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The Parties Versus the People
The Parties
Versus
N E W H AV E N & L O N D O N
the People
How to Turn Republicans and
Democrats into Americans
Mickey Edwards
Published with assistance from the Louis Stern Memorial Fund.
Copyright © 2012 by Mickey Edwards.
All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, including illustra-
tions, in any form (beyond that copying permitted by Sections 107 and 108
of the U.S. Copyright Law and except by reviewers for the public press),
without written permission from the publishers.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Bill Budinger, whose vision and generosity are helping to create an
American politics based on common purpose and mutual respect. And
to the more than 150 public leaders who are members of the Aspen
Institute’s Rodel Fellowship.
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Contents
Preface ix
Acknowledgments xxi
one
American Tribalism 3
two
The Disappearing Dream 19
three
Reclaiming Our Democracy 35
four
Drawing a Line in the Sand 56
Contents
five
The Money Stream 70
six
Government Leaders, Not Party Leaders 91
seven
Debate and Democracy 113
eight
Rearrange the Furniture 129
nine
Rivals, Not Enemies 136
ten
The Partisan Presidency 146
eleven
Declarations of Independence 152
twelve
Beyond Partisanship 159
thirteen
The Way Forward 171
viii
Preface
Year after year, through nearly two decades and ten national elec-
tions, American voters have grown angrier and more frustrated with
a government that they theoretically control. After all, they are citi-
zens, not subjects, and they live in a democracy. The presidents and
the members of Congress with whom they are so disappointed are
the very men and women they themselves have chosen. Yet when
national elections are held, these voters go to the polls and repeatedly
cast their votes for “something different,” for “change,” for what
golfers call a “mulligan,” a do-over. A government that once met, and
solved, enormous challenges, overcoming the inevitable disagree-
ments between competing philosophies, no longer does so. Differ-
ences have hardened into polarization, and simple party identification
has been overtaken by a rigid partisanship. Presidents, governors,
and state legislators engage actively in partisan combat, but the
Congress, where the problem is worst and the effects most damag-
ing, has become utterly dysfunctional, unable to come together on
almost any issue of national importance. There are many causes for
ix
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Preface
this evolution, but at its root the problem is systemic. As I will show
in these pages, we have been unable to overcome the effects of these
changes because we conduct our elections, and our leaders attempt
to govern, in a political system that makes common effort almost
impossible to achieve.
Voters are resilient: like Charlie Brown, determined to kick his
football knowing full well that Lucy will probably once again pull it
away, they persist in trying to fix a government that seems to now be
intractably, and dangerously, unable to come to agreement on al-
most anything. Some years voters hand power to Democrats and
some years they elect Republicans; they try candidates who have
long and impressive business or government résumés, or they may
choose candidates who substitute youth, dynamism, or “new ideas”
for the experience they lack. But whichever choice the voters make,
our government no longer seems to work as it once did. One group
of elected leaders may adopt policies that another group might not
have enacted, federal spending may go up or down, taxes may rise
or fall, and our national budget priorities may change, but beneath
it all American government today functions not as a collective en-
terprise of citizens working together to solve our common prob-
lems, but as a never-ending battle between two warring tribes.
The damage is greatest in the Congress, which, with 435 mem-
bers in the House of Representatives and 100 in the Senate, requires
a degree of good faith cooperation and compromise that no longer
exists. But it is also true in the White House where, no matter who
is president, teams of legislative and political advisers map political
strategies to attack opponents rather than seek common ground
across party lines. And it is true as well among the governors and
legislators in the states, with minority party members sometimes
fleeing their states altogether to prevent legislative action because
neither party is able or willing to hammer out necessary compro-
mise. This is not a problem that can be laid at the feet of one politi-
x
Preface
xi
Preface
cation in our public and private primary and secondary schools and
in our universities, and the failure to teach critical thinking. Each of
those things is a contributing factor, but each one ignores the cancer
at the heart of our democracy.
Most political commentators today (except those who themselves
fuel the partisan wars) complain endlessly about the polarization
that has become evident in the American political system, and there
is considerable evidence that Americans have tended in recent years
to sort themselves into communities of like-minded souls. Conser-
vatives dominate some regions of the country, liberals others. In
many cases, we and our friends tend to read the same opinion arti-
cles, vote similarly, and seldom engage in serious conversation with
people whose political views differ from our own. But it is not this
political segregation that is driving the dysfunction in Washington.
For one thing, it is wrong to conclude that those politically segre-
gated groups are necessarily extreme. Even a separateness that in-
hibits serious consideration of divergent viewpoints does not mean
that the voters within these camps are mindlessly hostile to alterna-
tives or compromise. As University of Chicago professor Geoffrey
Stone has pointed out, 40 to 45 percent of Americans “are more or
less moderate in their views.”2 The nation’s leading political poll-
ster, Andy Kohut, president of the Pew Research Center, has made
a similar point, noting that while both major parties contain signifi-
cant numbers of philosophical hard-liners, the vast majority of vot-
ers are more moderate (and thus, one might suppose, amenable to
compromises that might break through the partisan gridlock).
As Stone told the American Academy of Arts and Sciences in
2011, “Understanding polarization requires a closer look at how
Congress is constituted. In 1970, 47 percent of the members of the
U.S. Senate were regarded as moderate. Today, that figure is 5 per-
cent, and it is even lower in the House of Representatives. The de-
cline of moderate views in Congress suggests a kind of dysfunction:
xii
Preface
xiii
Preface
xiv
Preface
ers who are good at inducing opposing batters to hit ground balls
because most fly balls are likely to remain in the ballpark. On the
other hand, teams that play in smaller stadiums, where home runs
are easier to hit, fill their lineups with power hitters; but because
visiting teams likewise will find it easier to hit home runs, the small-
stadium team will try to sign pitchers who are adept at inducing
opposing batters to hit ground balls. In other words, the system
within which one plays affects the outcome. That’s true in politics,
too. If the game of government rewards intransigence and punishes
compromise, we shouldn’t be surprised if we get a lot of intransi-
gence and not much compromise. Incentives work: if the greatest
incentives are to behave badly, we will get bad behavior. If our gov-
ernment continues to fail us—and it will—then we need to change
the incentives, change the architecture of the field on which we play.
xv
Preface
xvi
Preface
xvii
Preface
xviii
Preface
keep factions from gaining too much power . . . and to be sure, grid-
lock is in the eyes of the beholder . . . one person’s obstructionism
is another’s principled opposition.”5 When a government is con-
templating taking more from its citizens in taxes, or eliminating its
support for the suffering, or sending its citizens to war, or permit-
ting police to track a citizen’s every movement without a search
warrant or an assertion of “probable cause,” moving too speedily or
doing too much can pose a great danger; taking time for thoughtful
deliberation is an indispensable virtue. Vigorous conflict over com-
peting values, principles, and policies is a strength, not a weakness,
of democracy. This book is not about avoiding dissent but about
avoiding conflict that is based on party rather than principle.
My aim is to open up the process to give American voters more
choice and more voice, and to eliminate the partisan forces that
limit options and dilute representation. I wish to restore democracy
to our democracy. That is not as hard a task as it may seem: a few
simple changes are all that’s required. In these pages I will describe
what those changes are and how to make them happen.
xix
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Acknowledgments
xxi
Acknowledgments
xxii
Acknowledgments
to put my ideas into an article for the annual “Big Ideas” issue of the
magazine. The article generated an enthusiastic response and James,
more than anyone else, gets the credit for helping elevate the argu-
ment I make here. The Atlantic’s James Gibney took on the task of
working with me to reduce my original draft to magazine length
and made the article, and consequently the book, much better than
what I had sent to him.
Allison Stanger, whose excellent book One Nation Under Contract
I had admired and praised, not only helped me think through my
conclusions but led me to her editor, William Frucht of Yale Uni-
versity Press. If there’s such a thing as an indispensable editor, it’s
Bill Frucht. Lucky is the author who gets to work with him.
Lucky, too, is the man who gets to be married to Elizabeth Sher-
man. She’s my partner, my best friend, my Lizzie.
xxiii
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gamblin’, and all kinds of sin, and oh! ‘twould make your heart ache
to hear their oaths. I’ve seen ’em tremble, and try to pray durin’ a
dreadful storm, and all looked like goin’ to the bottom—for I don’t
care how heathenish and devilish any body is, if they see death
starin’ on ’em in the face, and they ‘spect to die in a few minutes,
he’ll cry to God for help—but no sooner than the storm abated
they’d cuss worse than ever. Now this was jist my fashion, and if any
body says that a man who abuses a good God like that don’t
desarve to be cut off and put into hell, why then he han’t got any
common sense.
“But all this comes pretty much from the officers. I never knowed
but one sea captain but what would swear sometimes, and most all
on ’em as fast as a dog can trot; and jist so sure as our officers
swears, the hands will blaspheme ten times worse; and if the
captain wouldn’t swear, and forbid it on board, his orders would be
obeyed like any other orders, but, as long as officers swears, so long
will sailors. ☜
“But sailors have some noble things about ’em as any body of
men. They will always stand by their comrades in the heart of
danger or misfortune, or attack; and if a company on ’em are on
shore, you touch one you touch the whole; and if a sailor was on the
Desert of Arabia, and hadn’t but a quart of water, he’d go snacks
with a companion. They are sure to have a soft spot in their hearts
somewhere, that you can touch if you can git at it, and when they
feel, they feel with all their souls. But, arter all, it’s the ruination of
men’s characters to go to sea, for they become heathens, and
ginerally, ain’t fit for sober life arter it, and ten to one they ruin their
souls.
“But my v’yges are finished, and I’ll sing you one sailor’s song,
and then my yarn is done.”
Author. “Well, strike up, Peter.”
Peter sings—
“THE SAILOR’S RETURN.
“Loose every sail to the breeze,
The course of my vessel improve;
I’ve done with the toil of the seas,
Ye sailors I’m bound to my love.
Lives at Madam Rylander’s—Quaker Macy—Susan a colored girl lives with Mr. Macy
—she is kidnapped and carried away, and sold into slavery—Peter visits at the
“Nixon’s, mazin’ respectable” colored people in Philadelphia—falls in love with
Solena—gits the consent of old folks—fix wedding day—“ax parson”—Solena
dies in his arms—his grief—compared with Rhoderic Dhu—lives in New Haven—
sails for New York—drives hack—Susan Macy is redeemed from slavery—she
tells Peter her story of blood and horror, and abuse, and the way she made her
escape from her chains.
Author. “Well, Peter, what did you go about when you quit the
seas?”
Peter. “The year I quit the seas, I went to live with Madam
Rylander, and stayed with her a year, and she gin me twenty-five
dollars a month, and I made her as slick a darkey as ever made a
boot shine, and she was as fine a lady as ever scraped a slipper over
Broadway. While I lived there, I used to visit at Mr. John Macy’s, a
rich quaker who lived in Broadway, across from old St. Paul’s. There
was a colored girl lived with his family, by the name of Susan, and
they called her Susan Macy; she was handsome and well edicated
tu, and brought up like one of his own children; and they thought as
much on her as one of their daughters, and she was as lovely a
dispositioned gal as ever I seed; and I enjoyed her society mazinly.
“Well, one mornin’ she got up and went to her mistress’ bedroom,
and asked her what she’d have for breakfast—’Veal cutlet’ says she;
and the old man says, ‘Thee’ll find money in the sideboard to pay for
it;’ and she did, and took her basket and goes to the market a
singin’ along as usual—she was a great hand to sing; and gits her
meat, and on her return, she meets a couple of gentlemen, and one
had a bundle, and says he, ‘Girl if you’ll take this bundle down to the
wharf, I’ll give you a silver dollar;” and she thought it could do no
harm, and so she goes with it down to the ship they described, and
as she reached out the bundle, a man catched her and hauled her
aboard and put her down in the hole.
“Her master and mistress got up and waited and waited, and she
didn’t come; and they went and sarched the street, and finds the
basket, but nothin’ could be heard of Susan in the whole city; and
they finally gin up that she was murdered.
“Well, I’ll tell you the rest of the story, for I heard on her arter
this.
“I stayed my year out with Madam Rylander, and then I quit; and
she was despod anxious to keep me, but I had other fish to fry, and
took a notion I’d drive round the country and play the gentleman.
“I come across, in New York, a young feller of color, his parents
very respectable folks who lived in Philadelphia; and they took an
anxious notion for me to go home with ’em; and I started with ’em
for Philadelphia; and I had as good clothes as any feller, and a
considerable money, and I thought I might as well spend it so as any
way. Well come to Philadelphia, I found the Nixon’s very rich and
mazin’ respectable; and I got acquain’ted with the family, and they
had a darter by the name of Solena, and she was dreadful
handsome, and she struck my fancy right off the first sight I had on
her. She was handsome in fetur and pretty spoken and handsome
behaved every way. Well I made up my mind the first sight I had on
her, I’d have her if I could git her. I’d been in Philadelphia ’bout a
week, and I axed her for her company, and ’twas granted. I made it
my business to wait on her, and ride round with her, and visit her
alone, as much as I could. The old folks seemed to like it mazinly,
and that pleased me, and I went the length of my rope, and felt my
oats tu. I treated her like a gentleman as far as I knew how—I took
her to New York three times, in company with her brothers and their
sweethearts; and we went in great splendor tu, and I found that
every day, I was nearin’ the prize, and finally I popped the question,
and arter some hesitation, she said, ‘Yis, Peter.’ But I had another
Cape to double, and that was to git the consent of the old folks; and
so one Sunday evenin’, as we was a courtin’ all alone in the parlor, I
concluded, a fain’t heart never won a fair lady; and so I brushes up
my hair, and starts into the old folks’ room, and I right out with the
question; and he says.
“‘What do you mean, Mr. Wheeler?’
“‘I mean jist as I say, Sir! May I marry Solena.’
“‘Do you think you can spend your life happy with her?’
“‘Yis, Sir.’
“‘Did you ever see any body in all your travels, you liked better?’
“‘No, Sir! She’s the apple of my eye, and the joy of my heart.’
“‘I have no objection Mr. Wheeler. Now Ma, how do you feel?’
“‘Oh! I think Solena had better say, Yis.’
“And then I tell ye, my heart fluttered about in my bosom with joy.
“‘Oh, love ’tis a killin’ thing;
Did you ever feel the pang?’
“So the old gentleman takes out a bottle of old wine from the
sideboard, and I takes a glass with him, and goes back to Solena.
When I comes in, she looks up with a smile and says, ‘What luck?’ I
says, ‘Good luck.’ I shall win the prize if nothin’ happens! and now
Solena you must go in tu, and you had better go in while the broth
is hot. So she goes in, pretty soon she comes trippin’ along back,
and sets down in my lap, and I says, ‘what luck?’ and she says
‘good.’ So we sot the bridal day, and fixed on the weddin’ dresses,
and so we got all fixin’s ready and even the Domine was spoke for.
And one Sabba-day arter meetin,’ I goes home and dines with the
family, and arter dinner we walked out over Schuylkill bridge, and at
evenin’ we went to a gentleman’s where she had been a good deal
acquain’ted; and there was quite a company on us, and we carried
on pretty brisk. She was naturally a high-lived thing, and full of glee;
and she got as wild as a hawk, and she wrestled and scuffled as gals
do, and got all tired out, and she come and sets down in my lap and
looks at me, and says, ‘Peter help me;’ and I put my hand round her
and asked her what was the matter, and she fetched a sigh, and
groan, and fell back and died in my arms!!! A physician come in, and
says he, ‘she’s dead and without help, for she has burst a blood-
vessel in her breast.’ And there she lay cold and lifeless, and I
thought I should go crazy.
“She was carried home and laid out, and the second day she was
buried, and I didn’t sleep a wink till she was laid in the grave; and
oh! when we come to lower her coffin down in the grave, and the
cold clods of the valley begun to fall on her breast, I felt that my
heart was in the coffin, and I wished I could die and lay down by her
side.
“For weeks and months arter her death, I felt that I should go
ravin’ distracted. I couldn’t realize that she was dead; oh! Sir, the
world looked jist like a great dreadful prison to me. I stayed at her
father’s, and for weeks I used to go once or twice a day to her tomb,
and weep, and stay, and linger round, and the spot seemed sacred
where she rested.
“Well, I stayed in Philadelphia some months arter this, and I tell
ye I felt as though my all was gone. I stood alone in the world, as
desolate as could be, and I determined I never would agin try to git
me a wife. It seemed to me I was jist like some old wreck, I’d seen
on the shore.
A. “Peter, you make me think of Walter Scott’s description of
Rhoderic Dhu, in his ‘Lady of the Lake.’
“‘As some tall ship, whose lofty prore,
Shall never stem the billows more,
Deserted by her gallant band,
Amid the breakers lies astrand;
So on his couch lay Rhoderic Dhu,
And oft his feverish limbs he threw,
In toss abrupt; as when her sides
Lie rocking in the advancing tides
That shake her frame with ceaseless beat
But cannot heave her from her seat.
Oh! how unlike her course on sea,
Or his free step, on hill and lea.’
P. “Yis, Sir! I was jist like that same Rhoderic; what’de call him?
Oh! I was worse, the world was a prison to me, and I wanted to lay
my bones down at rest by the dust of Solena. I finally went back to
New York, and stayed there for a while, and then up to New Haven,
and stayed there two months, in Mr. Johnson’s family; and we used
to board college students; and we had oceans of oysters and clams;
and New Haven is by all odds the handsomest place I ever see in
this country or in Europe; and finally I sailed back to New York, arter
try in’ to bury my feelin’s in one way and another. But in all my
wanderin’s, I couldn’t forgit Solena. She seemed to cling to me like
life, and I’d spend hours and hours in thinkin’ about her, and I never
used to think about her without tears.
“Well, I thought I would try to bury my feelin’s and forgit Solena,
and so I hires out a year to Mr. Bronson, to drive hack, and arter I’d
been with him a few months, I called up to Mr. Macy’s, my Quaker
friend, and I felt kind’a bad to go there tu and not find Susan, for I
had the biggest curiosity in the world to find out where she’d
departed tu; but I thought I’d go and talk with the old folks, and see
if they’d heard any thing about Susan.
“Well, I slicks up and goes, and pulls the bell, and who should
open the door but Susan herself. ☜
“I says, ‘my soul, Susan, how on ‘arth are you here? I thought you
was dead.’ And she says as she burst into tears, ‘I have been all but
dead. Come in and set down, and I’ll tell you all about it.’
“I says, ‘my heavens! Susan where have you been and how have
ye fared?’
“She says, ‘I’ve been in slavery, ☜ and fared hard enough;’ and
then she had to go to the door, for the bell rung; and agin pretty
soon she comes back and begins her story, and as ’tain’t very long,
and pretty good, I’ll tell it, and if you’re a mind to put it in the book
you may, for I guess many a feller will be glad to read it.
“‘Well,’ begins Susan, ‘I went down to the vessel, to carry a
bundle, and three ruffins seized hold on me, and I hollered and
screamed with all my might, and one on ’em clapped his hand on my
face, and another held me down, and took out a knife and swore if I
didn’t stop my noise he’d stick it through my heart; and they
dragged me down into the hold, where there was seven others that
had been stole in the same way; and these two fellers chained me
up, and I cried and sobbed till I was so fain’t I couldn’t set up. Along
in the course of the forenoon they fetched me some coarse food, but
I had no appetite, and I wished myself dead a good many times, for
I couldn’t git news to master. I continued in that state for two or
three days, and found no relief but by submitting to my fate, and I
was doleful enough off, for I couldn’t see sun, moon, or stars, for I
should think two weeks; and then a couple of these ruffins come
and took me out into the forecastle, and my companions, and they
told me all about how they’d been stole; and we was as miserable a
company as ever got together. Come on deck, I see five gentlemen,
☜ and one on ’em axed me if I could cook and wait on gentlemen
and ladies, and I says ‘yis, Sir,’ with my eyes full of tears, and my
heart broke with sorrow; and he axed me how old I was? I says,
‘seventeen,’ and he turns round to the master of the vessel and says,
‘I’ll take this girl.’ And he paid four hundred and fifty dollars for me,
and he took me to his house; and I found out his name was
Woodford, and he told me I was in Charleston; but I couldn’t forgit
the happy streets of New York. Now I gin lip all expectation of ever
seem’ my own land agin’, and I submitted to my fate as well as I
could, but ’twas a dreadful heart-breakin’ scene. Master was dreadful
savage, and his wife was a despod cross ugly woman. When he goes
into the house he says to his wife, ‘now I’ve got you a good gal, put
that wench on the plantation.’ And he pointed to a gal that had been
a chambermaid; and then turnin’ to me says, ‘and you look out or
you’ll git there, and if you do you’ll know it.’
“I’d been there four or five weeks, and I heard master makin’ a
despod cussin’ and swearin’ in the evenin’, and I heard him over-say,
‘I’ll settle with the black cuss to-morrow; I’ll have his hide tanned.’
“So the next day, arter breakfast, mistress orders me down into
the back yard, and I found two hundred slaves there; and there was
an old man there with a gray head, stripped and drawed over a
whipping-block his hands tied down, and the big tears a rollin’ down
his face; and he looked exactly like some old gray headed, sun-burnt
revolutioner; and a white man stood over him with a cat-o’-nine-tails
in his hand, and he was to give him one hundred lashes. ☜ And he
says, ‘now look on all on ye, and if you git into a scrape you’ll have
this cat-o’-nine-tails wrapped round you;’ and then he begun to
whip, and he hadn’t struck mor’n two or three blows, afore I see the
blood run, and he was stark naked, and his back and body was all
over covered with scars, and he says in kind’a broken language, ‘Oh!
massa don’t kill me.’ ‘Tan his hide,’ says master, and he kept on
whippin’, and the old man groaned like as if he was a dyin’, and he
got the hundred lashes, ☜ and then was untied and told to go about
his work; and I looked at the block, and it was kivered with blood,
and that same block didn’t git clear from blood as long as I stayed
there. ☜
“‘Well, this spectacle affected me so, I could scarcely git about the
house, for I expected next would be my turn; and I was so afraid I
shouldn’t do right I didn’t half do my work.
“‘It wore upon me so I grew poor through fear and grief. I would
look out and see the two hundred slaves come into the back yard to
be fed with rice, and they had the value of about a quart of rice a
day, I guess.
“‘Every day, more or less would be whipped till the blood run to
the ground; and every day fresh blood could be seen on the block,—
and what for I never found out, for I darn’t ax any body, and I had
no liberty of saying any thing to the field hands.
‘“I used often to look out of the window to see people pass and
repass, and see if I couldn’t see somebody that I knew; and I finally
got sick, and was kept down some time, and I jist dragged about
and darn’t say one word, for I should have been put on the
plantation for bein’ sick! and I meant to do the best I could till I
dropped down dead; but the almost whole cause on it was grief, and
the rest was cruel hardship. Well, things got so, I thought I must die
soon, and in the height of my sorrow, I looked out and see Samuel
Macy—Master Macy’s second son, walkin’ along the street, and I
could hardly believe my eyes; and I was stand in’ in the door, and I
catches the broom, and goes down the steps a sweepin’, and calls
him by name as he comes along, and I tells him a short story, and
he says ‘I’ll git thee free, only be patient a few weeks.’ I neither sees
nor hears a word on him for over four weeks, but I was borne up by
hope, and that made my troubles lighter. Well, in about four weeks,
one day, jist arter dinner, there comes a gentleman and raps at the
front door, and I goes and opens the door, and there stood old
Master Macy, and I flies and hugs him, and he says ‘how does thee
do, Susan?’ I couldn’t speak, and as soon as I could I tells my story;
and Master Macy then speaks to mistress, who heard the talk and
had come out of the parlor, and says, ‘this girl is a member of my
family, and I shall take her,’ and then master come in and abused
Master Macy dreadfully; but he says, ‘come along with me, Susan;’
and, without a bonnet or anything on to go out with I took him by
the hand, and went down to the ship; and, afore I had finished my
story, an officer comes and takes old Master Macy, and he leaves me
in the care of his son Samuel, aboard, and he was up street about
three hours, tendin’ a law-suit, and then he come back, and about
nine o’clock that evenin’ we hauled off from that cussed shore, and
in two weeks we reached New York, and here I am, in Master Macy’s
old kitchen.
“‘Well, he watches for this slave ship that stole me, and one day
he come in and said he had taken it, and had five men imprisoned;
and the next court had them all imprisoned for life, and there they
be yit. And now there’s no man, gentle or simple, that gits me to do
an arrant out of sight of the house. Bought wit is the best, but I
bought mine dreadful dear. When I got back the whole family cried,
and Mistress Macy says,
“‘Let us rejoice! for the dead is alive, and the lost is found.”’
CHAPTER II.
Peter. “Well, I sot a hearin’ Susan’s story till midnight, and that
brought back old scenes agin, and there I sot and listened to her
story till I had enemost cried my eyes out of my head, and I have
only gin you the outline. And that kidnappin’ used to be carried on
that way in New York year after year, and it’s carried on yit. ☜ [15]
Why, they used to steal away any and every colored person they
could steal, and this is all carried on by northern folks tu, and it’s
fifty times worse than Louisiana slavery.
15. It became so common in New York that there was no safety for a colored
person there, and philanthropy and religion demanded some protection for
them against such a shocking system.—At last there was a vigilance
committee organized for the purpose of ascertaining the names and
residences of every colored person in the city; and this committee used
regularly to visit all on the roll, and almost every day some one was missing.
The result has been that several hundreds of innocent men and women and
children have been retaken from their bondage, from the holds of
respectable merchantmen in New York, to the parlours of southern gentry in
New-Orleans. The facts which have been brought out by this committee are
awful beyond description.—It is one of the noblest, and most patriotic and
efficient organization on the globe. But their design expands itself beyond
the protection and recovery of kidnapped friends;—it also lifts a star of
guidance and promise upon the path of the fugitive slave; it helps him on his
way to freedom, and not one week passes by without witnessing the glorious
results of this humane and benevolent institution, in the protection of the
free or the redemption of the enslaved. The Humane Society, whose object is
to recover to life those who have been drowned, enlists the patronage and
encomiums of the great and good, and yet this Vigilance Committee are
insulted and abused by many of the public presses in New York, and most of
the city authorities.—Why? Slavery has infused its deadly poison into the
heart of the North.
“Well, I stayed in New York till my time was out, and then went to
Hartford and worked three years, and enjoyed myself pretty well,
only I couldn’t help thinkin’ ’bout Solena. She was mixed up with all
my dreams and thoughts, and I used to spend hours and hours in
thinkin’ about what I’d lost. But arter all I suffered, I’m kind’a
inclined to think ’twas all kind in God to take her away, for arter this,
I never was so wicked agin nigh. I hadn’t time or disposition to hunt
up my old comrades, and if any time I begun to plunge into sin, then
the thought of Solena’s memory would come up afore me and check
me in a minute, but I was yit a good ways from rale religion.
“While I was there, in December, 1814, the famous Hartford
Convention sot with closed doors, and nobody could find out what
they was about, and every body was a talkin’ about it, and they
han’t got over talkin’ about it, and I don’t b’lieve they ever will. The
same winter the war closed and peace was declared. I could tell a
good many stories about the war, but I guess ‘twould make the book
rather too long, and every body enemost knows all about the last
war.
“Well, I went down to Middletown and stayed a year there, and
then I went to hire out to a man in West Springfield, and he was a
farmer, and he hadn’t a chick nor child in the world, and he had a
share in a fishin’ place on the Connecticut, and he was as clever as
the day is long. He let me fish nights and have all I got, and
sometimes I’ve made a whole lot of money at one haul, and in that
season I made thirty-five dollars jist by fishin’ nights, besides good
wages—and I didn’t make a dollar fishin’ for Gideon Morehouse
nights for years!
“While I was there a Baptist minister come on from Boston and
preached some time, and they had a great revival, and I see twenty
immersed down in the Connecticut, and ’twas one of the most
solemn scenes that ever I witnessed.
“They went down two by two to the river, and he made a prayer
and then sung this hymn, and I shan’t ever forget it, for a good
many on ’em was young.
“‘Now in the heat of youthful blood,
Remember your Creator God;
Behold the months come hastening on
When you shall say ‘my joys are gone.’”
END.
Transcriber’s Notes:
Missing or obscured punctuation was silently
corrected.
Typographical errors were silently corrected.
Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were
made consistent only when a predominant
form was found in this book.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAINS AND
FREEDOM: OR, THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF PETER WHEELER, A
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