Chapter XXX: Section 4 (6)

"_The Agent_.--`I am now fully satisfied that you are wilfully disposed to be entirely dishonest in regard to your engagements with the President, and regret that I must so report you. The talk which I have made to you must and will stand.'"

Thus, indeed, the council and the parties separated. The American government was supine, thinking, probably, that the Indians would not resist much longer; but the Indians, on the other hand, laid up large stores of powder and lead. Six months elapsed, and then the Indians were informed that they were to hear the _last_ talk of the father, the President on _this side_ of the Mississippi. On the 22nd of April, 1835, the Indians assembled, and had the following communication from General Jackson:--

"_To the Chiefs and Warriors of the Seminole Indians in Florida_.

"My Children: I am sorry to have heard that you have been listening to bad counsels. You know me, and you know that I would not deceive, nor advise you to do any thing that was unjust or injurious. Open your ears and attend to what I shall now say to you. They are the words of a friend, and the words of truth.

"The white people are settling around you. The game has disappeared from your country. Your people are poor and hungry. All this you have perceived for some time. And nearly three years ago, you made an agreement with your friend, Colonel Gadsden, acting on the part of the United States, by which you agreed to cede your lands in Florida, and to remove and join your brothers, the Creeks, in the country west of the Mississippi. You annexed a condition to this agreement, that certain chiefs, named therein, in whom you placed confidence, should proceed to the western country, and examine whether it was suitable to your wants and habits; and whether the Creeks residing there were willing to permit you to unite with them as one people, and if the persons thus sent, were satisfied on these heads, then the agreement made with Colonel Gadsden was to be in full force.

"In conformity with these provisions, the chiefs named by you proceeded to that country, and having examined it, and having become satisfied respecting its character and the favourable disposition of the Creeks, they entered into an agreement with commissioners on the part of the United States, by which they signified their satisfaction on these subjects, and finally ratified the agreement made with Colonel Gadsden.

"I now learn that you refuse to carry into effect the solemn promises thus made by you, and that you have stated to the officers of the United States, sent among you, that you will not remove to the western country.

"My children: I have never deceived, nor will I ever deceive, any of the red people. I tell you that you must go, and that you will go. Even if you had a right to stay, how could you live where you now are? You have sold all your country. You have not a piece as large as a blanket to sit down upon. What is to support yourselves, your women and children? The tract you have ceded will soon be surveyed and sold, and immediately afterwards will be occupied by a white population. You will soon be in a state of starvation. You will commit depredations upon the property of our citizens. You will be resisted, punished, perhaps killed. Now, is it not better peaceably to remove to a fine, fertile country, occupied by your own kindred, and where you can raise all the necessaries of life, and where game is yet abundant? The annuities payable to you, and the other stipulations made in your favour, will make your situation comfortable, and will enable you to increase and improve. If, therefore, you had a right to stay where you now are, still every true friend would advise you to remove. But you have no right to stay, and you must go. I am very desirous that you should go peaceably and voluntarily. You shall be comfortably taken care of and kindly treated on the road, and when you arrive in your new country, provisions will be issued to you for a year, so that you can have ample time to provide for your future support.

"But lest some of your rash young men should forcibly oppose your arrangements for removal, I have ordered a large military force to be sent among you. I have directed the commanding officer, and likewise the agent, your friend, General Thompson, that every reasonable indulgence be held out to you. But I have also directed that one-third of your people, as provided for in the treaty, be removed during the present season. If you listen to the voice of friendship and truth, you will go quietly and voluntarily. But should you listen to the bad birds that are always flying about you, and refuse to remove, I have then directed the commanding officer to remove you by force. This will be done. I pray the Great Spirit, therefore, to incline you to do what is right.

"Your friend,

"A Jackson.

"_Washington, February 16_, 1835."

Several of the Indian chiefs replied, wishing for amity but unwilling to quit; but the council was broken up by the agent, who informed them that he had been sent there to enforce the treaty: he had warriors enough to do it, and he would do it. It was the question now whether they would go of their own accord, or by force?

This determination on the part of the agent induced some of the chiefs to waver, and eventually eight principal chiefs and eight sub-chiefs signed the articles agreeing to remove; but Miconopy, the chief of the whole tribes, Jumper, the second in consequence, and three other powerful chiefs, refused. Upon this, the agent took upon himself the most unwarrantable responsibility, by saying, Miconopy was no longer chief of the nation, and that his name and the other opposing chiefs were now struck out of the council of the nation.

That such an act as this was the cause of the greatest irritation to the Seminoles there can be no doubt; and the conduct of the agent was reproved by the Secretary of War, who, in his letter, observes:--

"It is not necessary for me to enter into much detail on the subject presented by you. I understand from Mr Harris, that he communicated to you the President's views on the subject of the chiefs whom you declined to recognise in all questions connected with the removal of the Seminoles. I understand that the President deemed this course an incorrect one; and it seems to me obviously liable to strong objections. We do not assume the right of determining who shall be the chiefs in the various Indian tribes; this is a matter of internal policy which must necessarily be left to themselves. And if, when we have a grave matter for adjustment with one of the tribes, we undertake to say _it shall be_ determined by a particular class of individuals, we certainly should render ourselves obnoxious to censure. It appears to me the proper course, upon important questions, is to treat directly with the tribe itself; and if they depute their chiefs, or any other individual to act for them, we must either recognise such authority or abandon the object in view."

In June 1835, Asseola, the chief of Micosukees, who did not appear at the council, but who was the most determined opponent of the treaty, came in to complain of the treatment his people had received from some white men, one of them having been wounded. He received no redress, and saying something offensive to the agent, he was thrown into prison. To obtain his release he promised to sign the treaty, at least, so it is said, and that he did sign it; but this must be considered only as an Indian stratagem: he had been imprisoned without any cause, and it is to be presumed that he thought himself justified in escaping by a corresponding fraud on his own part. The month after this occurrence, some of the tribe of Asseola murdered a government mail-carrier.

The Indians made one more effort: they called a council, and offered to remove to the west of the Mississippi, provided they had lands and an agent for themselves; but this was sternly refused by the government, who sent back as an answer, that their great father, General Jackson, had been "made very angry." The attacks and depredations upon the Indians were now more frequent, and the majority of them determined upon resistance. Only six chiefs, out of all who had signed the treaty, acted to their word and brought in their cattle, etcetera, for the government agent, to be sold previous to their migration. Five of their chiefs removed to the protection of Brooke's Fort, as they feared that the Seminoles would punish them for their revolt. One of them, Charley Amathla, was preparing to follow the others, when Asseola and two other chiefs went to his house and insisted that he should not remove his people. Charley Amathla replied that he had already pledged his word that he would abide by the promise which he made to their great father, and that if his life paid the forfeit, he felt bound to adhere to that promise. He said he had lived to see his nation a ruined and degraded people, and he believed that their only salvation was in removing to the West: that he had made arrangements for his people to go, and had delivered to the agent all their cattle, so that he had no excuse now for not complying with his engagements. One of the chiefs then informed him that the crisis was come: he must either join them in their opposition, or suffer death, and that two hours would be allowed him to consult his people and declare his determination. He replied, that his mind was unalterable, and his people could not make him break his word; that if he must die he hoped they would grant him time enough to make some arrangements for the good of his people. At this moment Asseola raised his rifle and was about to fire, when Abraham arrested the murderous aim, and requested them all to retire for a council with the other chiefs. Asseola, with a small party, however, separated themselves from the main body of the Indians, and returned to Charley Amathla's, and shot him. Thirteen of Amathla's people immediately escaped to Fort King, while the others, deterred by their fears, remained until the return of the principal band, when they joined the hostile party.

This was a fine trait in the Indian, and proves that the Seminoles are not the faithless people they are represented to be by the government agents. The death of this noble Indian was the signal for the commencement of hostilities; the Indians immediately abandoned all their towns, and, concealing their trail, removed their families to a place of safety, which has ever since baffled all conjecture as to its whereabout, and its secrecy been a subject of the greatest astonishment.

VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER TEN.

FLORIDA WAR.

It is naturally conjectured that the Seminoles retreated to some portion of the vast swamps which surround the Ouithlacoochee river; but certain it is that since the commencement of the war, in December 1835, up to the present time, their retreat has never been discovered. Marauding parties now commenced on the part of the Indians, who took summary vengeance on those who had robbed and maltreated them. The whole country from Fort Brooke to Fort King was in a state of conflagration, and the whites were compelled to abandon everything, and seek protection under the forts. At the outbreak of hostilities the American force in the department did not amount to five hundred men. The militia were called out, but military stores were not at hand, and it was decided that the troops must wait for reinforcements before any attack could be made upon the Indians; the great object was to throw a reinforcement into Fort King.

General Clinch, who commanded at Fort Brooke, having been reinforced with thirty-nine men from Key West, no time was lost in preparing two companies for the above service. On the 24th of December 1835, a force of one hundred men, and eight officers, with a field-piece, under the command of Major Dade, commenced their march.

On the morning of the 28th, when it had proceeded four miles from the encampment of the previous night, this force was attacked by the Indians, whose first volley was very destructive, Major Dade, with almost every man of the advanced guard, falling dead. The Indians were repelled by the troops under Captain Gardner, upon whom the command then devolved, and the Americans proceeded to throw up breastworks; but before they could raise them high enough for efficient protection, the Indians attacked them again. The Americans brought their field-piece into play, but the breastworks not being high enough, the Indians shot down every man who attempted to work the gun. All the officers, and more than two-thirds of the American troops had fallen, when the survivors found that all their ammunition was expended. The Indians, perceiving this, rushed in, and, with the exception of two men, who, although severely wounded, contrived to conceal themselves, and ultimately to make their escape, not one of the whole detachment was spared.

The force of the Indians is supposed to have been about three hundred and fifty or four hundred. The contest lasted six hours; and it must be admitted that nothing could be more gallant than the defence made by the troops against such a superior force.

On the afternoon of the same day, the Americans had to lament the loss of General Thompson, the Indian agent at Fort King. Imprudently strolling out about three hundred yards from the fort, he was attacked by the Indians, who waited in ambush for him, and, with Lieutenant Smith and three other people belonging to the fort, was shot dead. This party of Indians was headed by Asseola, who had warned General Thompson that the white men should suffer for their treatment of him. His peculiar and shrill war-yell was given as the Indian party retreated, to let the whites know to whom they were indebted for the massacre.

General Clinch having been reinforced at Fort Brooke, (where he had two hundred regular troops,) with five hundred volunteers under the command of General Call, now moved with the whole force of seven hundred men.

On the 30th of December, as they were passing the Ouithlacoochee river, the Indians watched their opportunity, and, when a portion only of the troops had gained the opposite side, commenced an attack, which was vigorously and successfully resisted; the Indians, in little more than an hour, were beaten off. The battle was, however, severe, and the Americans sustained a loss of sixty-three killed and wounded. The Indian force is supposed to have amounted to seven hundred men.

But independently of these conflicts with the militia and regulars, the ravages of the Indians over the whole country are stated to have been most fearful. Women and children were murdered, and the hearth made desolate in every portion of the country. In the more settled parts near St Augustine, the sugar-cane plantations, with the expensive works attached to them, were destroyed, and in many cases the slaves who were on the plantations were either carried off, or, voluntarily joining the Indians, increased the strength of the enemy. More than a hundred estates were thus laid waste, the average loss upon each estate being computed, independently of the loss of the negroes, at fifty thousand dollars.

The intelligence of this havoc, and the massacre of Major Dade and his whole party, soon reached the neighbouring States, and a requisition for assistance made by General Clinch, was promptly responded to. Meetings were organised at Augusta, Savannah, Darien, and Charleston, and in a few days nearly two thousand volunteers were ready to march to the theatre of war. Indeed, the cause now became the cause of all the slave-holding States, and was taken up with the usual energy of the Americans.

In Louisiana the same spirit was shewn. General Gaines was at that time on a tour of inspection, and had received orders to take charge of the troops assembling on the Mexican frontier; but, at the request of the volunteers, he took the command of _them_ until he could receive further orders from Washington. The assistance of the American naval forces were demanded and obtained, and General Gaines having received intelligence that Fort Brooke was invested by the Indians, sent an express to General Clinch at Fort King, to say that he would join him with his forces to relieve the post. The Seminole Indians who had agreed to the treaty, remained firm to their word, and took up arms against their brethren, and a large force was now marching from all directions to the succour of the whites. I ought here to observe, that not only at the commencement, but ever since the war has continued, the difficulty and expense of forwarding supplies have been very great, and the American troops have undergone the severest privations, as well as great mortality from sickness and disease.

On the 13th February 1836, General Gaines, having arrived at Fort Brooke, reviewed his force, which amounted to between eleven hundred and twelve hundred men, and commenced his march to relieve Fort King, at which post he arrived on the 2nd February, without falling in with any of the Indians. The general then made a detour in pursuit of the enemy. On the 27th, when the force was crossing the Ouithlacoochee River, it was assailed by the Indians, who retired after a skirmish of three-quarters of an hour, the loss of the Americans being very trifling. On the 28th, when again fording the river, the Indians made another attack, which was continued for nearly four hours, and the Americans had to lament the loss of Major Izard, who was killed, and two other officers were wounded. On the 29th, the Indians again attacked, with a force of at least a thousand men, with a view of forcing the American troops from the breastwork which they had thrown up; the Indians, after about two hours' fighting, set fire to the high grass; but, unfortunately for them, the wind suddenly changed, and, instead of burning out the American troops, all their own concealed positions were burnt up and exposed, and they were compelled to retire. The loss on the Indian side was not known, but was supposed to be heavy; that on the part of the Americans amounted to thirty-two killed and wounded. General Gaines, finding that the Indians were so near him, now despatched expresses for a supply of ammunition, being resolved, if possible, to bring them to a general action. The sufferings of the American troops were very severe, and they were killing their horses for subsistence; but the camp was secure, in consequence of the Indians having burnt down all the means of concealment so necessary in their mode of warfare. Notwithstanding which, on the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd of March, the camp was vigorously assailed. On the evening of the 5th, the Indian interpreter came in from the Seminoles, stating that they wished to hold a council, and did not want any more fighting. On the 6th, a truce was held, when Asseola and other chiefs made their appearance, saying, that if the Americans would not cross the river, they would remain on their own side of it, and not commit any more ravages. This was, in fact, nothing but the original proposal of the Indians, that they should remain upon the land which had been assigned to them by the treaty of Camp Moultrie. The reply of General Gaines was, that he was not authorised to make a treaty with them; their arms must be given up, and they must remain on the other side of the river, until the American Government sent them away west of the Mississippi. While this negotiation was pending, General Clinch arrived with the succour and reinforcements, much to the joy of the American troops, who were half starved. General Gaines, who had heard that General Scott had been appointed to the command in Florida, now resigned that authority to General Clarke, and on the 11th, the troops arrived at Fort Drane. It hardly need be observed, that the treating with the Indians ended in nothing. General Scott having assumed the command, arrived at Fort Drane on the 13th March 1836. He had had previously to contend with heavy rains and almost impracticable roads, and was encumbered with a heavy baggage train; his whole force amounted to nearly 5,000 men. This he divided into a centre and two wings, with a view to scour the whole country, and force the Indians from their retreats; but in vain. The Indians being on the flanks of each division, occasional skirmishes took place; but when the troops arrived to where the Indians were supposed to be, not a man was to be seen, nor could they discover the retreat of their families. Occasionally the Indians attacked the outposts with great vigour, and were bravely repulsed; but the whole army, of 5,000 men, did not kill and capture more than twenty Indians. As far as I can judge, nothing could be better than the arrangements of General Scott, but the nature of the country, to which the Indians had retreated, rendered it almost impossible for troops to act. The swamps extended over a great surface of ground; here and there was an island on which the Indians could remain; while to attack them, the troops would have to wade up to their necks for miles, and as soon as they arrived the Indians were gone.

It is not my intention to follow up all the details of the petty warfare which has continued to the present time. General Scott resigned the command, and was succeeded by General Jessopp. On the 20th October 1837, after nearly a year's skirmishing, Asseola was persuaded to come in, to a council. The flags of truce were hoisted by the Americans, and Asseola, carrying a flag of truce in his hand, and accompanied by other chiefs and about 50 warriors, came in to talk. On their arrival, they were surrounded by bayonets, and made prisoners by the orders of the Federal Government, who, despairing of subduing the Indians, had recourse to this shameful breach of faith. The proud spirit of Asseola could not endure confinement: he died in prison. Other chiefs were kidnapped in the same traitorous manner; but, severe as the loss must have been to the Indians, it did not appear to discourage them. The war was still carried on by those who were left, and, indeed, is still continued; for the ranks of the Indians are said to be filled up by runaway slaves, and some of the Creek Indians who have not yet quitted Georgia. On the 25th of December 1837, a severe battle was fought between the Indians and the American troops, at a spot between Pease Creek and the Big Cypress Swamps; on this occasion the Americans lost Colonels Thompson and Guntry, with twenty-eight killed, and one hundred and eleven wounded. Since that I am not aware that any important combat has taken place; but it is certain that the Seminoles, notwithstanding the loss of their leaders, still hold out and defy the whole power of the United States.

It is asserted in the American papers that the loss of lives on the American side, from the enemy and from disease, amounts to between two and three thousand men, and that the expenses of the war are now estimated at 30,000,000 of dollars. How far these calculations may be correct I cannot pretend to say, but it is notorious that a handful of Indians, estimated, at the commencement of the war, at about 1,900, have contended against armies of four or five times their number, commanded by gallant and able officers; that this small band of Indians, notwithstanding their losses from the weapons of the enemy, and their still greater losses from breach of faith, have now for four years held out against the American Government, and have contrived to _subsist_ during that period; and that the retreat of their wives and families has never been discovered, notwithstanding the Americans have a friendly portion of the Seminoles acting with them. Indeed, if we are to believe the American statements, the war is almost as far from its conclusion now as it was at its commencement. See note 1.

I have hastily narrated the causes and principal events of the war, as they are little known in England. The Americans, even if they expend twice as much money, must persevere, until they have extirpated every Indian, and settled the territory with white people; if they do not, the Florida swamps will become the resort of runaway slaves, and the precedent of what can be done, will encourage a general rising of the slaves in the adjoining States, who will only have to retire to the banks of the Ouithlacoochee and defend themselves. So fatal is the climate to the European, that America even now will probably have to sacrifice life and treasure to a much greater extent before she obtains possession of the territory. I shall conclude by quoting a portion of a letter from the Genevese Traveller which appeared in the _Times_ newspaper.

"The war was unrighteous in its commencement, and has been continued for years under circumstances the most profligate. There has not been a single campaign in which the army has not reaped a plentiful harvest of mortification and disgrace. When brought into action both officers and men fought valiantly, but the character of the country, its deep morasses and swamps, and the ignorance of the troops of Indian warfare, have uniformly tended to produce the most disastrous defeats.

"There is not to be found on the page of history, in any country, an instance of a scattered remnant of a tribe, so few in number, defending themselves against the assaults of a disciplined and numerous army, with the same heroism and triumphant results with those of the Seminoles in resisting the American troops. In every campaign the invaders have been at least ten to one against the invaded. At no period have the Indians been able to muster more than 700 or 800 warriors, and it is doubtful whether they have ever had more than half that number, while the American army, when in the field, has uniformly amounted to from 6,000 to 10,000 men."

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Note 1. Although the Federal Government has set its face against the Indians making war with each other (or at least pretends so to do), it would appear by the following notice, that, in their necessity, they have not adhered to the following resolutions:--

_Extract of a Letter, date_:--

"Fort Brooke, Florida, June 14.

"The Cherokees and Choctaws are soon expected in this country, when there will be a war of extermination and no quarter shown. The affairs here are just the same as two years ago. The war is no nearer ended. But we do hope that the offer of ten dollars for each Seminole scalp will be a great inducement for the Cherokees and Choctaws to cut and slash among them."

VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER ELEVEN.

REPLY TO THE EDINBURGH REVIEW.

The art of reviewing may be compared to French cookery; it has no medium--it must either be first-rate or it is worth nothing: nay, the comparison goes much further, as the attempt at either not only spoils the meat, but half poisons the guests. The fact is, good reviewing is of the highest order of literature, for a good reviewer ought to be superior to the party whose writings he reviews. Such men as Southey, Croker, and Lockhart on the one side, Brougham, Fontblanque, and Rintoul on the other, will always command respect in their vocations, however much they may be influenced by political feelings, or however little you may coincide with them in opinion. But, passing over these, and three or four more _cordons bleus_, what are reviewers in general? men of a degree of talent below that of the author whose works they presume to decide upon; the major portion of whom, having failed as authors, are possessed with but one feeling in their disappointment, which is to drag others down to their own debased level. To effect this, you have malevolence substituted for wit, and high-sounding words for sense; every paltry advantage is taken that can be derived from an intentional misrepresentation of your meaning, and (what is the great secret of all) from unfair quotations of one or two lines, carefully omitting the context--an act of unpardonable dishonesty towards the author, and but too often successful in misleading the reader of the Review. By acting upon this last-mentioned system, there is no book, whatever its merits may be, which cannot be misrepresented to the public: a work espousing atheism may be made to appear wholly moral; or, the Holy Scriptures themselves condemned as licentious and indecent. If such reviewing is fair, a jury may, upon a similar principle, decide upon a case by the evidence in favour of the prosecution; and beauty or deformity in architecture be pronounced upon by the examination of a few bricks taken out from different portions of a building.

That, latterly, the public have been more inclined to judge for themselves, than to pin their faith upon reviews, is certain; nevertheless, when what is termed a "_slashing article_" upon a popular work makes its appearance, the public are too apt to receive it without scrutiny. Satisfied with the general effect, as with that produced in a theatrical representation, they do not bear in mind that that which has the appearance of gold, would prove upon examination to be nothing more than tinsel.

Were all reviewers to be reviewed by authors as well as all authors by reviewers, the authors would have the best of it in the _melee_. Again, were reviewers obliged to put their names to their several articles, there would be a great difference in their style; but, secure in their _incognito_ from the disgrace of exposure, they make no scruple to assert what they well know to be false, and, coward-like, to assail those who have seldom an opportunity, whatever may be their power, to defend themselves. Never, perhaps, was there a better proof of the truth of the foregoing observations than is afforded by the article in the Edinburgh Review upon the first portion of my work on America; and as I have some pages to spare, I shall now take the unusual liberty of reviewing the Reviewer.

First, let me introduce to the public the writer of the article--Miss Harriet Martineau. My readers may inquire how I can so positively make this assertion? I reply that it is owing to my "craft." A person who has long dealt in pictures will, without hesitation, tell you the name of the painter of any given work: a shepherd with a flock of three or four hundred sheep under his charge, will know every one of them individually, although to people in general, one sheep is but the counterpart of the others. Thus, there are little varieties of style, manner, and handling of the pen, which become evident to practised writers, although they are not always so to readers. But even if these peculiarities were not sufficient, the manner in which the article is managed (the remarks of Miss Martineau upon the merits of Miss Martineau) in my mind establishes to conviction, that the major portion of the article, if not the whole, has proceeded from her pen. This is a matter of no consequence, and I only mention it that my readers may understand why Miss Martineau, who forms so prominent a feature in the Edinburgh article, will also occasionally appear in mine. My reply, however, is not addressed to her, but to the Edinburgh Reviewer.

I have no doubt the Reviewer will most positively deny that Miss Martineau had any thing to do with the Review of my work: that of course. With his permission, I will relate a little anecdote. "When the Royal George went down at Spithead, an old gentleman, who had a son on board, was bewailing his loss. His friends came to console him. `I thought,' observed one of them, `that you had received a letter?'--`Yes,' replied the old gentleman, `but it was from _Jack himself_.'--`Well, what more would you have?'--`Ah,' replied the old gentleman, `had it been from the captain, or from one of his messmates, or, indeed, from anybody else, it would have consoled me; but Jack,--he is such _an incorrigible liar_, that his _very assertion_ that he is safe, convinces me that he has gone to the bottom.'"

Now my opinion of the veracity of the Edinburgh Review may be estimated by the above anecdote; the very circumstance of its denial would, with me, be sufficient to establish the fact. But to proceed.

The Review has pronounced the first portion of my work to be light and trifling, and full of errors; it asserts that I have been hoaxed by the Americans; that I am incapable of sound reasoning; cannot estimate human nature; and, finally, requests as a favour that I will write no more. Such are the general heads of the Review.

Now here we have a strange inconsistency, for why should the Edinburgh Review, if the work be really what he asserts it to be, "light and trifling," etcetera, waste so much powder and shot upon a tomtit? Why has he dedicated twenty-seven pages of ponderous verbosity to so light and trifling a work? How seldom is it that the pages of the Quarterly or Edinburgh condescend to notice even the very best of light literature! Do they not, in their majesty, consider it _infra dig_. to review such works, and have not two or three pages bestowed upon them been considered as an immense favour on their part, and a high compliment to the authors? Notwithstanding which, we have here _twenty-seven pages of virulent attack_ upon my light and trifling work. Does not the Edinburgh reviewer at once shew that the work is not light and trifling? does he not contradict his own assertions, by the labour and space bestowed upon it? nay, more, is it not strange that he should think it necessary to take the unfair advantage of reviewing a work before it is half finished, and pounce upon the first portion, with the hopes of neutralising the effects which he evidently dreads from the second.

I will answer the question for him. He indulges in his precipitate and unmeasured attacks, because he feels that the work is written in a style that will induce every one to read it; because he feels assured that the occasional, and apparently careless hits at democracy, are only preparatory to others more severe, and that these will come out in the second part, which will be read with as much avidity as the first. He perceives the drift of the work; he feels that it has been purposely made amusing, and that it will be more injurious to the cause which the Edinburgh Review upholds than a more laboured treatise; that those who would not look at a more serious work will read this, and that the opinions it contains will be widely disseminated, and impressed without the readers being aware of it; moreover, that it will descend to a class of readers who have hitherto been uninformed upon the subject: in short, he apprehends the greater danger to his cause from the work having, as I have said, been made amusing, and from its being in appearance, although not in reality, "light and trifling."

I candidly acknowledge that the Reviewer is right in his supposition: my great object has been to do serious injury to the cause of democracy. To effect this, it was necessary that I should write a book which should be universally read--not merely by the highly educated portion of the community, for they are able to judge for themselves; but _read by every tradesman and mechanic_; pored over even by milliners' girls, and boys behind the counter, and thumbed to pieces in every petty circulating library. I wrote the work with this object, and I wrote accordingly. Light and trifling as it may appear to be, every page of it (as I have stated) has been the subject of examination and deliberation: it has given me more trouble than any work I ever wrote; and, my labour having been so far crowned with success, I trust that I shall have "done the State some service." [See Note 1.] The review in the Edinburgh will neither defeat nor obstruct my purpose, as that publication circulates chiefly among those classes who have already formed their opinions; and I have this advantage over it, that, as for one that reads the Edinburgh Review, fifty will read my work, so will fifty read my reply who will never trouble themselves about the article in the Edinburgh Review.

And now let us enter a little into detail. The Reviewer finds great fault with my introduction, as being wholly irrevelant to the Diary which follows it. I admit, that if it were an introduction to the Diary alone, there then would be some justice in his remark. But such is not the case: an introduction is, I believe, generally understood to refer to the _whole_ of the work, not a portion of it; and now that the work is complete, I leave it to the public to decide whether the introduction is suitable or not, as bearing upon the whole. I believe, also, it is the general custom to place an introduction at the commencement of a work; I never heard of one being introduced into the middle or at the end of it. The fault, therefore, of its imputed irrelevancy is not mine: it is the Reviewer's, who has thought proper to review the work before it was complete. He quotes me, as saying, "_Captain Marryat's object was to examine and ascertain what were the effects of a democratic form of government upon a people which, with all its foreign admixture, may still be considered as English_;" and then, without waiting till I have completed my task, he says, that the present work "has nothing, or next to nothing, to do with such an avowal." Whether such an assertion has any thing to do with the work now that it is completed, I leave the public to decide. The Reviewer has no excuse for this illiberal conduct, for I have said, in my Introduction, "In the arrangement of this work, I have considered it advisable to present to the reader first, those portions of my Diary which may be interesting, and in which are recorded _traits_ and _incidents_ which will _bear strongly upon the commentaries I shall subsequently make_;" notwithstanding which the reviewer has the mendacity to assert that, "not until the last paragraph of the last volume, does he learn for the first time that the work is not complete." I will be content with quoting his own words against him--"_An habitual story teller_ prefers _invention_ to description."

The next instance of the Reviewer's dishonesty is, his quoting a portion of a paragraph and rejecting the context. He quotes, "I had not been three weeks in the country before I decided upon accepting no more invitations, charily as they were made," and upon this quotation he founds an argument that, as I did not enter into society, I could of course have no means of gaining any knowledge of American character or the American institutions. Now, if the reviewer had had the common honesty to finish the paragraph, the reason why I refused the invitations would have been apparent; "because I found that, although invited, my presence was a restraint upon the company, and every one _was afraid to speak_." Perhaps the sagacity of the Reviewer will explain what information I was likely to gain from people who would not open their mouths. Had he any knowledge of the Americans, he would admit that they never will venture to give their opinions _in the presence of each other_; it was not that they were afraid of _me_, but of each other, as Monsieur de Tocqueville has very truly pointed out in his work. Moreover, I have now, for the first time, to learn that the best way of arriving at the truth is to meet people who are on their guard, and whose object is to deceive.

There is a malevolent feeling in the assertion, that I have treated _all_ other previous writers on America with contempt; and here again he intentionally quotes falsely. My words are "the _majority_ of those who have preceded me." As nearly as I can reckon, there have been about fifty works published on America, out of which there are not _ten_ which deserve attention; and the ample quotations I have made from Monsieur de Tocqueville, Captain Hamilton, and others, in corroboration of my own opinions, fully evince the respect I have for their writings. In fact, the whole article is a tissue of falsehood and misrepresentation, and so weak that hardly one of its positions is tenable. Can any thing be more absurd, or more shallow, than to quote the Mississippi scheme and Mr Law as a proof that the French are, as well as the English and Americans, a _speculative nation_: one solitary instance of a portion of the French having, about sixty or seventy years ago, been induced to embark their capital, is brought forward, while the abject supineness of the French population of Lower Canada, in juxta-position with the energy and enterprise of the Americans, has for half a century stared us in the face.

The Reviewer has the kindness repeatedly to inform me that I have been hoaxed by the Americans, and, most unfortunately for himself, he has brought forward the "Original Draft of the Declaration of Independence" as a proof of it. That he would be very glad to prove it to be a hoax, I believe; as it is a sad discovery, and one which the American democrats should have kept secret. That the Americans did hoax Miss Martineau, and that they would have hoaxed me if they could, I admit, but even the Reviewer must acknowledge that they would not _hoax_ themselves. Now it so happens, that this document, which has not long been discovered, is in the splendid public library of Philadelphia: it has been carefully preserved in a double plate-glass frame, so as to be read on both sides without handling; it is expensively mounted, and shewn to every visitor as a great curiosity, as it certainly is, the authenticity of it being undeniable, and acknowledged by the Americans. The paragraph which was expunged is verbatim as I gave it--a paragraph which affords more proof, if further proof were necessary, that Jefferson was one of the most unprincipled men who ever existed. The Reviewer recommends my perusal of the works of this "_great and good man_," as Miss Martineau calls him. I suspect that I have read more of Mr Jefferson and other American authors than ever the Reviewer has; and I consider the writings of this Father of Democracy, opposed to his private life, to be a remarkable _type_ of democracy in _theory_ and in _practice_. To borrow a term from the Reviewer, those writings are "_brave words_" to proceed from an infidel, who proved his ardent love of liberty by allowing his own children to be put up to auction at his death, and wear away their existence in misery and bondage. I cannot help here observing a _trifling inconsistency_ on the part of the Reviewer. After lauding the Father of Democracy, and recommending me to read his works; after sneering at our aristocracy by observing, "that no _kind_ of virtue that we have heard of can suffer much from the loss of a _court_ and of an _hereditary nobility_;" after, in short, defending and upholding democracy in every page, all of a sudden the Reviewer turns round and says, "_We are no general admirers of democracy_." Indeed! if not general, you certainly appear to be _particular_ admirers; and if neither general nor particular, may I inquire what the Edinburgh Review has been frothing, fizzing, hissing, and bubbling about, like a tea-kettle in a passion, for these last twenty years?

Never was there a more convincing proof of the boldness and arrogance which Reviewers (trusting to the irresponsibility arising from their concealment) assume, than is afforded by the following passage in the Edinburgh article:--

"_An ardent pursuit of wealth and deep religious feelings go very well together_."

It is not for me to reply to the Reviewer in this instance; I must hand him over to higher authority. I must oppose the everlasting doctrines of inspiration to the cold, heartless, and arrogant philosophy of an Edinburgh reviewer. In vain are we again and again forewarned in the Scriptures against the love of money; in vain has our Saviour denounced it; in vain have the apostles followed in his steps. Let the Reviewer, if he ever has looked into the Bible, refer to the epistles to the Colossians and to the Ephesians. St Paul declares that covetousness is _idolatry_. Hear also what he sayeth to Timothy:--

"But they that _wish to be rich_ fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition." "For the _love of money is the root of all evil_."

Our Divine Master is even more explicit, for he says--"No servant can serve two masters; for either he will _hate_ the one, and _love_ the other; or else he will _hold_ to the one, and _despise_ the other. Ye cannot serve _God_ and _Mammon_." Thus says our Lord--now hear the Edinburgh Reviewer.--"An ardent _pursuit of wealth_ and _deep religious feelings_ go very well together."

Here the Edinburgh Reviewer has placed himself on the horns of a dilemma. The Holy Writings assert most positively and repeatedly one thing, while he asserts another. If, therefore, he acknowledge the Scriptures, he must at the same time acknowledge his own grievous error, and, I may add, his deep sin: if, on the contrary, he still hold to his own opinion, hath he not denied his faith, and is he not worse than an infidel?

The reviewer sneers at my observation, that "Washington had no power to control the nature of man." It may be, as he observes, a very _simple_ remark; but, at all events, it has one advantage over his own, which is, that it is a very _true_ one. Miss Martineau makes an observation in her book, which is quite as great a truism as mine; for she also says that "Human nature is the same everywhere."

How far I have succeeded in my analysis of human nature it is not for me to decide; but that it is the same every where I will now venture to support by something more than _assertion_ on the part of Miss Martineau.

When I was at Boston, in company with some of the young ladies, the conversation turned upon Miss Martineau, with whom they stated that they had been intimate. Naturally anxious to know more of so celebrated a personage, I asked many questions. I was told much to interest me, and, among other little anecdotes, they said that Miss Martineau used to sit down surrounded by the young ladies, and amuse them with all the histories of her former loves. She would detail to them "how Jack sighed and squeezed her hand; how Tom went down on his knees; how Dick swore and Sam vowed; and how--she was still Miss Martineau." And thus would she narrate and they listen until the sun went down, and the firefly danced, while the frogs lifted up their voices in full concert.

And I said to myself, "Who would have supposed that this Solon in petticoats would ever have dwelt upon her former days of enthusiasm and hope, or have cherished the reminiscences of love? How true it is that _human nature is the same everywhere_."

Once more:--

I was conversing with a lady at New York, who informed me that she had seen a letter from Miss M, written to a friend of hers, after her return to England, in which Miss M declared that her door was so besieged with the carriages of the nobility, that it was quite uncomfortable, and that she hardly knew what to do.

Thinks I to myself, I recollect an old story.

"Oh! Grandmother," cried Tom, running in, out of breath, "there's at least a thousand cats in our garden."--"No, no, Tom," quickly replied, the old lady; "not a thousand, Tom."--"Well I'm sure there's five hundred."--"No, nor five hundred," replied the old lady, not taking her eyes off her knitting.--"Well, then, grandmother, I'm sure there's fifty."--"I don't think there _are_ fifty, Tom."--"Well, at all events, there's _our cat and another_."--"Ah! Tom," replied the old lady, "that _may_ be."

I believe that the carriage of Lord Brougham is occasionally to be seen at the door of Miss Martineau.

But when I heard this I was pleased, for I said to myself, "So, then, this champion of democracy, this scorner of rank and title, is flattered by the carriages of the nobility crowding at her door;" and, again I said to myself, "_human nature is the same everywhere_."

But the Reviewer, in his virulence, has not been satisfied with attacking me; he has thought it necessary to libel the whole profession to which I have the honour to belong. He has had the folly and impertinence to make the following remark: "No landsmen can have been on board of a ship a week, without coming to the conclusion that a _sensible house dog_ is more like the people he has left at home than most of his new companions, and that it (the house dog) would be nearly as _capable_ of solving problems on national character."

Indeed!!

Is it possible that the Reviewer should still remain the dupe of such a vulgar error? That at one time it was the custom to send to sea _the fool of the family_, is certain, and had the Reviewer flourished in those days, he would probably have been the one devoted to the service-- but _tempora mutantur_. Is the Reviewer aware that one-half, and certainly the most successful half, of English diplomacy, is now carried on by the admirals and captains, not only in the Mediterranean, but all over the world. Is he aware that when the Foreign Office wishes to do its work cheaply and well, it demands a vessel from the Admiralty, which is made over to that office, and is set down as employed on "particular service:" that during that service the captain acts from instructions given by the Foreign Office alone, and has his cabin piled with voluminous documents; and that, like the unpaid magistracy of England, we sailors do all the best of the work, and have nothing but our trouble for our pains. Nay, even the humble individual who pens this remonstrance was for months on this very service, and, when it was completed, the Foreign Office expressed to the Admiralty its satisfaction at his conduct during his short diplomatic career.

_House dogs_! Hear this, ye public of England! A sensible house dog is to be preferred to St Vincent, Nelson, Collingwood, Exmouth, and all those great men who have aided their country as much with their pen as with their sword; as much by their acuteness and firmness in diplomacy, as by their courage and conduct in action.

Now, Mr Reviewer, don't you feel a little ashamed of yourself? Would you really like to give up your name as the author of this bare-faced libel? Would you like openly to assert that such is your opinion, and that you will stand by it?

No liberal, high-minded man, whatever his politics may have been, has ever refused to do justice to a service which has been the bulwark of England. Lord Brougham has lately published a work containing the lives of celebrated persons in the reign of George the Third. I will just quote a few passages from his life of Lord St Vincent.

"The present sketches would be imperfect if Lord St Vincent were passed over in silence, for he was almost as _distinguished_ among the _statesmen_, as the _warriors_ of the age.

"A _statesman_ of profound views and of penetration, hardly _equalled_ by any other man of his time.

"But the consummate vigour and wisdom of his proceedings during the dreadful period of the mutiny, are no less a theme of wonder and of praise.

"When the Addington ministry was formed, he was placed at the head of the Admiralty; and now shone forth in all its lustre that great capacity for affairs with which he was endowed by nature, and which ample experience of men, habits of command, and an extended life of deep reflection, had matured.

"The _capacity of a statesman_ and the valour of the hero, outshone by the magnanimous heart which beats only to the measures of generosity and justice."