The Attaché; or, Sam Slick in England — Complete

by Thomas Chandler Haliburton

  CHAPTER VIII. BUNKUM.

  I am not surprised at the views expressed by Mr. Slick in the previouschapter. He has led too active a life, and his habits and thoughts aretoo business-like to admit of his enjoying retirement, or accommodatinghimself to the formal restraints of polished society. And yet, aftermaking this allowance for his erratic life, it is but fair to add thathis descriptions were always exaggerated; and, wearied as he no doubtwas by the uniformity of country life, yet in describing it, he hasevidently seized on the most striking features, and made them moreprominent than they really appeared, even to his fatigued and prejudicedvision.

  In other respects, they are just the sentiments we may suppose wouldbe naturally entertained by a man like the Attache, under suchcircumstances. On the evening after that on which he had described "Lifein the Country" to me, he called with two "orders" for admission to theHouse of Commons, and took me down with him to hear the debates.

  "It's a great sight," said he. "We shall see all their uppercrustmen put their best foot out. There's a great musterin' of the tribes,to-night, and the Sachems will come out with a great talk. There'll besome sport, I guess; some hard hittin', scalpin', and tomahawkin'. Tosee a Britisher scalp a Britisher is equal to a bullfight, anytime. Youdon't keer whether the bull, or the horse, or the rider is killed, noneof 'em is nothin' to you; so you can enjoy it, and hurror for him thatwins. I don't keer who carries the day, the valy of a treat of julep,but I want to see the sport. It's excitin', them things. Come, let'sgo."

  We were shown into a small gallery, at one end of the legislativewall (the two side ones being appropriated to members), and with somedifficulty found sitting room in a place that commanded a view of thewhole house. We were unfortunate. All the great speakers, Lord Stanley,Sir Robert Peel, Sir James Graham, Shiel, and Lord John Russell, hadeither already addressed the Chair, and were thereby precluded by therules of the House from coming forward again, or did not choose toanswer second-rate men. Those whom we did hear, made a most wretchedexhibition. About one o'clock, the adjournment took place, and wereturned, fatigued and disappointed.

  "Did you ever see the beat of that, Squire?" said Mr. Slick. "Don't thattake the rag off quite? Cuss them fellers that spoke, they are wuss thanassembly men, hang me if they aint; and _they_ aint fit to tend a beartrap, for they'd be sure to catch themselves, if they did, in their ownpit-fall.

  "Did you hear that Irishman a latherin' away with both arms, as if hewas tryin' to thrash out wheat, and see how bothered he looked, as ifhe couldn't find nothin' but dust and chaff in the straw? Well, thatcritter was agin the Bill, in course, and Irish like, used everyargument in favour of it. Like a pig swimmin' agin stream, every timehe struck out, he was a cuttin' of his own throat. He then blob blobblobbered, and gog gog goggled, till he choked with words and passion,and then sot down.

  "Then that English Radical feller, that spoke with great voice, andlittle sense. Aint he a beauty, without paint, that critter? He know'dhe had to vote agin the Bill, 'cause it was a Government Bill, and beknow'd he had to speak for _Bunkum_, and therefore--"

  "_Bunkum!_" I said, "pray, what is that?"

  "Did you never hear of Bunkum?"

  "No, never."

  "Why, you don't mean to say you don't know what that is?"

  "I do not indeed."

  "Not Bunkum? Why, there is more of it to Nova Scotia every winter, thanwould paper every room in Government House, and then curl the hair ofevery gall in the town. Not heer of _Bunkum_? why how you talk!"

  "No, never."

  "Well, if that don't pass! I thought every body know'd that word. I'lltell you then, what Bunkum is. All over America, every place likes tohear of its members to Congress, and see their speeches, and if theydon't, they send a piece to the paper, enquirin' if their member died anateral death, or was skivered with a bowie knife, for they hante seenhis speeches lately, and his friends are anxious to know his fate. Ourfree and enlightened citizens don't approbate silent members; it don'tseem to them as if Squashville, or Punkinville, or Lumbertown was rightrepresented, unless Squashville, or Punkinville, or Lumbertown, makesitself heard and known, ay, and feared too. So every feller in boundenduty, talks, and talks big too, and the smaller the State, the louder,bigger, and fiercer its members talk.

  "Well, when a critter talks for talk sake, jist to have a speech inthe paper to send to home, and not for any other airthly puppus butelectioneering, our folks call it _Bunkum_. Now the State o' Maine is agreat place for _Bunkum_--its members for years threatened to run foulof England, with all steam on, and sink her, about the boundary line,voted a million of dollars, payable in pine logs and spruce boards, upto Bangor mills--and called out a hundred thousand militia, (only theynever come,) to captur' a saw mill to New Brunswick--that's _Bunkum_.All that flourish about Right o' Sarch was _Bunkum_--all that brag abouthangin' your Canada sheriff was _Bunkum_. All the speeches about theCaroline, and Creole, and Right of Sarch, was _Bunkum_, In short,almost all that's said _in Congress_ in _the colonies_, (for we setthe fashions to them, as Paris galls do to our milliners,) and all overAmerica is _Bunkum_.

  "Well, they talk Bunkum here too, as well as there. Slavery speeches areall Bunkum; so are reform speeches, too. Do you think them fellers thatkeep up such an everlastin' gab about representation, care one centabout the extension of franchise? Why no, not they; it's only to securetheir seats to gull their constituents, to get a name. Do you thinkthem goneys that make such a touss about the Arms' Bill, care about theIrish? No, not they; they want Irish votes, that's all--it's _Bunkum_.Do you jist go and mesmerise John Russell, and Macauley, and the otherofficers of the regiment of Reformers, and then take the awkward squadof recruits--fellers that were made drunk with excitement, and thenenlisted with the promise of a shillin', which they never got, thesargeants having drank it all; go and mesmerise them all, from GeneralRussell down to Private Chartist, clap 'em into a caterwaulin' orcatalapsin' sleep, or whatever the word is, and make 'em tell thesecrets of their hearts, as Dupotet did the Clear-voyancing gall, andjist hear what they'll tell you.

  "Lord John will say--'I was sincere!' (and I believe on my soul he was.He is wrong beyond all doubt, but he is an honest man, and a clever man,and if he had taken his _own_ way more, and given Powlet Thompson _his_less, he would a' been a great colony secretary; and more's the pityhe is in such company. He'll get off his beam ends, and righthimself though, yet, I guess.) Well, he'd say--'I was sincere, I wasdisinterested; but I am disappointed. I have awakened a pack of hungryvillains who have sharp teeth, long claws, and the appetite of thedevil. They have swallered all I gave 'em, and now would eat me upwithout salt, if they could. Oh, that I could hark back! _there is nosatisfyin' a movement party_.'

  "Now what do the men say, (I don't mean men of rank, but the men inthe ranks),--'Where's all the fine things we were promised when Reformgained the day?' sais they, 'ay, where are they? for we are wuss offthan ever, now, havin' lost all our old friends, and got bilked by ournew ones tarnationly. What did all their fine speeches end in at last?Bunkum; damn the thing but Bunkum.

  "But that aint the wust of it, nother. Bunkum, like lyin', is plaguy aptto make a man believe his own bams at last. From telling 'em so often,he forgets whether he grow'd 'em or dreamt 'em, and so he stands'right up on end, kisses the book, and swears to 'em, as positive as theIrishman did to the gun, which he said he know'd ever since it was apistol. Now, _that's Bunkum_.

  "But to get back to what we was a talkin' of, did you ever hear such badspeakin' in your life, now tell me candid? because if you have, I neverdid, that's all. Both sides was bad, it aint easy to say which is wus,six of one and half a dozen of t'other, nothin to brag of nary way. Thatgovernment man, that spoke in their favour, warn't his speech rich?

  "Lord love you! I aint no speaker, I never made but one speech since Iwas raised, and that was afore a Slickville legislatur, and then I brokedown. I know'd who I was a talkin' afore; they was men that had cuttheir eye-teeth, and that you could'nt pull th
e wool over their eyes,nohow you could fix it, and I was young then. Now I'm growed up, Iguess, and I've got my narves in the right place, and as taught as adrum; and I _could_ speak if I was in the House o' Commons, that's afact. If a man was to try there, that was worth any thin', he'd find hewas a flute without knowin' it. They don't onderstand nothin' but Latinand Greek, and I'd buoy out them sand banks, keep the lead agoin', stickto the channel, and never take ground, I know. The way I'd cut wateraint no matter. Oh Solomon! what a field for good speakin' that questionwas to-night, if they only had half an eye, them fellers, and whata'most a beautiful mess they made of it on both sides!

  "I ain't a vain man, and never was. You know, Squire, I hante a mosselof it in my composition; no, if you was to look at me with a ship'sglass you wouldn't see a grease spot of it in me. I don't think any ofus Yankees is vain people; it's a thing don't grow in our diggins. Wehave too much sense in a giniral way for that; indeed if we wanted any,we couldn't get none for love nor money, for John Bull has a monopolyof it. He won't open the trade. It's a home market he looks to, and thebest of it is, he thinks he hante none to spare.

  "Oh, John Bull, John Bull, when you are full rigged, with your whitecravat and white waistcoat like Young England, and have got yourgo-to-meetin' clothes on, if you ain't a sneezer, it's a pity, that'sall. No, I ain't a vain man, I despise it, as I do a nigger; but,Squire, what a glorious field the subject to-night is for a man thatknows what's what, and was up to snuff, ain't it? Airth and seas! if Iwas there, I could speak on either side; for like Waterloo it's a fairfield; it's good ground for both parties. Heavens what a speech I couldmake! I'd electrify 'em and kill 'em dead like lightnin', andthen galvanise 'em and fetch' em to life agin, and then give themexhiliratin' gass and set 'em a larfin', till they fairly wet themselvesagin with cryin'. Wouldn't it be fun, that's all? I could sting Peelso if I liked, he'd think a galley nipper had bit him, and he'd springright off the floor on to the table at one jump, gout or no gout, ravin'mad with pain and say, 'I'm bit thro' the boot by Gosh;' or if I wasto take his side, for I care so little about the British, all sides isalike to me, I'd make them Irish members dance like ravin', distractin'bed bugs. I'd make 'em howl, first wicked and then dismal, I know.

  "But they can't do it, to save their souls alive; some has it in 'em andcan't get it out, physic 'em as you would, first with vanity, and thenwith office; others have got a way out, but have nothin' to drive thro'the gate; some is so timid, they can't go ahead; and others are in suchan infarnal hurry, they spend the whole time in false starts.

  "No, there, is no good oratory to parliament now, and the English bragso, I doubt if it ever was so good, as they say it was in old times. Atany rate, it's all got down to "Bunkum" now. It's makin' a speech fornewspapers and not for the House. It's to tell on voters and not onmembers. Then, what a row they make, don't they? Hear, hear, hear;divide, divide, divide; oh, oh, oh; haw, haw, haw. It tante muchdifferent from stump oratory in America arter all, or speakin' off awhiskey barrel, is it? It's a sort of divil me-kear-kind o' audience;independent critters, that look at a feller full in the face, as sarcyas the divil; as much as to say, 'Talk away, my old 'coon, you won'talter me, I can tell you, it's all _Bunkum_.'

  "Lord, I shall never forget poor old Davy Crocket's last speech; therewas no "bunkum" in that. He despised it; all good shots do, they aimright straight for the mark and hit it. There's no shootin' round thering, with them kinder men. Poor old feller, he was a great hunter; agreat shot with the rifle, a great wit, and a great man. He didn't leavehis _span_ behind him, when he slipt off the handle, I know.

  "Well he stood for an election and lost it, just afore he left theStates; so when it was over, he slings his powder horn on, over hisshoulders, takes his "Betsey," which was his best rifle, onder his arm,and mounts on a barrel, to talk it into his constituents, and take leaveof 'em.

  "'Feller citizens,' sais he, 'we've had a fair stand-up fight for it,and I'm whipped, that are a fact; and thar is no denyin' of it. I'vecome now to take my leave of you. You may all go to H--l, and I'll go toTexas.'

  "And he stepped right down, and went over the boundary, and jined thepatriots agin Mexico, and was killed there.

  "Why it will never be forgot, that speech. It struck into the bull's eyeof the heart. It was noble. It said so much in a few words, and leftthe mind to fill the gaps up. The last words is a sayin' now, andalways will be, to all etarnity. Whenever a feller wants to shew howindifferent he is, he jist sais, 'you may go to (hem, hem, you know,)and I'll go to Texas.' There is no _Bunkum_ in that, Squire.

  "Yes, there is no good speakin' there, speakin' is no use. Everyfeller is pledged and supports his party. A speech don't alter no man'sopinions; yes it _may_ alter his _opinions_, but it don't alter hisvote, that ain't his'n, it's his party's. Still, there is some creditin a good speech, and some fun too. No feller there has any ridicule; hehas got no ginger in him, he can neither crack his whip, nor lay it on;he can neither cut the hide nor sting it. Heavens! if I was there I andI'm sure it's no great boastin' to say I'm better than such fellers, asthem small fry of white bait is. If I was there, give me a good subjectlike that to-night, give me a good horn of lignum vitae--"

  "Lignum vitae--what's that?"

  "Lord-o-massy on us! you don't know nothin', Squire. Where have you beenall your born days, not to know what lignum vitae is? why lignum vitae,is hot brandy and water to be sure, pipin' hot, scald an iron pot amost,and spiced with cloves and sugar in it, stiff enough to make a tea-spoonstand up in it, as straight as a dead nigger. Wine ain't no good, itgoes off as quick as the white beads off of champaign does, and thenleaves a stupid head-ache behind it. But give me the subject and a hornof lignum vitae (of the wickedest kind), and then let a feller rile me,so as to get my back up like a fightin' cat's, and I'll tell youwhat I'd do, I'd sarve him as our Slickville boys sarve the cows toCalifornia. One on 'em lays hold of the tail, and the other skins heras she runs strait an eend. Next year, it's all growed ready for anotherflayin'. Fact, I assure you. Lord! I'd skin a feller so, his hide wouldnever grow agin; I'd make a caution of him to sinners, I know.

  "Only hear them fellers now talk of extendin' of the representation;why the house is a mob now, plaguy little better, I assure you. Like thehouse in Cromwell's time, they want "Sam Slick's" purge. But talkin'of mobs, puts me in mind of a Swoi-ree, I told you I'd describe that toyou, and I don't care if I do now, for I've jist got my talkin' tacksaboard. A Swoi-ree is--

  "We'll talk of that some other time, Mr. Slick," said I; "it is now neartwo o'clock, I must retire."

  "Well, well," said he, "I suppose it is e'en a'most time to be a movin'.But, Squire, you are a Britisher, why the plague don't you get into thehouse? you know more about colony matters than the whole bilin' of" themput together, quite as much about other things, and speak like a--"

  "Come, come, Mr. Slick," said I, rising and lighting my bed-room candle,"it is now high time to bid you good night, for you are beginning totalk _Bunkum_."