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The cadet could only look his amazement at the possession of such an amount of learning by a crowd of mudsills, and one of our fellows said contemptuously: "Why, if you South Carolina Institute fellows couldn't answer such questions as that they wouldn't allow you in the infant class up North."
"I mean this Abe Lincoln the northern mudsills have picked up to make a President of. He used to get his living by splitting rails for a Western fence, Daisy Randolph." "But if he is President, he is President," I said. "For those that like him. We won't have him. Jefferson Davis is my President. And all I can do to help him I will. I can't fight; I wish I could.
Listen to the crowd as they cheer him. Listen to the epithets and vile names which they hurl at the stolid blue line of the victors, "Mudsills!" "Negro Worshippers." Yes, the crowd is there, seething with conflicting passions. Men with brows bent and fists clenched, yelling excitedly. Others pushing, and eager to see, there in curiosity only.
The question had become raspingly monotonous to me, whom he addressed, and I replied with marked acerbity: "Because we are the Northern mudsills whom you affect to despise, and we came down here to lick you into respecting us." The answer seemed to tickle him, a pleasanter light came into his sinister gray eyes, he laughed lightly, and bade us a kindly good day.
"Well, she had a right to secede!" cried Ransom. "And this right the Northern mudsills are trying to trample out. If she has not a right to be governed as she likes, she is not free." "But why did she secede?" I asked. "What wrong was done her?" "You are a girl, and cannot understand such matters!" Ransom answered, impatiently. "Just ask mamma to talk to you; or I will!"
Horses and men are acting very awkwardly, also, with the guiding of the animal by the rein against the neck, and not by the bit, as we were accustomed to do at home. We do not wonder much that the chivalrous Black Horse gentry have expressed their contempt of Northern "mudsills and greasy mechanics," and have made their brags that we could never match them.
"I mean this Abe Lincoln the Northern mudsills have picked up to make a President of. He used to get his living by splitting rails for a Western fence, Daisy Randolph." "But if he is President, he is President," I said. "For those that like him. We won't have him. Jefferson Davis is my President. And all I can do to help him, I will. I can't fight; I wish I could.
Virginia did not read this editorial, because it appeared in that abhorred organ of the Mudsills, the 'Missouri Democrat. The wheels of fortune were turning rapidly that first hot summer of the war time. Let us be thankful that our flesh and blood are incapable of the fury of the guillotine. But when we think calmly of those days, can we escape without a little pity for the aristocrats?
At the opening of hostilities, he had joined a rebel company, inflated with the idea that in a few weeks, or months at farthest, the Northern "mudsills" would be overwhelmed and out of sight. No one, except his mother, had talked louder and faster than himself. With his single hand he could slay a dozen of the cowardly Yankees.
Still out of rapport with her thought I said something about the obliteration of sectionalism and the arrival of political freedom and general prosperity. She would none of this. "I mean," she abruptly interposed, "that the son of Martha Bullock has come to his own and he will rescue us from the mudsills of the North."
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