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which the figures count up to four thousand. Four thousand! exclaims the President. Yes, four thousand; and the list is growing every hour. Nothing is easier than to make such lists. You have only to ask for ten thousand; Packard and Pinchback will be able to supply them in a week. You think the figures incorrect? The figures may be true enough. Violence is common on the Gulf of Mexico, where a civilized race is fighting with two savage races; but the question is-how far theo dine at a common table in Boston and Chicago! I tell you we shall get on better in New Orleans when we are left alone. On coming from the Senate, where the Members are still flaming out against the President's policy in Louisiana, we meet Pinchback in the lobby. Cheated, sah, he bawls at me; cheated, sah. The Senators reject my papers! It is all dat Kellogg, sah! Has not Governor Kellogg signed your papers properly? Gubnor Kellogg! He gubnor! Dat Kellogg is a rascal, sah. H
nt, everything good and fine in General Grant is overlooked, even his genius as a captain and his services in the field. It is a great misfortune for a soldier to have won his laurels in domestic strife. One half the nation hates him for his talent, and the second half desires to bury him and his services in oblivion. If Naseby and Dunbar had been fought in France instead of in England and Scotland, Cromwell would not have been without his statue. What German ever mentions Waldburg? What Gaul is proud of Guise? Yet hardly any Cavalier denied that Cromwell was a great soldier; and an Englishman cannot hear without surprise and pain that the man who captured Donelson, Vicksburg, and Richmond is not a great soldier. Sheridan, says the President, returning to his lieutenant, is a man of drill and order, who understands the South. But the public have mistaken Sheridan, and they will not see his actions in the proper light. Without saying so in words, he seems to mean that Sher
Stephen B. Packard (search for this): chapter 18
Orleans. The state of things in that section is unbearable, says the President, brightening up. Here, in this cabinet, I have a list made out by General Sheridan of three thousand murders and attempts at murder in Louisiana. I have seen a later list, in which the figures count up to four thousand. Four thousand! exclaims the President. Yes, four thousand; and the list is growing every hour. Nothing is easier than to make such lists. You have only to ask for ten thousand; Packard and Pinchback will be able to supply them in a week. You think the figures incorrect? The figures may be true enough. Violence is common on the Gulf of Mexico, where a civilized race is fighting with two savage races; but the question is-how far these murders and attempts at .murder have their sources in political passion? Why, puts in Colonel Grant, there were three thousand political murders in Texas last year; three thousand murders of Negroes in a single State in one year
e, nepotism, venality-and the comic papers bristle with insults and assaults. In one of these prints a naughty boy, climbing into Uncle Sam's pantry to reach some third term preserve, upsets habeas corpus jam, for which, being caught in the fact, he is soundly whipped on the back. One large cartoon, by Matt Morgan, has the title: Grant's Last Blow at Louisiana. A handsome female figure mounts the steps of the Capitol with a petition. Grant .comes out to meet her, with his two mastiffs, Phil and Belknap, and upbraids her: You have dared to despise the masters I put over you; you have the temerity to wish to govern yourself. I whipped you once. You have no rights that a soldier is bound to respect. To which abuse Louisiana objects: I am a Free State. I obey the Federal law. I am suffering for law and peace. I merely wish to rule myself under the constitution. Constitution! cries the armed ruler, plunging his dagger into her heart, I am your constitution. In the passion
moodily, except the clippings made for me by Babcock. General Babcock is the Private Secretary. This saying of the President is no joke. General Grant never opens a book or peeps into a paper; yet he cannot keep his eyes off caricatures of himself. Opponents, well aware of his weakness, sting and flout him through the eye. Here squats the President in a nursery, with a. wooden horse, a paper crown, marked Caesar, and a box of toy bricks, which he is trying to build into a throne. Senator Kernan, a democrat, addresses him-speaking for the coming host of Democrats : Oh, mighty Caesar! Dost thou lie so low? Here Uncle Sam, in the character of a pedlar, struts into the White House, with a coffin on his shoulder, which he tilts against the wall. The coffin is inscribed: Third term. Uncle Sam points to his wares, and asks the President: You want a third term? Great pains are taken by the President's family to hide the coarser things from him. It is a common pleasantry for Amer
to have won his laurels in domestic strife. One half the nation hates him for his talent, and the second half desires to bury him and his services in oblivion. If Naseby and Dunbar had been fought in France instead of in England and Scotland, Cromwell would not have been without his statue. What German ever mentions Waldburg? What Gaul is proud of Guise? Yet hardly any Cavalier denied that Cromwell was a great soldier; and an Englishman cannot hear without surprise and pain that the man wCromwell was a great soldier; and an Englishman cannot hear without surprise and pain that the man who captured Donelson, Vicksburg, and Richmond is not a great soldier. Sheridan, says the President, returning to his lieutenant, is a man of drill and order, who understands the South. But the public have mistaken Sheridan, and they will not see his actions in the proper light. Without saying so in words, he seems to mean that Sheridan is suffering from the general but unjust suspicion under which his Government lies. If so, the President is right. The odium is undoubtedly great; yet Gr
myself under the constitution. Constitution! cries the armed ruler, plunging his dagger into her heart, I am your constitution. In the passion of the moment, everything good and fine in General Grant is overlooked, even his genius as a captain and his services in the field. It is a great misfortune for a soldier to have won his laurels in domestic strife. One half the nation hates him for his talent, and the second half desires to bury him and his services in oblivion. If Naseby and Dunbar had been fought in France instead of in England and Scotland, Cromwell would not have been without his statue. What German ever mentions Waldburg? What Gaul is proud of Guise? Yet hardly any Cavalier denied that Cromwell was a great soldier; and an Englishman cannot hear without surprise and pain that the man who captured Donelson, Vicksburg, and Richmond is not a great soldier. Sheridan, says the President, returning to his lieutenant, is a man of drill and order, who understands t
h friction, the close contact, and the hot competition of an Anglo-Saxon? Higher races than the African are dying in this fierce contention. Where is the Pict, the Cymri, and the Gael? Where, on American soil, are the Six Nations, the Horse Indians, the Mexicans? What facts in natural history suggest that Negroes are exceptions to a general rule? The strong advance, the fit survive. Are Negroes stronger to advance, and fitter to survive than Whites? In going to the Capitol with Senator Fowler, we meet Tom Chester, a Negro of pure blood, from New Orleans, whose acquaintance I made some years since, in our salad days. Chester was a student of the Middle Temple when I was eating mutton at the Inner Temple. Called to the English bar, he went to New Orleans, where he has practised ever since. He sails to Europe now and then, and we have met in good houses, of the revolutionary sort, tenanted by Polish, French, and German refugees. Are you a Kelloggite? No! A native of t
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