Dilworthy, who was from a neighboring state, had been a Unionist in the darkest days of his country, and had thriven by it, but was that any reason why Col. Sellers, who had been a confederate and had not thriven by it, should give him the cold shoulder?
The Senator was the guest of his old friend Gen. Boswell, but it almost appeared that he was indebted to Col. Sellers for the unreserved hospitalities of the town. It was the large hearted Colonel who, in a manner, gave him the freedom of the city.
“You are known here, sir,” said the Colonel, “and Hawkeye is proud of you. You will find every door open, and a welcome at every hearthstone. I should insist upon your going to my house, if you were not claimed by your older friend Gen. Boswell. But you will mingle with our people, and you will see here developments that will surprise you.”
The Colonel was so profuse in his hospitality that he must have made the impression upon himself that he had entertained the Senator at his own mansion during his stay; at any rate, he afterwards always spoke of him as his guest, and not seldom referred to the Senator’s relish of certain viands on his table. He did, in fact, press him to dine upon the morning of the day the Senator was going away.
Senator Dilworthy was large and portly, though not tall — a pleasant spoken man, a popular man with the people.
He took a lively interest in the town and all the surrounding country, and made many inquiries as to the progress of agriculture, of education, and of religion, and especially as to the condition of the emancipated race.
“Providence,” he said, “has placed them in our hands, and although you and I, General, might have chosen a different destiny for them, under the Constitution, yet Providence knows best.”
“You can’t do much with ‘em,” interrupted Col. Sellers. “They are a speculating race, sir, disinclined to work for white folks without security, planning how to live by only working for themselves. Idle, sir, there’s my garden just a ruin of weeds. Nothing practical in ‘em.”
“There is some truth in your observation, Colonel, but you must educate them.”
“You educate the niggro and you make him more speculating than he was before. If he won’t stick to any industry except for himself now, what will he do then?”
“But, Colonel, the negro when educated will be more able to make his speculations fruitful.”
“Never, sir, never. He would only have a wider scope to injure himself. A niggro has no grasp, sir. Now, a white man can conceive great operations, and carry them out; a niggro can’t.”
“Still,” replied the Senator, “granting that he might injure himself in a worldly point of view, his elevation through education would multiply his chances for the hereafter — which is the important thing after all, Colonel. And no matter what the result is, we must fulfill our duty by this being.”
“I’d elevate his soul,” promptly responded the Colonel; “that’s just it; you can’t make his soul too immortal, but I wouldn’t touch him, himself. Yes, sir! make his soul immortal, but don’t disturb the niggro as he is.”
Of course one of the entertainments offered the Senator was a public reception, held in the court house, at which he made a speech to his fellow citizens. Col. Sellers was master of ceremonies. He escorted the band from the city hotel to Gen. Boswell’s; he marshalled the procession of Masons, of Odd Fellows, and of Firemen, the Good Templars, the Sons of Temperance, the Cadets of Temperance, the Daughters of Rebecca, the Sunday School children, and citizens generally, which followed the Senator to the court house; he bustled about the room long after every one else was seated, and loudly cried “Order!” in the dead silence which preceded the introduction of the Senator by Gen. Boswell. The occasion was one to call out his finest powers of personal appearance, and one he long dwelt on with pleasure.
This not being an edition of the Congressional Globe it is impossible to give Senator Dilworthy’s speech in full. He began somewhat as follows:
“Fellow citizens: It gives me great pleasure to thus meet and mingle with you, to lay aside for a moment the heavy duties of an official and burdensome station, and confer in familiar converse with my friends in your great state. The good opinion of my fellow citizens of all sections is the sweetest solace in all my anxieties. I look forward with longing to the time when I can lay aside the cares of office — ” [“dam sight,” shouted a tipsy fellow near the door. Cries of “put him out.”]
“My friends, do not remove him. Let the misguided man stay. I see that he is a victim of that evil which is swallowing up public virtue and sapping the foundation of society. As I was saying, when I can lay down the cares of office and retire to the sweets of private life in some such sweet, peaceful, intelligent, wide-awake and patriotic place as Hawkeye (applause). I have traveled much, I have seen all parts of our glorious union, but I have never seen a lovelier village than yours, or one that has more signs of commercial and industrial and religious prosperity — (more applause).”
The Senator then launched into a sketch of our great country, and dwelt for an hour or more upon its prosperity and the dangers which threatened it.
He then touched reverently upon the institutions of religion, and upon the necessity of private purity, if we were to have any public morality. “I trust,” he said, “that there are children within the sound of my voice,” and after some remarks to them, the Senator closed with an apostrophe to “the genius of American Liberty, walking with the Sunday School in one hand and Temperance in the other up the glorified steps of the National Capitol.”
Col. Sellers did not of course lose the opportunity to impress upon so influential a person as the Senator the desirability of improving the navigation of Columbus river. He and Mr. Brierly took the Senator over to Napoleon and opened to him their plan. It was a plan that the Senator could understand without a great deal of explanation, for he seemed to be familiar with the like improvements elsewhere. When, however, they reached Stone’s Landing the Senator looked about him and inquired,
“Is this Napoleon?”
“This is the nucleus, the nucleus,” said the Colonel, unrolling his map. “Here is the deepo, the church, the City Hall and so on.”
“Ah, I see. How far from here is Columbus River? Does that stream empty — — ”
“That, why, that’s Goose Run. Thar ain’t no Columbus, thout’n it’s over to Hawkeye,” interrupted one of the citizens, who had come out to stare at the strangers. “A railroad come here last summer, but it haint been here no mo’.”
“Yes, sir,” the Colonel hastened to explain, “in the old records Columbus River is called Goose Run. You see how it sweeps round the town — forty-nine miles to the Missouri; sloop navigation all the way pretty much drains this whole country; when it’s improved steamboats will run right up here. It’s got to be enlarged, deepened. You see by the map. Columbus River. This country must have water communication!”
“You’ll want a considerable appropriation, Col. Sellers.
“I should say a million; is that your figure Mr. Brierly.”
“According to our surveys,” said Harry, “a million would do it; a million spent on the river would make Napoleon worth two millions at least.”
“I see,” nodded the Senator. “But you’d better begin by asking only for two or three hundred
