrived from the auldtown of Edinboro, shook the glistening rain-drops from his shaggy talmain the great hall of Ingleside, as he observed to the host with a smile,"Thot it was a wee bit scrowie, but the weether wad be fayre in its aingude time." It was indeed one of those leaden days that occasionallycomes in the Southland with the November chills, pinching the herds thatare out upon the glades and meadows, when the winds sang in the treeboughs with a strange and melancholy rhythm. A sailor passing up theforward ladder from the forecastle to observe the weather would say,with a shudder, that it was a "greasy day," and that the sky and shroudsand storm-sails were leaky. Col. Seymour, upon ordinary occasions, was agentleman of discrimination, and his judgment of character was fairlycorrect. Like the true Scotch Southron, as he was, he had his ownideals, his own loves and his own idiosyncrasies. He loved Scotland andher people, her memories, her history, her renown, her trossachs, herlakes, her mountains; they were his people, and Scotland was the "ainlove of his fayther and mither." He had not forgotten the language ofher beautiful hills and vales, though he was a boy when, with hisparents, he bade adieu to his bonny country to find a home across thewater in the Old North State, so prodigal and impartial in thedistribution of honors and riches to all who came with clean hands andstout hearts. So when the neat and genteel Scotchman gave his name asHugh McAden, the old man's heart impulsively warmed towards his guest,for he knew of a verity that a McAden everywhere was a man of honor--thename, an open sesame to the hearts and homes of Scotch Americans.
"I will make you very comfortable to-day, sir," he observed, as heescorted Mr. McAden to his library. There were great hickory logs, halfconsumed, resting upon the antiquated brass andirons in the fire-place,giving warmth and cheer to the whole room. The stranger, rubbing hishands vigorously, for they were very cold and stiff, observedinterrogatively, "You do not let the chill ond weet coom into thehoose?"
"No indeed," replied the Colonel with a broad smile, "these inflictionsare for other folks, whose liberty is upon the highways and in theforests in such weather."
"Ah, for ither fauk; maybe the naygurs," laughingly suggested theScotchman.
"Yes, you can hear the guns in the woods, where they are hunting cattlenot their own. You can see drunken squads marching upon the roads uponsuch a day."
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "ond do ye call this free America? May-be ye hae nogoovernment as ye haed lang syne, ond no law ither."
The Colonel assured the gentleman that public affairs were at sixes andsevens, and the negroes now held the mastery over their former owners,and their discipline was not over indulgent.
"Ond do the naygurs make the laws for sic as you?" he enquired in astartled way.
"Oh yes," replied the Colonel, quite seriously.
"Alack-a-day!" exclaimed the astonished man. "The deil take sic agoovernment, ond the deil tak sic a coontry, ond the deil tak thenaygurs! Coom to Edinboro, mon, where there is not o'ermuch siller, butwhere ivery mon is his ain laird, ond his hoose is his ain hame. Ye kenfine that I am a stranger hereaboot. Ond will the naygurs harm a poormishanalled mon like me?" he enquired in alarm. The Colonel, with aneffort to conceal his mirth, reassured his friend that no harm wouldcome to him.
"Ond wad ye say," the Scotchman interrupted, "that amang the naygursond sic a government, that a puir body wad hae the protection o' his ainqueen?" he again asked, with his fears still unsubdued. The amiablehost, shaking from an effort at self-control, again remarked that thecarpet-bag government had made no attempt at personal violence uponstrangers, and that he was as safe here as in his own city of Edinboro;and the Scotchman laughed away his fears.
"Sic an auld fule!" he exclaimed in great glee. "I am hardly masel inthese lowlands," the Scotchman continued, as the conversation changedinto more agreeable channels. "Ye hae na moontains ond bonnie hillshereaboot," he continued, as he looked from the window upon thelow-lying fields and meadows.
"But, my friend," replied the Colonel, "if you will abide with me forawhile you will quite forget your mountains, for there is a charm andfreshness in the landscape here when you become familiar with it."
"I am sure of thot," quickly answered the guest; "but ye ken fine that apuir body must abide in his ain hame. What wad a man do in th' Soothlandwi' his beezeness in Edinboro?" And the Scotchman smiled as he asked theunanswerable question. "Ah, well," the Colonel replied with an assumeddignity, "you would do as we do."
"Ond what is thot?" asked the Scotchman.
"Swear and vapor from early morn to dewy eve."
"Ah! thot wad na do, thot wad na do," he replied, horrified at such asuggestion, "The meenister in holy kirk wad discipline a puir body, ondthe deil wad be to play. I guess I'll gang hame agen ond do as ilka faukdo in th' auld toon."
The Colonel had not been so happy in many a day as with the plain,matter-of-fact Scotchman, in a sense, a type and representative of hisown people, and a man who could speak so eloquently of the fadelessglory of old Scotland.
"Hae ye nae gude wife ond bairns?" he enquired.
"Yes, an invalid wife and an only child, sir," said the Colonel, astears began to gather in his eyes. "My only son, sir, was slain inbattle some years ago."
/> "Ond was it for sic a goovernment as ye hae noo, that ye gaed up yourbonnie lad to dee?" he asked quite innocently.
The old man bowed his head in silent grief. He could not answer, and hewalked across the room and looked out upon the murky sky--a funerealcoverlid, it appeared, laid over the grave of poor Harry.
"Puir lad," uttered Mr. McAden, half aside, as he drew his handkerchiefacross his face and gazed abstractedly into the blazing fire. It wasquite an interval before the Colonel was able to subdue this paroxysm ofgrief that had quite overcome him, and, availing himself of the earliestopportunity to excuse himself, withdrew from the room. To Mr. McAden themoment was fraught with sincere sorrow. He had unwittingly opened thesluice-way at the veteran's heart, and great tides, crimsoned, as itseemed, with the blood of poor Harry, were pouring into it. He couldfind no surcease only in the oft-repeated exclamation of reproach.
"Sic an auld fule! Sic an auld fule! But I thocht the mon was o'er happyin the love of his gude wife ond the bairn. Haed I thocht thot the ladhad deed in battle, I wad na gaed him sic a sair thrust in his auldheart."
The Colonel retired to his own chamber to repair the injury that hadbeen done to his feelings, and presently he returned with a smilingface, accompanied by his daughter, and he said, introducing her.
"This sir, is my daughter, Alice."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. McAden, rising with extended hand, "The lassie islike the sire, Coonel. I can see the fayther in her een."
"And the counterpart of her mither in all except the een," replied herfather.
"You ond the gude wife ond the lassie must coom to Edinboro, Coonel; yeken fine thot her rooyal men ond weemen are i' th' groond noo, ond thereare memorials here ond there in the auld kirk-yards where their puirbodies are laid, but our men ond weemen still are vera fayre ond gentle,ond we niver put our een upon a naygur. Ond, now thot I can abide naelanger wi' ye, will ye nae tell me a wee bit o' the history o' our ainfauk in the Soothland, for ye ken fine thot the auld anes wad be askinaboot this ane ond thot ane, in fine all aboot the Scotch in your aincoontry, when I gae hame to Edinboro."
The subject referred to by the Scotchman was full of a picturesqueinterest, and no man in the Southland took a higher delight in impartingsuch information as he could command, than Colonel Seymour. Turning hisold arm-chair so that he could observe his guest more closely, he began:
"The characteristics of these people are ineffaceably impressed upon ourcivilization. Indeed they are as deeply grounded into the religious andsocial soil of North Carolina, as though they had taken root like therhododendron under the rocks and in the fissures of our hills andmountains. The Scotch-Irish American, with gigantic strides, has at lastsat himself down upon the loftiest pinnacle of our 19th centurycivilization. He has never yielded to oppression; he has nevercompounded with evil. These brave people, bringing hither the virtues oftheir fathers as well as their own, have given North Carolina its mostluminous page. They made the earliest industry of the Cape Fear--theindustry of colonization. It was an industry that sought to providehomes for the people, and to dignify labor and life in the midst ofsurroundings that taxed every resource of action, and the ultimate vergeof human daring; an industry that employed the plainest instruments--theaxe to hew down the forest, and the plow to turn the furrow. Theirprimitive sires in these early settlements did not control thosepowerful auxiliaries that now multiply the skill of man; nor did theyenjoy the aristocracy of the recognized power of wealth. They carednothing for mammonism, that some philosophical crank has defined to be aphysical force that makes men invertebrates. Here was life with thestruggle of pioneers; a struggle for place rather than for position; forhomes rather than castles, that prepared the intellect for a higherdevelopment, and man for ultimate power. The victory of the axe and plowwere the pre-ordained antecedents to the victory of the forum andpulpit, and the triumph over the crude obstructions of nature was thedivine prophecy of undisciplined toil. Out of the ruggedness of such anepoch came forth a condition of virtue and integrity; of honest andhonorable convictions; of sincere patriotism; of a race of men wholooked to themselves only, and originated within this scant domain theliterature of economic life. It was here that the domestic sentimentdisplayed its captivating charm. Nowhere on earth was there a moregenerous love for children, and whenever this attribute of the heartappears, the prophetic benediction of Christ, as childhood lay in Hishallowed arms, is fulfilled. Here was social life, too, in its freedom,picturesqueness and animation, without demoralizing conditions. Awaynorthward and southward, bays and rivers stretched their wedded waves,hills holding in their dead grasp the secrets of centuries; the ancientmiracles of fire and water where chaos had been transfixed in itsprimeval heavings; all these were here subject to the mighty masterythat men should eventually exert, and side by side with humble homes,arose schools and churches--emblems of the power and purity of thepeople. Here the ambassadors of Christ were persuasive with tongue,fervent in spirit; they felt that their religion was more ancient thangovernment, higher than any influence; more sacred than any trust; areligion that was benevolence in its gentlest mood, courage in itsboldest daring, affection in its intensest power; philanthropy in itswidest reach; patriotism in its most impassioned vigor; reason in itsbroadest display; the mighty heart that throbbed through every artery;fed every muscle; sped the hidden springs of an electric current throughevery nerve. Such were and are "oor ain fauk in th' Soothland."
"Ah, I ken fine," replied the Scotchman with enthusiasm, "that yourforebears came from the hielands, and yoor knowledge of the gude fauk inyoor ain coontry quite surprises me. Did ye not say that yoor faytherond mither came from Edinboro?" he inquired with animation.
"Yes," replied the Colonel, "in the good old days; and they lie buriedside by side in the little cemetery over the hill yonder, where I shallrest after a wee bit."
"These are bonnie lands hereaboot, but there is mony a glade in auldScotland where a puir body may sleep as tranquilly," said the Scotchmanwith feeling, "ond when I dee my sepulchre shall be near the auld hamewhere there are no naygurs ond no sic a goovernment, in th' shadow o'th' auld kirk o' my fayther ond mither."
The Broken Sword; Or, A Pictorial Page in Reconstruction Page 4