Chapter XI (1)

On a gentle knoll, a few hundred yards from the negro quarters, and in the midst of a grove of pines, whose soft brown tassels covered the ground all around it, stood the negro meetinghouse. It was built of unhewn logs, its crevices chinked with clay, and was large enough to seat about two hundred persons. Though its exterior resembled a backwoods barn, its interior had a neat and tasteful appearance. Evergreen boughs hid its rough beams and bare shingled roof, and long wreaths of pine leaves hung in graceful festoons from its naked walls and narrow windows. On the two sides of a wide aisle, which served to separate the sheep on the right hand from the goats on the left, were long rows of benches, with hard board bottoms, and rough open backs, and beyond them, divided from the rest of the interior by a rustic railing, was the 'family pew,' an enclosure about twelve feet square, neatly carpeted, and furnished with half a dozen arm chairs. Opposite to this was a platform elevated three steps from the floor, and on it stood a rustic settee, a large easy chair, and a modest desk covered with green baize, and decorated with small sprigs of evergreen. On this desk rested a large Bible.

The enormous seashell which served as a bell to this 'house of prayer,' was sending its last blast in long echoes through the old trees, when, with Mrs. Preston and the children, I elbowed an opening through the thick group of grinning Africans that blocked the doorway, and 'worked a passage' down the crowded aisle to the family enclosure. Seating myself in one of its cane-bottomed seats, I glanced around on the assemblage. Such a gathering of woolly heads I had never seen. Every plantation within a circuit of five miles had sent in a representation, till the benches, the aisle, the small area around the pulpit, and the open space near the doorway, were all densely packed. On the left, the men, in gaudy cravats and many-colored waistcoats, were chatting merrily together, and enjoying themselves as heartily as a parcel of Yankees at a clambake; and on the right, the women, in red and yellow turbans, and flaming shawls and neckerchiefs, were bobbing about and flaunting their colors, like so many dolphins sporting in the sunshine. Preston was seated in the lone chair at the back of the pulpit, and Boss Joe and Black Jack occupied the settee near him. The latter shortly rose to open the services, and, in a moment, a deep silence fell on the noisy multitude. The old preacher had carefully combed his thin wool into a pyramid on the top of his head, and he looked, dressed in glossy black pants, longtailed blue coat, ruffled shirt, and high shirt collar, like a stuffed specimen at an exhibition of wax figures. Stepping rather unsteadily to the front of the platform, he flourished his red cotton bandanna, and spreading his huge claws over the large Bible, said:

'Dear bred'rin, leff us begin de worship ob de Lord by singin':

'From all dat dwell below de skies
Leff de Creator's praise arise.''

A half dozen darky fiddlers at the left of the pulpit tuned their strings, and then the whole assemblage rose and burst into that grand old hymn. As its last echoes were dying away, Joe got up, and opening the large Bible, read, in a clear, mellow voice, a portion of the one hundred and nineteenth Psalm. When he had concluded, the old darky again came forward.

Gazing complacently around on the audience for a moment, he drawled out: 'My bred'rin, leff us raise our hearts to de Lord.' The whole congregation then kneeled, and Jack, closing his eyes, clenching his hands together, and throwing his head back, until his nose came nearly on a line with the roof of the building, 'lifted up his voice' and prayed.

After the fashion of very many white preachers, he began by telling the Lord all about Himself; all He had ever done, and all He is going to do; how long He had lived, and how long He is going to live; how great He is--'taller dan de mountin's, and bigger dan de seas.' How He made the world in six days, and then, 'gittin' tired, rested on de sevenfh;' How He formed man out of the dust of the ground, and then out of his rib formed woman; how the woman tempted the man, and he fell, and how woman has 'raised Cain' on the earth ever since. How He sent the flood, and how Noah builded the ark; how Noah axed all the wild 'critters' into it, and how they all came in two by two, and how Noah and the wild beasts lay down lovingly together, till the 'wet spell' was over. How He chose the Jews--a meaner race than the 'pore whites'--to be his peculiar people; and how that proves His boundless love and unlimited goodness; 'fur no oder man in all creashun would hab taken _dem_ folks up, no how.' How Moses, when he came down from the Mount, 'stumbled and broke de law; and how 'ebery one of us dat hab come inter de worle sense, hab stumbled and broke de law, 'case he did,' How Noah, though he was a white man, and had a white wife, begat a black son; and how that black son was a great sinner, and how all his descendants have taken after him, and been mighty big sinners ever since.

Then he described the sinners, particularly the black sinners present; and if half of what he said was true, every one of them deserved to be sold 'down Soufh,' and kept on cold hominy and hoecake all the rest of his days.

The prayer was a strange mixture of absurdity, presumption, and profanity, and I felt relieved to hear his long 'amen,' and to see Joe rise and again approach the pulpit.

Requesting some one present to raise a few of the windows (I took occasion, afterward, to thank him for that very considerate thought), Joe opened the Bible, and said: 'My friends, I am gwine to talk ter you from de tex, 'An' dey drew an' lifted up Joseph out ob de pit, an' sold Joseph to the Ishmaelites fur twenty pieces ob silver, an' dey brought Joseph inter Egypt.'

'You all knows,' he continued, 'de story ob Joseph an' his bred'rin; how dey wus raised up by dar fader Jacob in a wile country, whar dar warn't no schools, an' no 'telligence, an' no larnin'; and how his fader lub'd Joseph more dan all ob his bred'rin, an' make fur him a coat ob many colors. But p'raps you don't know dat de Lord lub Joseph a great sight better'n his fader did, an' 'case He lub him so, dat He hardened de hearts ob his bred'rin agin him, till dey sole him to de Ishmaelites--de slavetraders ob dem days, to be taken down inter Egypt. An' p'raps you don't know dat Egypt wus a great country, whar dar wus schools, an' churches, an' great libraries ob books, an' all manner ob sciences; an' dat Joseph wus made de lord ob all dat country, an' dat finarly he got his fader, an' his bred'rin, an' dar wifes, an' all dar little ones, to come down dar, an' stay; whar, dough de tasks war sometimes hard, an' dey hed to 'arn dar bred by de sweat ob dar brow, dey could git knowledge an' larnin'. An' p'raps, too, you don't know dat de chil'ren ob Israel, who war de chil'ren ob Joseph an' his bred'rin, when dey'd staid down dar in Egypt de 'pointed time, war taken by de Lord inter de lan' ob Canaan, which was a lan' 'flowin' wid milk and honey;' and dat dey war gib'n dat lan' far dar possession. Now, my friends,' and he paused and looked around on the congregation, 'de story ob Joseph am de story ob de brack man; _he_ hab been taken out ob de pit; _he_ hab been sole fur twenty pieces ob silver; _he_ hab been brought inter Egypt, an', bless de Lord, _he_ am bound fur de lan' ob Canaan.

'He hab been taken out ob de pit. A pit, my friends, am a dark place, whar de sun neber shine, an' de light neber come; an' Africa, de country whar our faders an' our gran'faders come from--am a pit; fur de darkness cobers dat lan', an' gross darkness de people dareof. Dey hab no cloes--dey lib in cabins made ob clay, an' in holes in de groun'--dey kill an' eat one anoder, an' dey'm allers at war wid one anoder. But de white man he gwoe dar, an' he buy 'em fur twenty pieces ob silver--dat's' zactly de price--twenty silver dollars--dey pay dat fur 'em up ter dis day--dem pore, ign'rant folks won't take nuffin' but silver. Well, de white man buy 'em, and he fotch 'em to dis country, which am like de lan' ob Egypt, full ob schools, ob churches, ob larnin,' an' ob all manner ob good tings. Shore, we hab to wuck hard har; some ob us hab to bear heaby burdens, an' to make bricks w'en dey gib us no straw to make 'em wid; but we am in de lan' ob Egypt, whar we hab knowledge ob de Lord; whar de gospil am preach to us, an' whar we kin fine out de rode to de lan' ob Canaan. (To be shore, we karn't all larn out ob de books; but book larnin' neber make a man, no how.) Yas, my friends, yere we kin fine out de road to de lan' ob Canaan; an' do ye know what dat lan' ob Canaan, dat'm waitin' fur de brack man, am? Do ye 'spose it am a lan' whar de days am hot, an' de nights am cole; whar we'll hoe de cotton, an' gader de turpentine, an' cut de shingles in de swamp? whar we'll wuck till we drop down; whar we'll hunger an' furst? whar de fever will burn in our veins, an' de nager will rattle our bones as de corn am rattled in de hopper? No, my friends, 'tain't no lan' like dat! It am de habitation on high, de city builded ob de Lord, de eberlasting kingdom founded by de Eternal God, who made heaben an' 'arth, de sea, an' all dat in dem is! Oh, tink ob dat, my friends, an' hab courage! Tink ob dat when you'm a faint an' a weary, an' leff you' hearts be glad, an' you' souls rejoice in hope. Fur dat lan' ain't 'spressly fur de white man--it am fur de brack man, too; an' ebery one ob us, eben de brackest, kin git to it ef we'll jess foller der road--ef we'll jess do our duty, bear meekly our burdens, an' lean humbly on de arm ob de Lord. I knows it am so, my friends. I _knows_ it am so, fur de oder night, when de deep sleep fell upon me, I dreamed a dream. I fought dar come to my cabin, an' stood aside ob my bed, a great white angel, wid feet dat touch de 'arth, but wid head dat reach unto de heabens. He wore raiment shinin' like silver, an' on his head wus a girdle ob stars. His face wus dazzlin' as de sun, an' his eyes war like flamin' fire. He look at me, an' he say: 'Joseph, come up hither!' He reach out his hand an' he lift me up--above de 'arth--above de clouds--above de stars--'way up to de high heabens, whar am de sperrits ob just men made perfect, who hab been redeemed from among men, who hab gone fru great tribulation, whose garments hab been washed clean in de blood ob de Lamb! 'Dis,' he say, 'am de city ob de livin' God, de heabenly Jerusalem, whose foundations am saffomires, whose walls am silver, whose streets am gold, whose houses am jewels an' all precious stones! Here de sun neber sets. Here de storm an' de hurricane neber come, an' here, Joseph, am a dwellin' prepared fur you--'here, ef you'm faithful an' 'bedient, you shill come when you' wuck on de 'arth am ober!'

The speaker had been gradually warming with his subject till he uttered this last sentence, when his voice trembled, his face glowed, and his upturned eye seemed gazing on the ineffable glories of the land he was describing. A stillness like that of death fell on the assemblage, and the simple blacks, hanging breathlessly on his words, looked up to where Joe's hand was pointing, as if they too had caught the vision on which his eyes were feasting. In a moment, he continued:

'I looked round, an' I saw dat beautiful city; I breafed its air; I walked its streets; I hard its music--de neber endin' song which its countless people send up to de throne ob de Great Father; an' I say to de angel: 'Do brack folks lib yere? Kin _dey_ come to dis beautiful country?' an' he say: You shill see.' Den he lead me fru dose shinin' streets, out inter de open fiel's whar war pleasant pastures, greener dan any on de 'arth, an' still waters, dat sparkle in de sun, jess like missus' diamonds in de light ob de fire.' (I did not know that Mrs. Preston wore diamonds--she certainly had not worn them in my presence.) 'He lead me out till we come to a great woods, whar fount'ins war playin', an' birds war singin', an' flowers war growin', an' de air wus full of fragrance; an' dar I seed a great crowd ob people gadered togeder, a listenin' to one dat wus a talkin' to 'em. Dar wus Ab'ram, an' Isaac, an' Jacob,--dar wus Moses, an' Joseph, au' Samuel--dar wus David, an' Solomon, an' de prophets--dar wus Paul, an' John, an' Peter,--dar wus 'most all de great an' good men who hab libed in de worle; an' dar too, right aside ob de one dat wus speakin', wus de blessed Saviour, wid de woun' in his side, an' de print ob de nails in his hands. An' who do you tink wus a talkin' dar, to all dem great people? Who do you tink wus fought good 'nuff to stan' by de side ob de blessed Saviour? It wus a brack man! It wus a brack man, who, down yere had been ole, an' lame, an' blind, an' ob no account--so no account he wouldn't sell fur nuffin'. He wus tellin' dem great folks ob de great lub ob de Lord to him, an' dar tears rolled down as dey hard him. He tole 'em how he use to lib in Car'lina--how he wus a slave; how he'd 'most nuffin' to eat; how he wus wucked in de swamp; how, 'fore de sun rose, an' 'way inter de night, he use to stan' in de mud an' de water, till his bones war sore, his heart wus weary, his soul wus faint. How his massa flog him, 'cause he couldn't wuck no more, till de blood run down his back, an' it wus a ridged like de ploughed groun'. How his wife wus whipped to death afore his bery eyes; how his chil'ren--all 'cept one--war sole 'way from him; how dat one 'bused him, an' flogged him, an' tormented him, till he wus jess ready to die. How, when his hair wus white, his body wus bent, his strength wus gone, an' he was ole, an' lame, an' blind, his massa drove him 'way, and make him shirk fur himseff. How he beg in de roads; how he sleep in de woods; in de cole an' de rain, till a good gemman take him in, gib him a bed, tend to his wants, an' pray ober him when he die. He tole 'em all dat; but he say dat fru it all, he hab peace; fru it all, de Lord wus good to him; fru it all, he felt His lub in his heart; fru it all, de blessed Redeemer wus wid him; fru it all, he knowed dat mercy an' salvation am in de heabens! An' DEY AM DAR! Dey took him 'way, 'way from de 'arth; 'way from his suffrin's an' his sorrers down yere, to joy, an' peace, an' rest up dar. Up dar, whar all great an' good men call him brudder--whar de Lord Jehobah call him son, an' whar de blessed Saviour will leff him stan' at his right hand, foreber and eber. An' he, my friends, wus a BRACK MAN! An' who do you 'spose he wus? Who do you 'spose he wus?'

He paused for a moment as he repeated the question, and then, in a slow, impressive manner, continued:

'It wus ole Cale--Cunnel Dawsey's Cale; an' dat good gemman dat take him in and pray ober him when he die--wus _my_ master--yas, bless de Lord, he wus MY master!'

As Joe uttered these last words, Preston bowed his head, his wife sobbed aloud, and the black people gave out a low cry, as sad as the wail which their own mourners breathe over the dead. Fixing his eyes on a tall, stalwart negro in the audience, the preacher continued:

'An' he wus _you_' fader, Jake! You fader, who, when he wus down yere, you 'bused, an' persecuted, an' treated like a dog, but who up dar am fought worthy to stand at de Saviour's right hand! I _knows_ it wus him, fur I seed him, I talked wid him, an' he gabe me suffin' to tell you. Stand up now, an' yere what he hab to say.'

The black man's face assumed a dogged expression; he moved uneasily on his seat, but showed no inclination to rise. In a firm, imperious tone, Joe again called out to him:

'Stand up, I say! Folks like you' fader am now, don't talk to sech as you when dey'm sittin' down: stand up, or I'll gib you what Cunnel Dawsey neber gabe you in all you' life.'

The negro reluctantly rose. Every eye was fixed upon him as Joe continued:

'He ax me to say to you, Jake, dat he lubs you--lubs you bery much--dat he fully an' freely furgibs you fur all de wrong you eber done him; fur all de tears an' de sorrer you eber cause him. And he say to me: 'Tell Jake dat I'se been down dar an' seed him. I'se seed how he shirk his wuck; how he 'buse his wife an' chil'ren; how he hate his massa, an' mean to kill him--(dough his massa am hard on him, 'tain't no 'scuse fur dat). How he swar, an' lie, an' steal, an' teach all de oder brack folks to do de same. How he'm no fought ob his soul; no fought ob dyin'; no fought ob whar he'm gwine when de Lord's patience am clean worn out wid him. Tell him dat ef he gwo on dis way, he'll neber see his ole fader no more; neber see his ole mudder, an' his little brudders, who am up yere, too, no more; neber come to dis fine country, but be shet out inter outer darkness, whar am weepin' an' wailin' an' knashin' ob teeth. Oh! tell him dis, an 'treat him, by all his fader's keer fur him when he wus a chile; by all his lub fur him now; by all de goodness ob de Lord, who hab borne wid him fru all dese long years, to turn round--to turn round, NOW, an' sot his face towards dis blessed country, whar he kin hab joy foreber! Tell him, too, dat ef he'll do dis, dat his ole fader'll leab his happy home an' come down dar an' holp him; holp him at his wuck; holp him to bar ebery load; gib him strength when he'm weak; hole up his feet when he'm weary; watch ober him day and night, all de time, till he'm ready to come up yere, an' lib wid de Saviour foreber! Tell him--'

Joe paused, for a wild cry echoed through the building, and the negro fell in strong convulsions to the floor.

A scene of indescribable excitement and confusion followed, during which the black was carried out, and, more dead than alive, laid upon the ground. When quiet was somewhat restored, Preston made a short and feeling prayer, and then, after giving out a hymn, he dismissed the congregation with the usual benediction.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: 'Scrape' is the turpentine gathered from the face of the pine. On old trees, the yearly incision is made high above the boxes, and the sap, in flowing down, passes over and adheres to the previously scarified surface. It is thus exposed to the sun, which evaporates the more volatile and valuable portion, and leaves only the hard, which, when manufactured, is mostly rosin. 'Scrape' turpentine is only about half as valuable as 'dip.']

[Footnote 2: "Virgin" Turpentine is twice as valuable as "Dip."]

THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE REBELLION.

II.

The sturdy oak which is not prostrated by the storm that assails it is made thereby to take deeper hold, and to draw the sustenance for a larger growth from the torn and loosened soil into which it has opportunity to thrust new roots and tendrils. Reinvigorated by the resisted violence, its branches shoot upward to the skies and extend themselves laterally with majestic breadth. It gradually gains strength and becomes so firmly rooted in its place that it bids defiance to the repeated tempests vainly striving to overthrow it, and stands for centuries, sublime in its unconquerable might and proud endurance. Our noble Union, fiercely assailed in its early maturity, before its strength has been fully developed, now bends before the hurricane of civil war, swaying to and fro with fearful and threatening movements at every paroxysm of the tremendous blast. We look on with intense agony of suspense, to see whether it will stand the terrible ordeal, and outlive the unexampled convulsion of social elements in which its strength and endurance have been so sorely tested. Instinctively we know that if it survive the present momentous crisis, successfully resisting the attack of the enemy which assails it so furiously, its foundations will be immensely strengthened, and its power of resistance in future dangers will be indefinitely augmented. Prolonged and permanent existence, with assured security and repose, will be the best and most indisputable result of its triumph. Though shaken and torn by the deadly assault, and to a certain extent deprived of its usual resources, in the very effort of resistance it will have put forth new connections, which returning peace will multiply and strengthen. The immense demand on its energy and enterprise will have aroused all its slumbering capacities and stimulated them to the highest point of exertion. Under the necessity of self-preservation, the nation will have been fully awakened to a sense of its gigantic power, which, when employed in the benign pursuits of peace, will be sufficient speedily to restore its prosperity to even more than former splendor. The resources of our broad domain are so unbounded, and the courage and persistence of our people so indomitable, that even the sacrifices and losses of so great a war will make no serious impression on the destined career of this youthful and growing nation. So long as the vigor and elasticity of the popular force is not absolutely overpowered and suppressed, the reaction will only be so much the stronger for all the mighty pressure which has been placed upon it. Returning strength, so invigorated and redoubled by repose, will enable the people to bear the burden patiently, and within a comparatively brief period to throw it off entirely; and then they will bound forward with renewed energy in that race of unexampled progress which has been sadly interrupted, but not by any means wholly arrested.

If peace had continued, and especially if no civil war had occurred to desolate our country, the labors of the population would have been directed chiefly to the increase of wealth, and to the improvement which always accompanies material prosperity. It would be a monstrous error to say that the interruption of these occupations has not been a calamity of the most serious character. Yet is it not altogether unmixed with good. Indeed, it is by no means certain that, in the circumstances which gave rise to the war, there was not an actual necessity, of a moral nature, which made it on the whole advantageous to arouse the nation to this gigantic strife, and thus to exchange its ordinary struggle for wealth into a combat for a momentous principle. Is it questionable whether, in every case, the establishment of such a principle is not the most important of all objects, and whether every other pursuit and occupation ought not to be made secondary to it? In the sacrifices and sufferings which a nation undergoes for the sake of asserting an important moral or political truth, there is always a wholesome virtue that in some measure redeems the brutality and violence which are the inseparable accompaniments of all wars, and which peculiarly characterize the history of civil wars, in every age and country. It is not merely the elevated and unselfish sentiment of patriotism, as known in former ages, and expressed in the noble sentiment, _dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_, which, engenders lofty impulses and nourishes the rugged virtues of the soldier in the heart; but the still higher sentiment of love for humanity and universal freedom--a sentiment wholly unknown in what are called the heroic ages--sanctifies the labors, the wounds, and the glorious death of the martyrs who struggle and fall in such a contest. Men have often fought and willingly died in the cause of their country, regardless of the merits of the controversy between the opposing parties. There is a certain manliness and devotion to others in this species of patriotism, which commands respect and admiration; and this feeling of approbation rises still higher when the cause of the nation is undeniably just, and the self-sacrificing patriot is giving his life for the purchase of liberty to his country. But the highest and noblest of all exhibitions is that in which the sacrifice is made for the good of the race--for principles in which all men are alike interested, and in which the martyr can claim no peculiar advantage to himself or to his own branch of the human family. The nation which accepts war for such a cause, and wages it with all her means and energies, exhibits a moral grandeur which, in spite of misfortune, has a saving power, capable of overcoming and compensating all calamities, of whatever nature and extent. That nation cannot be overthrown--not unless the laws of the Most High himself can be subverted, and the right be made permanently to succumb to the wrong. Let it be understood, however, that this assertion is made only with reference to wars which are essentially defensive; for no nation has the right to propagate even the best and noblest principles by the power of the sword. In our case, it is true, other motives concur in moving the nation to this tremendous struggle. Not merely the rights and interests of an inferior, degraded, and suffering race appeal to our humanity; but the unity and greatness of our country, its influence abroad, and its success and prosperity at home, are all involved. It is one of many instances in which the best and highest impulses of our nature are reenforced by the dictates of the noblest and most elevated of human interests--the interests of a nation, of a continent, yea, of the world itself; for our gates are still open to the ingress of our brothers from abroad, and our immense and fertile domain, as well as our priceless institutions, are freely offered to their participation.

But, aside from the principles involved in the war, there are results of an interesting character springing from it, which are well worthy the attention of the statesman and the patriot. Two very opposite effects are produced on the minds of the men engaged in such a contest as this, or, indeed, in any contest of arms whatever, when it assumes the proportions of a regular war. The volunteering of our young men of all classes, in numbers so immense, is an extraordinary phenomenon. These soldiers by choice, many of them educated and intelligent, and impelled by deliberate considerations of principle, willingly undergo the hard labor of military training, of marches and campaigns, and the still more trying inactivity of life in camps and fortresses, in new and unfriendly regions and climates. They fearlessly face death in every ghastly form, on the battle field, by exposure in all seasons, by physical exhaustion, and by the most dreadful contagious diseases. They devote themselves unreservedly to the great cause, and in doing so exhibit the noblest spirit of self-sacrifice, and that on the grandest scale presented in history. Fortitude and courage, contempt of the most appalling dangers, disregard of suffering and privation, wounds, mutilation, and lingering death--these are the habits of soul which our citizen soldiers cultivate, and which tend to strengthen and harden the character, and to give it great moral force. The great qualities thus nurtured in the bosom of the multitudes destined soon to return to peaceful life will assuredly make a powerful impression on the whole society, which must be thoroughly pervaded with the manly virtues thence destined to be infused into it. Every man who has been conspicuous for his soldierly conduct and for the faithful performance of duty will be an object of general respect, though he may have passed unscathed through the fiery ordeal; while every maimed and wounded citizen will be regarded as bearing on his person, in his honorable scars and deficient limbs, the decorations which exalt and ennoble him in the eyes of his countrymen. Many a chivalrous deed will be recounted with pride and satisfaction, and handed down to immortality by the pen of history and poetry, and by the pencil and chisel of art. Even the undistinguished services of those who have fought in the war for the Union, and who have passed unchallenged through the fiery ordeal, will be cherished by their children, and transmitted to their remoter posterity with patriotic pride and pardonable self-satisfaction. Thus the glory of noble deeds in this memorable war will everywhere shed its lustre on the national character, and will tend to stimulate the loftiest virtues in the present and succeeding generations.

But, on the other hand, the unavoidable dissipation of military life, the vices of the camp, the brutality and want of moral sensibility engendered by the necessity of slaughter and the horrible ravages of war, will tend largely to counteract the good results already noted. Those who may be nobly disdainful of their own sufferings, will sometimes be even more regardless of the sufferings of others; and perhaps sometimes, with the natural perversion of human passion effected by civil war, will seek to avenge their own misfortunes by ungenerous rigor and cruelty toward all within their power, suspected of favoring the enemy only in thought or sentiment. Even this imperfect discrimination is too often altogether omitted, and innocent loyalty is made to suffer losses and severities which ought never to be visited on non-combatants, even though they be of the enemy. The fearful disregard of human life, and of the accumulations of human labor in the shape of property, which marks the movements of our armies in almost all quarters, and even distinguishes the conduct of some of our high officials, constitutes one of the most serious evils which attend the contest, and which will leave their natural consequences as a permanent injury to the nation. The record of these misdeeds, now disregarded in the hurry and excitement of the conflict, will hereafter confront us with terrible effect. The bad acts themselves will long continue to bear fruit after their kind, and to scatter the seeds of vice over the land. Such drawbacks, however, accompany more or less all great military operations, no matter how sacred the cause in which armies are engaged. Yet, we fear, no such example of generous and unselfish devotion to a holy cause can be found in our present experience as was exhibited by the French people in their violent and bloody revolution of 1789. The mercenary spirit has largely infected the military as well as the civil agencies of our Government. But a people struggling for great principles are compelled to use such instruments as may be at its command; and if the material of armies and their connections in civil life be often of a character to be degraded rather than elevated by the employments and experiences of war, it is nevertheless certain that these bad effects do not always, perhaps not generally, outweigh and overpower the good.

History does not present another example of large armies made up of such men as those who now constitute the defenders of the Union. For intelligence and moral worth, they are unsurpassed by the masses of any population in the civilized world, and certainly they are far superior in all respects to those usually constituting the armies of other nations. To our shame and regret, there are certainly some exceptions to this statement; but these are comparatively few, and mostly confined to those who have not enjoyed the full advantage of our noble system of universal education. In many instances, the best young men in the land have gone into the army as privates; while in the rural districts and from the Western States, the very bone and sinew of the population--the sober, steady, intelligent, industrious, and prosperous part of the people--have taken up arms in the cause of the Union, from a deliberate approval of the policy of the war on our part, and from the noblest and most unselfish motives of patriotism. The preponderance of such men in our armies evidently makes them, on the whole, susceptible to the good, rather than to the bad influences of war. Reflection, self-respect, rational views of the causes and objects of the war, and elevated motives of action, cannot fail to bring those who possess these qualities all the benefits of self-denial, of patriotic labor willingly expended, and of sacrifices made and sufferings endured in a good and noble cause. The mental cultivation and moral training of the American citizen constitute a shield, from whose solid and polished surface the missiles of temptation, which easily penetrate other defences, usually glance or rebound with harmless effect. The carnage of the battle field, the bombardment and capture of cities, and the ravages of armies, marching or in camp, which too often harden the hearts and blunt the sensibilities of the ordinary soldier, have no such effect, or, at least, a much less effect, in this particular, on the minds of humane and educated men. Hence we may fairly anticipate that the influence of this war on the men who compose the army, and who must sooner or later return to the occupations they have temporarily left, will be of a far better character than that of any war ever hitherto waged in any part of the world. No such conditions have ever heretofore existed in reference to any great national contest. Our immense volunteer army, so largely composed of intelligent and respectable men--men who are fully capable, and entitled by their votes, to influence the great measures of war or peace--presents a spectacle new and wholly unexampled in history; and the consequences of our contest to the moral and social condition of the people will be correspondingly unusual and important. We may safely assume from these considerations that the good will preponderate over the bad.

There is, however, another species of influence of a more questionable character, which is worthy of consideration in any attempt to anticipate the consequences of this extraordinary rebellion. The nature of our institutions renders them accessible to popular impulses at very brief intervals of time; and it may well be expected, that, after the conclusion of the war, especially if it be successful, a sentiment nearly universal will prevail in favor of the elevation of the men who have been conspicuous in the military service. There will be a disposition to reward the successful soldier with civic honors, and to place the conduct of the Government in the hands of men who have exhibited only a capacity to lead and handle armies. The power of the military men will in this way be prolonged. Doubtless, a great soldier may be expected to show large executive abilities, and with proper experience may well be intrusted with the management of the highest offices in our country. There are times and occasions, of which the present is a most memorable instance, when the peculiar capacities of a great military leader would be of infinite service to the cause of freedom and humanity, provided, at the same time, he should possess undoubted integrity and patriotism, without any mixture of bad ambition. A Washington, or a Jackson, in the Presidential chair at the commencement of this rebellion, would have been of inestimable value to our country, outweighing the importance of mighty armies and countless treasure; for the value both of men and money, in such emergencies, depends wholly on the skill and wisdom with which they are used and directed. If God had vouchsafed us one grand will to control the human tempest now raging around us, our noble country would have been saved from many calamities and much disgrace, such as will require hard labor and heavy sacrifices to overcome.

It is not, therefore, the probability that military men may frequently be elevated to high office that need give any apprehension to the lover of his country. But it is the almost certain prevalence of a blind and undistinguishing sentiment of caste, which will seek to control the elections in favor of the soldier under all circumstances, whether fit or unfit for the position sought. We are likely to have soldiers in all the executive offices, soldiers in the diplomatic service, in the legislative halls, and even on the bench. The danger is that the popular enthusiasm in favor of those who have served in the war will go to the extent of substituting gallantry and good conduct in the field for those very different qualifications demanded in responsible civil stations. A wound received, or a limb lost, will, in many instances, constitute a stronger recommendation for political preferment than long experience, coupled with ability and high character. This disposition to reward those who have faithfully served the country in time of war is an amiable characteristic of the American people, and proves that, in this particular at least, republics are not ungrateful. But it is clear, at the same time, that the public gratitude, thus turned into political channels, may be productive of great evil, by lowering the character of the men employed in performing public functions of importance. Already the results of our elective system have become the subject of intense anxiety in the minds of reflecting men. Notwithstanding the extensive provision made for the education of our people, of the universality and efficiency of which we justly boast, an almost equal extension of the elective franchise has not tended to improve the wisdom of the popular choice, or the character and qualifications of the men selected in latter times to fill high public offices. So seriously is this truth felt, that it is now a political problem of the first importance to devise some means by which the frequent elections in our country may be made to work more certainly and uniformly to the elevation of good and able men, who now too often shun rather than seek employment in the national service. If this indispensable improvement cannot be accomplished, our institutions are in danger of falling into contempt, as exhibiting no very great advance on the old modes of hereditary designation of political functionaries. The party machinery of the present day, adapted chiefly to the purpose of availability and the means of securing success at all hazards, is mostly responsible for the degeneracy which unquestionably characterizes the public men of this day, in comparison with those who in former times filled the same high stations. In view of these facts, it may be that the military regime about to be ushered in as a consequence of the great existing war, will of itself be an improvement, since it must be acknowledged there is some merit in the devotion and sacrifices of those who fight the battles of the Union, while it is notorious that corrupt political parties too frequently select and reward their leaders without regard to merit at all.

It may be said that there is inconsistency and contradiction in the views presented, inasmuch as the claim for remarkable intelligence and superiority in the rank and file of the army would imply too much patriotism and self-sacrifice to admit of the consequences suggested. But we must remember the immense numbers of our army, its large proportion to the whole population, the _esprit de corps_ so naturally engendered in such a body, and the powerful influence it may wield by turning the scale in our inveterate and often nicely balanced partisan contests. We must also take into consideration that well known principle of human nature, as old as government itself, which seems to impel all men possessing irresponsible power to abuse it, and employ it for their own selfish advantage. This is peculiarly the case with _classes_ which gain ascendency, as such, over the other parts of the community. Political parties in our country will surely not fail to seek alliance with the citizen soldiers at the close of the war, and to secure success by all the arts and devices which can be made available to that end. But let us hope the good sense and patriotism of our young men, their moderation and self-control, will be as conspicuous in future political campaigns, as in those more glorious ones which are yet destined to overthrow our enemies and restore our inestimable Union to its former greatness.

But it is not our purpose to confine these remarks to the loyal States and the Union armies; nor is it at all paradoxical to extend them to the region and the population controlled by the rebel government. Every good citizen, having confidence in the supremacy of right and the destiny of our country, anticipates the reunion of the States at the conclusion of the war. The bulk of the Southern army must likewise return to society, and carry with it such influence as it may derive from the peculiar character of its cause, the motives by which it is animated, and the acts, good or bad, noble or mean, which it may perform. It cannot be denied that the soldiers of the rebel army have exhibited the highest personal qualities, of daring courage, skilful enterprise, patient endurance, and the most indomitable perseverance, under difficulties apparently insuperable. Their cause is bad. The impartial judgment of mankind will pronounce it so, when the passions of the hour shall have completely subsided. But the masses of the Southern people evidently do not take this view of the war they are waging against the Government which has so long protected them, and under which they have acquired all the strength they are now ungratefully using to overthrow it. They have been artfully misled into the belief that they are engaged in a war altogether defensive--that they are fighting _pro aris et focis_--in short, that they have given themselves up to the holiest work which any people can ever be called on to undertake. Doubtless, in frequent instances, and sometimes among considerable populations, different sentiments prevail and have been entertained from the beginning. A glimmering of the truth may occasionally dawn on the minds of those who went into the contest with entire confidence in the justice of their cause. But on the whole it is vain to deny the sincerity and the deep convictions of the Southern people. Nothing less than these could have sustained them in the appalling difficulties of their position. No people ever conducted a more brilliant and successful defensive war against the vast odds, on land and sea, with which they have had to contend. Let us be sufficiently magnanimous to confess the truth, unpleasant though it be, and acknowledge that they have hitherto outmanaged us in the general conduct of the war. They have exhibited an earnestness and determination, a gallantry and devotion, worthy of the highest purposes that ever call forth the energy of struggling nations. It is vain to say they are compelled by a military despotism; for, however strong and arbitrary their government may be, it evidently rests upon the support of the people, and it could never continue the present contest against popular disaffection at home joined with the mighty invading armies of the Union.

What then are to be the results of great efforts and sacrifices in a cause which, though we believe it to be bad, they consider holy? Are their chivalrous deeds to be less ennobling to the character of Southern men, than similar ones, springing from like motives, on the part of our armies? It is the motive which gives character to all actions, and mistake or error of the most perverse kind, when arising from honest conviction, cannot alter the merit of what is done or suffered. If it be said that the assumed convictions of the Southern people are incredible, it is only necessary to look back a few centuries, in order to see the whole Christian world entertaining sentiments equally abhorrent to the enlightened conscience of the present day. The universal participation in the slave trade, and the horrible persecutions for religious heresy, which everywhere prevailed, are sad evidences of the possibility of indulging the most disastrous errors with perfect sincerity. Besides, if we consider how great a diversity of opinion prevails among the people of the loyal States, on the subject of the rebellion and its causes, it will require no great degree of credulity to induce the belief that the Southern people are impelled by deep convictions in their present struggle.

Failure and defeat on their part will cast the usual discredit on the cause which is overthrown; and in this case we do not entertain a doubt that ultimately the right will prevail, and that the discomfiture and disgrace will fall where justice would require. Men will be deeply mortified to find themselves utterly overcome, and all their brave deeds and their magnanimous sacrifices and sufferings expended in a failing and a bad cause. It will be their great misfortune that serious reflection and conviction should come to them only after these great events, and when it is too late to recall them. But it is the peculiar characteristic of contests like this, that they do eventually make clear the subjects of dispute in which they originate. All the wranglings of politicians, and all the learning and logic of contending theologians in divided churches, could never accomplish the speedy and thorough decision of contested questions which will follow this tremendous war. Bold and extra-constitutional expedients necessarily grow out of the prevailing violence. They will soon test the possibility of measures which are too great for ordinary times, and will push the existing tendencies toward fundamental change into sudden and premature development.

Physical strength and success in war are by no means fair tests of truth and principle; but in the present contest, such is the condition of our country and the character of its relations with the civilized world that, if the Union shall be restored to its former integrity, the result will give strong evidence of the righteousness of our cause. Such are the temptations to foreign interference, and such the evident disposition of the ruling dynasties in some powerful nations to destroy the influence and example of this great republic, as well as to break down her rivalry in commerce and manufactures, that nothing but a holy cause, appealing to the moral sense of mankind, could prevent the natural alliance between despotism abroad and the kindred system in the South which seeks to establish its tyranny on the ruins of our Government. Besides, the diverging systems of policy in the two sections have carried on their struggle for more than a quarter of a century, under conditions which make it demonstrable that their present inequality of strength and means is the direct consequence of these divergencies. Their long-continued emulation, passing through all the stages of envy, hatred, and political contention, has finally culminated in bloody civil war; and from the peculiar circumstances of the case, the termination of the contest, if the parties be left to themselves, will fully and fairly test the physical strength and moral force of the contending principles. The better principle, by virtue of its superior growth, will overthrow the worse and weaker one, which has relatively declined in power throughout all the long contest between the two. Enlightened convictions will grow up as the mighty conflict subsides; and institutions will be modified in conformity with the truths which are destined to appear through the blaze and smoke of battle.

Heaven forbid that we should confound moral distinctions, and place treason and rebellion on the same footing with patriotic devotion to the cause of Union and liberty. Political and moral errors, however innocent in intention, stand on the same footing, as to their consequences, with all other violations of natural law. They bring retribution inevitable; nor can the blind and ignorant partisan of wrong entirely escape the shame of his misconduct, on the ground of erroneous judgment. But let us not arrogate to ourselves a superiority of virtue, which in reality we have no just right to claim. Are we sure that, even on our side, which we consider that of truth and humanity, all our individual motives are up to the level of the great principles involved? Are we not rather, to some extent, the blind instruments of social causes, stronger than our own will, and while seeming to follow the inclination of our own enlightened minds, are we not impelled by passion and ambition in the inevitable direction indicated, and even necessitated, by the circumstances surrounding us? Are not similar influences operating on the Southern mind, and forcing it, with a compulsion equally inexorable, into the fatal current of civil war? With the masses on both sides, this is undoubtedly true. Whole communities do not engage in such disastrous strife in mere wantonness and wicked advocacy of a bad cause. Either their judgment is distorted, or their passions aroused to such an extent as to render them utterly blind to the true nature of the principles involved, and to make them believe they are acting, under the strongest provocation, for the defence of their honor, their interests, and their acknowledged rights. Every liberal mind will readily concede the existence of these sentiments and motives.

But suppose the war ended by the overthrow of the rebellion and the restoration of the Federal authority: what is to be the effect in those States which have been the theatre of the great conspiracy, whence have issued all the mighty armies which have assailed so fiercely the Constitution and Government of our fathers? Will the men who have shed their blood freely to destroy the Union ever again be brought to sustain it with sincerity and zeal? Can they be expected to acknowledge their profound error, and receive again heartily to their affections and willing obedience the authority which they have so haughtily spurned and sought to smite with utter destruction? This is a momentous question. It is the most important which can be presented to the country at the moment of its anticipated triumph, when the fearful clash of arms is about to subside and give place to the serious labor of conciliation and reconstruction. To conquer the rebellion will be, at least, to make all its aims utterly hopeless. Failure and disaster will be forever stamped upon the ideas on which the revolution has been founded, and they, with their inspiration, good or bad, will be permanently overthrown, together with the men who have used them so efficiently for the inauguration and continuance of this tremendous strife. There is wonderful power in the success of an idea, as there is a corresponding influence in the utter overthrow of its physical manifestations and efforts. A cause rendered hopeless by defeat ceases to sustain the passions which it has excited, under the influence of which it has made itself respectable and powerful. If it be founded in truth and right, it will have within itself the elements of resuscitation, and it can never become altogether hopeless. But if it have no such basis of substantial truth, its failure once is for all time. The hearts of men cannot long cling to such a cause. Its traditions even become odious, and the effort will be to ignore and forget its incidents, and to escape the discredit of having participated in its ambitious struggles.