__________
“To
admit the Grecian Horse into the Citadel of our Liberty and Sovereignty.”
Alexander Hamilton
__________
January 12: In a
series of essays, published in the New York Evening Post, Alexander
Hamilton, responds to President Thomas Jefferson’s message to Congress, which
he had delivered in December, in written form. That written message was handed
to lawmakers by Meriwether Lewis. Hamilton, under the pen name Lucius Crassus, then
responded in nine parts, including
VIII, regarding immigration.
Hamilton was concerned with a proposal, put forward by the
president, to admit new arrivals to immediate citizenship. The “consequences
that must result from a too unqualified admission of foreigners, to an equal
participation in our civil, and political rights,” he said, should give pause.
He even used Jefferson’s own writings to make a case:
The opinion advanced in the Notes on Virginia is undoubtedly
correct, that foreigners will generally be apt to bring with them attachments
to the persons they have left behind; to the country of their nativity, and to
its particular customs and manners. They will also entertain opinions on government
congenial with those under which they have lived, or if they should be led
hither from a preference to ours, how extremely unlikely is it that they will
bring with them that temperate love of liberty, so essential to
real republicanism? There may as to particular individuals, and at particular
times, be occasional exceptions to these remarks, yet such is the general rule.
The influx of foreigners must, therefore, tend to produce a heterogeneous compound;
to change and corrupt the national spirit; to complicate and confound public
opinion; to introduce foreign propensities.
As has always been the case,
the question of immigration boiled down to how much is good, and how much is
too much. As Hamilton put it, “there is a wide difference between closing the
door altogether and throwing it entirely open[.]”
Under the Alien and Sedition
Acts, the period of waiting to become eligible for citizenship had been
extended to fourteen years. Hamilton agreed that a period was needed “to enable
aliens to get rid of foreign and acquire American attachments; to learn the
principles and imbibe the spirit of our government.” Fourteen years was unnecessary.
“A residence of at least five years ought to be required,” he said.
Jefferson’s plan, if adopted, he
warned, would introduce danger for the young republic. “To admit foreigners
indiscriminately to the rights of citizens, the moment they put foot in our
country, as recommended in the Message, would be nothing less, than to admit
the Grecian Horse into the Citadel of our Liberty and Sovereignty.”
*
THIS
might fit in anywhere, from A Popular History of Indiana. The author
comes across as a good, Christian woman of her era, writing in 1891. (She
advocates for temperance, for example.)
She has this to say of
traveling preachers, including those who ministered to the Native Americans:
They,
of course, shared in the hardships, trials, and privations of the early
settlers, but their lot was even harder, from the fact that they were obliged
to travel continually through a sparsely-settled country, carrying the gospel
message to the widely-scattered settlements, and finding their way through a
pathless forest by means of Indian trails and marked trees. One writer thus
describes their mode of traveling: “Sleeping in the woods or on the open
prairies on their saddle-blankets, cooking their coarse meals by the way,
fording streams on horseback with saddle-bags and blankets lifted to their
shoulders, exposed without shelter to storms, and drying their garments and
blankets by the camp-fires, when no friendly cabin could be found. … In a few
years they became sallow, weather-beaten and toil worn.” And “often prostrated
by fevers and wasted by malaria the years of pioneer service with many were few
and severe.” One good old veteran in writing to a friend said: “My horse’s
joints are now skinned to his hock-joints. And I have rheumatism in all my
joints. … What I have suffered in body and mind my pen is not able to
communicate to you; but this I can say, while my body is wet with the water and
chilled with the cold, my soul is filled with heavenly fire, and I can say with
St. Paul: ‘But none of these things move me.’” (91/258-259)
*
IN
SIMILAR FASHION, Hendricks writes of the early pioneers:
A
story is told of one pioneer who left his clearing and started farther west
because another had settled so near him that he could hear the report of his
rifle; and of another, that on noticing, through the valley around him, “smoke
curling in the distance, he went fifteen miles to discover its source and,
finding newcomers there, quit the country in disgust.” (91/66)
*
“The
spirit of revolt has taken deep hold in the minds of the slaves.”
SHAKEN by a slave revolt in 1800, the Virginia legislature established a
regular guard for the capital, the armory, and the penitentiary. A “humane” law
was passed, in the wake of the wave of executions, which granted the governor
power to sell, “beyond the bounds of the United States, any slaves convicted of
conspiracy or other crimes.” Jefferson suggested that slaves be sent to Sierra
Leone, a colony established by Britain as a refuge for slaves removed from
America during the Revolution.
“In the future,” Ammon notes, “all slaves
convicted of crimes were kept in prison until purchased by traders agreeing to
remove them from the United States.”
Rumors of another possible slave revolt
in 1802, again stirred fear in Virginia; Monroe was dubious, but did write
Jefferson, admitting, “the spirit of revolt has taken deep hold in the minds of
the slaves.” (24/199-200)
 |
A character in Beloved explains life as a slave. |
*
NOTE TO TEACHERS: I
found out early in my career that middle school students loved to act. For
several years, in the 1980s, I had the misfortune to be required to teach Ohio
History. We had an ancient book – with some pictures showing cars from the
1940s and political leaders all wearing fedoras. At one point we found the book
my colleague, Steve Ball, had used in junior high, before we changed to a
middle school model. So we held an official “retirement” ceremony for the aging
text and delivered it across the hall to his room, with appropriate honors.
The main trouble, as so often was the
case, was that the book lacked interest for students. I did what I could to
make the subject come alive; but it was no easy task. I stumbled across an old
book on the life of Johnny Appleseed. And about the same time I read some
material on Mike Fink, a riverboat pirate of the same era. I managed to write
up brief stories about both men and presented them to my classes.
Initially, I was considering a creative
writing assignment. Then one of my kids suggested combining the two for a skit.
As always, I was intrigued – and say again that some of your best ideas will
come from the kids in front of you. “Why don’t we have a Dating Game episode
with the two pioneers?”
I knew at once this would be funny. In
no time, three girls volunteered to take the role of contestants. I took the
two boys who had agreed to be Fink and Appleseed aside for a conference. “I
want you to wear a pot on your head,” I told the boy who volunteered to play
Johnny.
“I have an old sack at home in our
barn,” he said with enthusiasm – and I told him to bring it for sure.
I had picked the biggest, toughest looking boy
in class to be Mike and we discussed his role and agreed he should bring a
“whiskey bottle” to serve as a prop.
The girls had to sit down and make up
as many questions as possible to ask these two famous ladies’ men.
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Mr. Appleseed. |
Here was the opening description of John Chapman, a.k.a.
Johnny Appleseed, in my reading:
Down
the road he came, often barefoot or wearing bark sandals – always ragged and
worn. His shirt might be an old coffee
sack. His head-gear was a broken-down straw hat covering long, untidy hair. Or
he might wear a tin pot to keep off the sun and serve his cooking needs. His
possessions were few. A Bible. A bag of corn meal and a lump of salt for meals.
Not much else. No gun, no horse, no money. Just a leather bag filled with
seeds. Yet this was not some frontier
scarecrow or pioneer hippie. This was the legendary Johnny Appleseed.
He
didn’t look like much: but bright eyes showed in his weathered face.
Brief discussion of his childhood followed. Then a look at
his career:
Whenever
he felt soil and sun were right he stopped to hack an opening in the forest.
Chopping at small trees and brush, he cleared a space. Then he dug out roots,
raked and turned the soil, and “tickled the earth” with his seeds. In went all
varieties of apples – Russets, Pippins, Never-Fails, and more. Finally he made
a fence of brush to keep out deer and wild animals and moved on.
Whenever
possible, Johnny gave seedlings to pioneer families so they might do the
planting themselves. To others he gave seeds and instructions on how to handle
them. Everywhere he made friends, since the apple was a key to a good diet in
1800. In pies, cider, jelly, cake, fritters and apple sauce, the fruit appeared
regularly on the menu.
“Johnny
Appleseed” was known far and wide. During the summer he helped with plowing and
farm work. In return he received meals and a place to bed down. Other nights he
slept outdoors where darkness found him. Often he was content to dine on half-ripe plums and wild oats. Other times he
gathered a hat (pot) full of berries to eat along the way.
Soon
it was said: “He had a friend in every person, a home under every roof in
Ohio.” Many evenings were spent by firelight, reading the Bible to families
that lacked schooling to read themselves. Peace-loving and kind, John discussed
his ideas with all who cared to listen. To children he might give marbles or
bright ribbon, or a rude [simple] toy he carved. In the fall he doubled back on
his path and visited his plantings, tending to the young seedlings. Winters
found him in the cider-mills of western Pennsylvania and eastern Ohio,
gathering fresh seeds for use when spring finally returned.
According to Eleanor Atkinson’s book, even the natives
respected Appleseed. He was a gentle, peace loving man – and tried to keep the
settlers and natives from fighting.
Because
he roamed the wilderness Johnny gave up any chance for a home or family. “He
could have no love but that of mankind, no children besides the tender seeds of
his planting,” says Atkinson. Instead he came to find “companionship in his
furred and feathered friends” of the forest. Even the apple trees were special.
Johnny sometimes spoke of as if they were human. In harsh winter weather people
might wonder if the young trees would survive. “They can be trusted to do their
best,” the simple planter replied.
From
his earliest travels he had studied the teachings of the Swedenborgian church.
Convinced by his reading that all creatures were loved by God, John gave up
eating meat, riding a horse or killing snakes and insects. If he had to make
camp he positioned his fire to avoid burning even an anthill. He carried no gun
to keep away wolves or men, only a supply of gunpowder to light and scare off
animals.
I also included the story of his one true romance:
Some
say Chapman finally fell in love with a pioneer widow named Betty Varnum. We
hear that he plowed 150 miles through deep snow and high winds one terrible
winter. For Johnny feared that Mrs. Varnum and her family would need his help.
Even severe frostbite could not stop him. But he arrived too late. Sickness had
claimed Betty’s life.
That
winter her family found poor Appleseed “lying cold and senseless on Betty’s
grave.” Johnny had placed a good red cloak over the ground where she was
buried. And we can imagine that tears were frozen upon his cheeks. His hair turned
white and he began to treat the trees even more lovingly. Somehow he was
convinced they could feel the pain when he pruned [cut back] their branches.
Fink was nothing more than criminal scum. The counterpoint to
peace-loving Appleseed could not have any more stark. Even as an infant, I
noted, he refused milk and demanded whiskey!
Here we describe his brawling ways:
In the rough frontier world, and a rougher
business, Fink feared no man and answered to no law but his desire. “I’m a
regular tornado,” he warned, “and can strike a blow like a falling tree.”
Powerfully built, he had a handshake like a “blacksmith’s vice.” One witness compared him to a grizzly bear in clothes.
Another says he stood six feet tall. A third puts his size at 5’ 9,” 180
pounds.
At
any height or weight, Mike was ALL DANGER to those who roused his anger. For he enjoyed a good fight: “to stretch
these here limbs and git the jint [joints] to working easy,” he once explained.
“I can out-run, out-jump, out-shoot, out-brag, out-drink, and out-fight, rough
and tumble, any man on both sides of the river,” he bellowed when he entered a
bar. And fool it was who disagreed! “If any man dare doubt it,” he growled,
“I’ll be in his hair quicker than hell can scorch
a feather.”
Fink
was particularly good at “rough and
tumble” combat, fighting without rules or limit. Such contests ended when one man hollered,
“enough.” The damage could be terrible. It was not uncommon for men to gouge out eyes or bite off pieces of an
enemy’s lip, nose or ear. Some fighters
wore metal fingers known as “devil’s claws.” Attached to the hand, they helped
rake great cuts across an opponent’s face. The winner won the privilege of
wearing a red feather in his hat; and Mike was champion of many such brawls.
(In a footnote I included these
additional details: A. B.
Hulbert described the damage done in one fight. Combined, the two contestants
suffered: two eyes out, a nose clipped off close to the face, one lower lip
torn away and two heads with hair ripped out in patches. As the words in
bold, above, I always highlighted terms in my readings, if I thought many
students wouldn’t know what they meant.)
Then we turned to Mike’s “way with women.”
Surprisingly,
Fink also had a reputation as a “lady’s man,” and girlfriends along the river.
He could be tough with women, too, especially when he had been drinking – which
was almost always. As Mike explained, “Thar’s nuthing like whiskey for taking
the cobwebs out o’ a feller’s throat.” Sometimes he carried lady friends along
on his boat. Then he watched their every move. He enjoyed making his “girls”
put tin cups filled with whiskey on their heads. Then this “William Tell of marksmen on land” would
put a bullet through the cup, without mussing a hair. Sometimes, for variety, he made the poor
woman hold the cup between her knees!
One
time, Fink threatened to shoot his girl “Peg” (or, some say, his wife), for
flirting with other men. Forcing her to lie in a pile of leaves, he carved up
scraps of wood and covered her up. Then he set the leaves on fire at each
corner. Peg stood it as long as she could. “But it soon became too hot, and she
made a run for the river, her hair and clothing all on fire. In a few seconds
she reached the water and plunged in, rejoiced to know she had escaped both
fire and [his] rifle so well.”
Mike
only shouted after her: “There, that’ll larn [learn] you to be winkin’ at them
fellers on the other boat.”
Two days later the students were ready – and they were
fabulous in almost every class. In one class John W., playing Johnny, brought
three apples to give his questioners. It was a nice touch and one he thought of
entirely on his own. The girls had good questions ready, too.
“Johnny, what would we do on a first date?” one asked.
“Well, I like to go out in the woods and talk to the squirrels.
That’s always fun,” he answered.
Mike usually scoffed at such replies and made fun of
Appleseed, the pioneer wimp. “I’d take you drinking, ladies, and maybe shot
cups off your head if I liked you enough,” he explained with a leer.
“Have you ever been married – or are you involved in any long
relationship now,” asked the next girl.
Johnny had to explain the tragic death of Betty Varnum and
how he lay sadly on her grave in the cold.
Mike tried answering the same question. “I had a woman once, named
Peg, but she got to lookin’ at them other fellers. So I forced her to lie down
in a pile of leaves and then set the pile on fire. She weren’t hurt none. She
jumped up and ran to the river and jumped in. But that taught her a lesson!”
The next question might be about Johnny’s views on violence.
How did each man make a living? What was the most romantic thing they had ever
done? Johnny might interject, “If you go out with me, I’ll let you wear my
pot!” Or Mike might growl, “I’ll let you steer my keelboat, so long’s ya don’t
be winkin’ at them other men.”
This was a skit that almost always worked and was almost
always fun. I admit, in this case, I was trying to come up with something in
Ohio History that I considered interesting and fun.
*
ANOTHER description of the
career of John Chapman can be found in a schoolbook, Ohio Supplement:
Wayland’s History (1929).
“An apple a day keeps the doctor
away.” This is a saying you have often heard. A man who never heard this saying
at all did wonderful work in giving Ohio thousands of apple trees. This man was
known as Johnny Appleseed, although his real name was John Chapman. The name
that people gave to him was much better, because it told the story of his work.
He was a queer man in many ways and people never quite understood him, but
everybody loved him for the good he did.
On his first visit to Ohio he
came floating down the Ohio River in two canoes that he had fastened together.
These canoes were piled full of sacks of apple seeds. He had gathered the seeds
at cider mills in Pennsylvania. He loved growing things and he loved people. He
thought that by planting these seeds in this new western country he could help
the settlers.
He wandered over Ohio and the
states west of us for many years. His leather sack of seeds was always with
him. Whenever he found a good spot along a stream, he planted some of his
seeds. He fenced the place in with brush to protect the young trees which would
soon begin to shoot up. Johnny had hundreds of these spots in Ohio. Year after
year he came back to tend them. He was so well liked by both Indians and white
settlers that no one ever bothered his young trees. When the trees were large
enough to be transplanted he sold them to the settlers. He never charged very much
for them, often taking old clothes for his pay. His usual price was five cents.
Johnny Appleseed loved trees but
he loved all kinds of wild animals, too. He never hurt a wild thing except
once. A snake bit him and in a sudden fit of anger he killed it. He was sorry
ever after for this act.
A man with such a good heart was
naturally loved by all the settlers. They were glad to have him come and stay
with them. He was very religious and he talked with the pioneers about religion
and worship. He also brought them news from the other places where he had been.
People gave him letters to carry to their friends. Boys and girls liked to hear
his stories. So he was loved for many reasons.
But the leather sack of seeds
was the thing that meant the most. Johnny Appleseed will never be forgotten in
Ohio.
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