THE SOUTH CAROLINA GENTLEMAN.Down in the small Palmetto State, the curious ones may findA ripping, tearing gentleman, of an uncommon kind—A staggering, swaggering sort of chap, who takes his whiskey straight,And frequently condemns his eyes to that ultimate vengeance which a clergyman of high standing has assured us must be the sinner's fate;A South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.You trace his genealogy, and not far back you'll seeA most undoubted octoroon, or mayhap a mustee;And if you note the shaggy locks that cluster on his brow,You'll find that every other hair is varied with a kink, that seldom denotes pure Caucasian blood; but, on the contrary, betrays an admixture with a race not particularly popular now—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.He always wears a full-dress coat—pre-Adamite in cut—With waistcoat of the loudest style, through which his ruffles jut.Six breastpins deck his horrid front: and on his fingers shineWhole invoices of diamond rings, which would hardly pass muster with the Original Jacobs in Chatham street, for jewels gen-u-ine—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.He chews tobacco by the pound, and spits upon the floor,If there is not a box of sand behind the nearest door;And when he takes his weekly spree, he clears a mighty trackOf everything that bears the shape of whisky-skin, gin-and-sugar, brandy-sour, peach-and-honey, irrepressible cocktail, rum-and-gum, and luscious apple-jack—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.He looks on grammar as a thing beneath the notice quiteOf any Southern gentleman whose grandfather was white;And as for education—why, he'll plainly set it forth,That such d—d nonsense never troubles the heads of the Chivalry; though it may be sufficiently degrading to merit the personal attention of the poor wretches unfortunate enough to make their living at the North—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.He licks his niggers daily, like a true American;And "takes the devil out of them" by this sagacious plan.He tries his bowie knives upon the fattest he can find;And if the darkey winces, why—he is immediately arrested at the instance of the First Families in the neighborhood, on a charge of conversing with a fiendish abolitionist, and conspiring to poison all the wells in the State with strychnine, and arm the slaves of the adjoining plantations with knives and pistols; for all of which he is very properly sentenced to five hundred lashes—after which to prison he's consigned (by)This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.If for amusement he's inclined, he coolly looks aboutFor a parson of the Methodists, or some poor peddler lout;And having found him, has him hung from some majestic tree—Then calls his numerous family to enjoy with him the instructive and entertaining spectacle of a "suspected abolitionist" receiving his just reward at the hands of an incensed com-mu-ni-ty—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.He takes to euchre kindly, too, and plays an awful hand,Especially when those he tricks his style don't understand;And if he wins, why then he stoops to pocket all the stakes;But if he loses, then he says unto the unfortunate stranger, who has chanced to win: "It's my opinion that you are a cursed abolitionist; and if you don't leave South Carolina in one hour, you will be hung like a dog." But no offer to pay his loss he makes—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.Of course he's all the time in debt to those who credit give—Yet manages upon the best the market yields to live;But if a Northern creditor asks him his bill to heed,This honorable gentleman instantly draws two bowie-knives and a pistol, dons a blue cockade, and declares, that in consequence of the repeated aggressions of the North, and its gross violations of the Constitution, he feels that it would utterly degrade him to pay any debt whatever; and that, in fact, he has at last determined toSecede!—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.And when, at length, to Charleston of the other world he goes,He leaves his children mortgages, with all their other woes.As slowly fades the vital spark, he doubles up his fists,And softly murmurs through his teeth: "I die under a full conviction of my errors in life, and freely forgive all men; but still I only hope that somewhere on the other side of Jordan I may just come across some ab-o-li-tion-ists!!"—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.
THE SOUTH CAROLINA GENTLEMAN.
THE SOUTH CAROLINA GENTLEMAN.
Down in the small Palmetto State, the curious ones may findA ripping, tearing gentleman, of an uncommon kind—A staggering, swaggering sort of chap, who takes his whiskey straight,And frequently condemns his eyes to that ultimate vengeance which a clergyman of high standing has assured us must be the sinner's fate;A South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.
Down in the small Palmetto State, the curious ones may find
A ripping, tearing gentleman, of an uncommon kind—
A staggering, swaggering sort of chap, who takes his whiskey straight,
And frequently condemns his eyes to that ultimate vengeance which a clergyman of high standing has assured us must be the sinner's fate;
A South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.
You trace his genealogy, and not far back you'll seeA most undoubted octoroon, or mayhap a mustee;And if you note the shaggy locks that cluster on his brow,You'll find that every other hair is varied with a kink, that seldom denotes pure Caucasian blood; but, on the contrary, betrays an admixture with a race not particularly popular now—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.
You trace his genealogy, and not far back you'll see
A most undoubted octoroon, or mayhap a mustee;
And if you note the shaggy locks that cluster on his brow,
You'll find that every other hair is varied with a kink, that seldom denotes pure Caucasian blood; but, on the contrary, betrays an admixture with a race not particularly popular now—
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.
He always wears a full-dress coat—pre-Adamite in cut—With waistcoat of the loudest style, through which his ruffles jut.Six breastpins deck his horrid front: and on his fingers shineWhole invoices of diamond rings, which would hardly pass muster with the Original Jacobs in Chatham street, for jewels gen-u-ine—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.
He always wears a full-dress coat—pre-Adamite in cut—
With waistcoat of the loudest style, through which his ruffles jut.
Six breastpins deck his horrid front: and on his fingers shine
Whole invoices of diamond rings, which would hardly pass muster with the Original Jacobs in Chatham street, for jewels gen-u-ine—
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.
He chews tobacco by the pound, and spits upon the floor,If there is not a box of sand behind the nearest door;And when he takes his weekly spree, he clears a mighty trackOf everything that bears the shape of whisky-skin, gin-and-sugar, brandy-sour, peach-and-honey, irrepressible cocktail, rum-and-gum, and luscious apple-jack—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.
He chews tobacco by the pound, and spits upon the floor,
If there is not a box of sand behind the nearest door;
And when he takes his weekly spree, he clears a mighty track
Of everything that bears the shape of whisky-skin, gin-and-sugar, brandy-sour, peach-and-honey, irrepressible cocktail, rum-and-gum, and luscious apple-jack—
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.
He looks on grammar as a thing beneath the notice quiteOf any Southern gentleman whose grandfather was white;And as for education—why, he'll plainly set it forth,That such d—d nonsense never troubles the heads of the Chivalry; though it may be sufficiently degrading to merit the personal attention of the poor wretches unfortunate enough to make their living at the North—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.
He looks on grammar as a thing beneath the notice quite
Of any Southern gentleman whose grandfather was white;
And as for education—why, he'll plainly set it forth,
That such d—d nonsense never troubles the heads of the Chivalry; though it may be sufficiently degrading to merit the personal attention of the poor wretches unfortunate enough to make their living at the North—
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.
He licks his niggers daily, like a true American;And "takes the devil out of them" by this sagacious plan.He tries his bowie knives upon the fattest he can find;And if the darkey winces, why—he is immediately arrested at the instance of the First Families in the neighborhood, on a charge of conversing with a fiendish abolitionist, and conspiring to poison all the wells in the State with strychnine, and arm the slaves of the adjoining plantations with knives and pistols; for all of which he is very properly sentenced to five hundred lashes—after which to prison he's consigned (by)This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.
He licks his niggers daily, like a true American;
And "takes the devil out of them" by this sagacious plan.
He tries his bowie knives upon the fattest he can find;
And if the darkey winces, why—he is immediately arrested at the instance of the First Families in the neighborhood, on a charge of conversing with a fiendish abolitionist, and conspiring to poison all the wells in the State with strychnine, and arm the slaves of the adjoining plantations with knives and pistols; for all of which he is very properly sentenced to five hundred lashes—after which to prison he's consigned (by)
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.
If for amusement he's inclined, he coolly looks aboutFor a parson of the Methodists, or some poor peddler lout;And having found him, has him hung from some majestic tree—Then calls his numerous family to enjoy with him the instructive and entertaining spectacle of a "suspected abolitionist" receiving his just reward at the hands of an incensed com-mu-ni-ty—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.
If for amusement he's inclined, he coolly looks about
For a parson of the Methodists, or some poor peddler lout;
And having found him, has him hung from some majestic tree—
Then calls his numerous family to enjoy with him the instructive and entertaining spectacle of a "suspected abolitionist" receiving his just reward at the hands of an incensed com-mu-ni-ty—
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.
He takes to euchre kindly, too, and plays an awful hand,Especially when those he tricks his style don't understand;And if he wins, why then he stoops to pocket all the stakes;But if he loses, then he says unto the unfortunate stranger, who has chanced to win: "It's my opinion that you are a cursed abolitionist; and if you don't leave South Carolina in one hour, you will be hung like a dog." But no offer to pay his loss he makes—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.
He takes to euchre kindly, too, and plays an awful hand,
Especially when those he tricks his style don't understand;
And if he wins, why then he stoops to pocket all the stakes;
But if he loses, then he says unto the unfortunate stranger, who has chanced to win: "It's my opinion that you are a cursed abolitionist; and if you don't leave South Carolina in one hour, you will be hung like a dog." But no offer to pay his loss he makes—
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.
Of course he's all the time in debt to those who credit give—Yet manages upon the best the market yields to live;But if a Northern creditor asks him his bill to heed,This honorable gentleman instantly draws two bowie-knives and a pistol, dons a blue cockade, and declares, that in consequence of the repeated aggressions of the North, and its gross violations of the Constitution, he feels that it would utterly degrade him to pay any debt whatever; and that, in fact, he has at last determined toSecede!—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.
Of course he's all the time in debt to those who credit give—
Yet manages upon the best the market yields to live;
But if a Northern creditor asks him his bill to heed,
This honorable gentleman instantly draws two bowie-knives and a pistol, dons a blue cockade, and declares, that in consequence of the repeated aggressions of the North, and its gross violations of the Constitution, he feels that it would utterly degrade him to pay any debt whatever; and that, in fact, he has at last determined toSecede!—
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.
And when, at length, to Charleston of the other world he goes,He leaves his children mortgages, with all their other woes.As slowly fades the vital spark, he doubles up his fists,And softly murmurs through his teeth: "I die under a full conviction of my errors in life, and freely forgive all men; but still I only hope that somewhere on the other side of Jordan I may just come across some ab-o-li-tion-ists!!"—This South Carolina gentleman,One of the present time.
And when, at length, to Charleston of the other world he goes,
He leaves his children mortgages, with all their other woes.
As slowly fades the vital spark, he doubles up his fists,
And softly murmurs through his teeth: "I die under a full conviction of my errors in life, and freely forgive all men; but still I only hope that somewhere on the other side of Jordan I may just come across some ab-o-li-tion-ists!!"—
This South Carolina gentleman,
One of the present time.
Yesterday afternoon, my boy, Colonel Wobert Wobinson, of the Western Centaurs, ordered Captain Samyule Sa-mith to make a reconnoissance toward Flint Hill with a company of skeleton cavalry, having learned that several bushels of oats were stored there.
Samyule drew up his company in line against a fence, and then says he:
"Comrades, we go upon a mission that is highly dangurious, and America expects every hoss to do his duty. If we meet the rebels," continued Samyule, impressively, "they will try hard to capture some of our hosses; for they're badly off for gridirons down there, and three or four of our spirited animals would supply them for the season. If any of you see them coming after the hardware, just put your gridirons on a gallop and fall back."
At the conclusion of this speech, Private Peter Jenkins observed that he'd been falling back ever since he got his horse; for which he was sentenced to laugh at all the colonel's jokes for a week.
Would that I possessed the fiery pen of bully Homer, to describe the gallant advance of that splendidcorps, as it trotted fiercely on to victory or death. At its head was Captain Samyule Sa-mith, mounted on a horse of some degree of merit, his coat-tails flapping behind him like banners at half-mast, and his form bouncing about in the saddle like an inspired jumping-jack. There was Lieutenant Tummis Kagcht, recently of the German navy, riding an animal with prows as sharp as a yacht and that was broadside to the road at least half the time. There was private Peter Jenkins, seated directly over the tail of a yellow-enameled charger, that walked at right-angles with the fences, and never stopped to take breath until it had gone three yards.
There was Sergeant O'Pake, late of Italy, who bestrode a sorrel, whose side was full of symmetrical gutters to carry the rain off, and who kept his octagon head directly under the right arm of the horseman ahead of him. There was private Nick O'Demus, with his sabre tucked neatly into the eyes of his neighbor, managing an anatomical curiosity that walked half of the time on his hind-legs, and creaked when it came to ruts in the road.
Onward, right onward, went this glittering cavalcade, my boy, until they came to an outskirt of Flint Hill, where a solitary remnant of a First Family might have been seen sitting on a fence, eating a sandwich.
"Tr-r-aitor!" shouted Captain Samyule Sa-mith, in tones of milk-souring thunder, "where is the rest of the Confederacy, and what do you think of the news from Fort Donelson?"
The Confederacy hiccupped gloomily, my boy, as he took an impression of its front teeth on the sandwich, and says he:
"The melancholy days are come—the saddest of the year."
"That's very true," said Samyule, pleasantly, "and proves you to be a person of some eddication. But tell me, sweet hermit of the dale," pursued Samyule, "where are the oats we have heard about?"
The solitary Confederacy checked a rising cough with another bite at his ration, and says he:
"You have the oats already; for they were eaten last night by six Confederate chickens, and my slave, Mr. Johnson, sold them chickens to a prospecting detachment of the Mackerel Brigade this morning. Don't talk to me any more," continued the Confederacy, sadly, "for I am very miserable, and haven't seen a quarter in six months."
Samyule seemed touched, and put his hand half-way into his pocket, but remembered his probable children, and refrained from romantic generosity.
"Let me see Mr. Johnson," says he, reflectively, "and I will question him concerning the South."
The Confederacy indulged in a plaintive cat-call, whereupon there emerged from an adjacent clump of bushes a beautiful black being, richly attired in a heavy seal-ring and a red neck-tie. It was Mr. Johnson.
"You have sent for me," says Mr. Johnson, with much dignity, "and I have come. If you do not want me, I will return."
"You have seen the tragic Forrest?" said Samyule.
"The forest is my home," replied Mr. Johnson, "and in its equal shade my humble hut stands sacredly embowered. As the gifted Whittier might say:
"There lofty trees uprear in pillared state,And crystal streams the thirsty deer elate;While through the halls that base the dome of leavesFall sunshine-harvests spread in golden sheaves."There toy the birds in sweet seclusion blest,To leap the branches or to build the nest,While from their throats the grateful song outpouredWakes woodland orchestras to praise the Lord."There walks the wolf, no longer driven wildBy panting hounds and huntsman blood-defiled;But tamed to kindness, seeketh peacefullyThe soothing shelter of a hollow tree."Who would be free, and tow'r above his race,In the full freedom spurning man and place,Deep in the forest let him rear his clanWhere God himself stands face to face with man."
"There lofty trees uprear in pillared state,And crystal streams the thirsty deer elate;While through the halls that base the dome of leavesFall sunshine-harvests spread in golden sheaves.
"There lofty trees uprear in pillared state,
And crystal streams the thirsty deer elate;
While through the halls that base the dome of leaves
Fall sunshine-harvests spread in golden sheaves.
"There toy the birds in sweet seclusion blest,To leap the branches or to build the nest,While from their throats the grateful song outpouredWakes woodland orchestras to praise the Lord.
"There toy the birds in sweet seclusion blest,
To leap the branches or to build the nest,
While from their throats the grateful song outpoured
Wakes woodland orchestras to praise the Lord.
"There walks the wolf, no longer driven wildBy panting hounds and huntsman blood-defiled;But tamed to kindness, seeketh peacefullyThe soothing shelter of a hollow tree.
"There walks the wolf, no longer driven wild
By panting hounds and huntsman blood-defiled;
But tamed to kindness, seeketh peacefully
The soothing shelter of a hollow tree.
"Who would be free, and tow'r above his race,In the full freedom spurning man and place,Deep in the forest let him rear his clanWhere God himself stands face to face with man."
"Who would be free, and tow'r above his race,
In the full freedom spurning man and place,
Deep in the forest let him rear his clan
Where God himself stands face to face with man."
Just as the oppressed African finished this rhythmical statement of his platform, my boy, a huge horse-fly, alighting on the nose of Captain Samyule Sa-mith, awoke that hero from the refreshing slumber into which he had fallen.
"Tell me, Johnson," says he, "how you got your eddication, for I thought that persons from Afric's sunny mountain went to school about as often as a cat goes to sea."
Mr. Johnson placed his hand upon his breast with much stateliness, and says he: "I entered Yale College as a Spaniard, and having graduated with all honors, returned to my master, and was at once employed in cotton culture. I am contented and happy, and have never seen an uncomfortable day since my wife was sold. Go, stranger, and tell your people that the South may be overwhelmed, but she can never be conquered while Johnson has a seal ring to his back."
On hearing this speech, my boy, Samyule said:
"About face! skeletons;" and the gridiron cavalry returned to camp in a brown study.
The intelligence of the southern slaves is really wonderful, my boy, and if it should ever come to a head, look out for a rise in wool.
Yours, contemplatively,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER XXXIII.
EXEMPLIFYING THE TERRIBLE DOMESTIC EFFECTS OF MILITARY INACTIVITY ON THE POTOMAC, AND DESCRIBING THE METAPHYSICAL CAPTURE OF FORT MUGGINS.
Washington, D.C., March 3d, 1862.
I know a man, my boy, who was driven to lunacy by reliable war news. He was in the prime of life when the war broke out, and took such an interest in the struggle that it soon became nearly equal to the interest on his debts. With all the enthusiasm of vegetable youth he subscribed for all the papers, and commenced to read the reliable war news. In this way he learned that all was quiet on the Potomac, and immediately went to congratulate his friends, and purchase six American flags. On the following morning he wrapt himself in the banner of his country and learned from all the papers that all was quiet on the Potomac. His joy at once became intense; he hoisted a flag on the lightning-rod of his domicil, purchased a national pocket-handkerchief, bought six hand-organs that played the Star-Spangled Banner, and drank nothing but gunpowder tea. In the next six months, however, there was a great change in our military affairs; the backbone of the rebellion was broken, the sound of the thunder came from all parts of the sky, and fifty-three excellent family journals informed the enthusiast that all was quiet on the Potomac. He now became fairly mad with bliss, and volunteered to sit up with a young lady whose brother was a soldier. On the following morning he commenced to read Bancroft's History of the United States, with Hardee's Tactics appended, only pausing long enough to learn from the daily papers that all was quiet on the Potomac. Thus, in a fairy dream of delicious joy, passed the greater part of this devoted patriot's life; and even as his hair turned gray, and his form began to bend with old age, his eye flashed in eternal youth over the still reliable war news. At length there came a great change in the military career of the Republic; the rebellion received its death-wound, and Washington's Birthday boomed upon the United States of America. It was the morning of that glorious day, and the venerable patriot was tottering about the room with his cane, when his great-grandchild, a lad of twenty-five, came thundering into the room with forty-three daily papers under his arm.
"Old man!" says he, in a transport, "there's great news."
"Boy, boy!" says the aged patriot, "do not trifle with me. Can it be that—"
"Bet your life—"
"Is it then a fact that—"
"Yes—"
"Am I to believe that—"
"All is quiet on the Potomac!"
It was too much for the venerable Brutus; he clutched at the air, spun once on his left heel, sang a stave of John Brown's body, and stood transfixed with ecstacy.
"Thank Heving," says he, "for sparing me to see this day!"
After which he became hopelessly insane, my boy, and raved so awfully about all our great generals turning into Mud-larks that his afflicted family had to send him to the asylum.
This veracious and touching biography will show you how dangerous to public health is reliable war news, and convince you that the Secretary's order to the press is only a proper insanitary measure.
I am all the more resigned to it, my boy, because it affects me so little that I am even able to give you a strictly reliable account of a great movement that lately took place.
I went down to Accomac early in the week, my boy, having heard that Captain Villiam Brown and the Conic Section of the Mackerel Brigade were about to march upon Fort Muggins, where Jeff Davis, Beauregard, Mason, Slidell, Yancey, and the whole rebel Congress were believed to be intrenched. Mounted on my gothic steed Pegasus, who only blew down once in the whole journey, I repaired to Villiam's department, and was taking notes of the advance, upon a sheet of paper spread on the ground, when the commander of Accomac approached me, and says he:
"What are you doing, my bantam?"
"I'm taking notes," says I, "for a journal which has such an immense circulation among our gallant troops that when they begin to read it in the camps, it looks, from a distance, as though there had just been a heavy snow-storm."
"Ah!" says Villiam, thoughtfully, "newspapers and snow-storms are somewhat alike; for both make black appear white. But," said Villiam philosophically, "the snow is the more moral; for you can't lie in that with safety, as you can in a newspaper. In the language of General Grant at Donelson," says Villiam, sternly: "I propose to move upon your works immediately."
And with that he planted one of his boots right in the middle of my paper.
"Read that ere Napoleonic dockyment," says Villiam, handing me a scroll. It was as follows:
EDICK.Having noticed that the press of the United States of America is making a ass of itself, by giving information to the enemy concerning the best methods of carrying on the strategy of war, I do hereby assume control of all special correspondents, forbidding them to transact anything but private business; neither they, nor their wives, nor their children, to the third and fourth generation.I. It is ordered, that all advice from editors to the War Department, to the general commanding, or the generals commanding the armies in the field, be absolutely forbidden; as such advice is calculated to make the United States of America a idiot.II. Any newspaper publishing any news whatever, however obtained, shall be excluded from all railroads and steamboats, in order that country journals, which receive the same news during the following year, may not be injured in cirkylation.III. This control of special correspondents does not include the correspondent of the London Times, who wouldn't be believed if he published all the news of the next Christian era. By order ofVilliam Brown, Eskevire,Captain Conic Section, Mackerel Brigade.
EDICK.
Having noticed that the press of the United States of America is making a ass of itself, by giving information to the enemy concerning the best methods of carrying on the strategy of war, I do hereby assume control of all special correspondents, forbidding them to transact anything but private business; neither they, nor their wives, nor their children, to the third and fourth generation.
I. It is ordered, that all advice from editors to the War Department, to the general commanding, or the generals commanding the armies in the field, be absolutely forbidden; as such advice is calculated to make the United States of America a idiot.
II. Any newspaper publishing any news whatever, however obtained, shall be excluded from all railroads and steamboats, in order that country journals, which receive the same news during the following year, may not be injured in cirkylation.
III. This control of special correspondents does not include the correspondent of the London Times, who wouldn't be believed if he published all the news of the next Christian era. By order of
Villiam Brown, Eskevire,Captain Conic Section, Mackerel Brigade.
I had remounted Pegasus while reading this able State paper, my boy, and had just finished it, when a nervous member of the advance-guard accidentally touched off a cannon, whose report was almost immediately answered by one from the dense fog before us.
"Ha!" says Captain Villiam Brown, suddenly leaping from his steed, and creeping under it—to examine if the saddle-girth was all right—"the fort is right before us in the fog, and the rebels are awake. Let the Orange County Company advance with their howitzers, and fire to the north-east."
The Orange County Company, my boy, instantly wheeled their howitzers into position, and sent some pounds of grape toward the meridian, the roar of their weapons of death being instantaneously answered by a thundering crash in the fog.
Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, now went forward six yards at double-quick, and poured in a rattling volley of musketry, dodging fearlessly when exactly the same kind of a volley was heard in the fog, and wishing that they might have a few rebels for supper.
"Ha!" says Captain Villiam Brown, when he noticed that nobody seemed to be killed yet; "Providence is on our side, and this here unnatural rebellion is squelched. Let the Anatomical Cavalry charge into the fog, and demand the surrender of Fort Muggins," continued Villiam, compressing his lips with mad valor, "while I repair to that tree back there, and see if there is not a fiendish secessionist lurking behind it."
The Anatomical Cavalry immediately dismounted from their horses, which were too old to be used in a charge, and gallantly entered the fog, with their sabres between their teeth, and their hands in their pockets—it being a part of their tactics to catch a rebel before cutting his head off.
In the meantime, my boy, the Orange County howitzers and the Mackerel muskets were hurling a continuous fire into the clouds, stirring up the angels, and loosening the smaller planets. Sturdily answered the rebels from the fog-begirt fort; but not one of our men had yet fallen.
Captain Villiam Brown was just coming down from the top of a very tall tree, whither he had gone to search for masked batteries, when the fog commenced lifting, and disclosed the Anatomical Cavalry returning at double-quick.
Instantly our fire ceased, and so did that of the rebels.
"Does the fort surrender to the United States of America?" says Villiam, to the captain of the Anatomicals.
The gallant dragoon, sighed, and says he:
"I used my magnifying glass, but could find no fort."
At this moment, my boy, a sharp sunbeam cleft the fog as a sword does a vail, and the mist rolled away from the scene in two volumes, disclosing to our view a fine cabbage-patch, with a dense wood beyond.
Villiam deliberately raised a bottle to his face, and gazed through it upon the unexpected prospect.
"Ha!" says he sadly, "the garrison has cut its way through the fog and escaped, but Fort Muggins is ours! Let the flag of our Union be planted on the ramparts," says Villiam, with much perspiration, "and I will immediately issue a proclamation to the people of the United States of America."
Believing that Villiam was somewhat too hasty in his conclusions, my boy, I ventured to insinuate that what he had taken for a fort in the fog, was really nothing but a cabbage inclosure, and that the escaped rebels were purely imaginary.
"Imaginary!" says Villiam, hastily placing his canteen in his pocket. "Why, didn't you hear the roar of their artillery?"
"Do you see that thick wood yonder?" says I.
Says he, "It is visible to the undressed eye."
"Well," says I, "what you took for the sound of rebel firing, was only the echo of your own firing in that wood."
Villiam pondered for a few moments, my boy, like one who was considering the propriety of saying nothing in as few words as possible, and then looked angularly at me, and says he:
"My proclamation to the press will cover all this, and the news of this here engagement will keep until the war is over. Ah!" says Villiam, "I wouldn't have the news of this affair published on any account; for if the Government thought I was trying to cabbage in my Department, it would make me Minister to Russia immediately."
As the Conic Section of the Mackerel Brigade returned slowly to head-quarters, my boy, I thought to myself: How often does man, after making something his particular forte, discover at last that it is only a cabbage-patch, and hardly large enough at that for a big hog like himself!
Yours, philanthropically,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER XXXIV.
BEGINNING WITH A LAMENTATION, BUT CHANGING MATERIALLY IN TONE AT THE DICTUM OF JED SMITH.
Washington, D.C., March 8th, 1862.
Two days ago, my boy, a letter from the West informed me that an old friend of mine had fallen in battle at the very moment of victory. One by one, my boy, I have lost many friends since the war began, and know how to bear the stroke; but what will they say in that home to which the young soldier wafted a nightly prayer? Thither, alas! he goes
NO MORE.Hushed be the song and the love-notes of gladnessThat broke with the morn from the cottager's door—Muffle the tread in the soft stealth of sadness,For one who returneth, whose chamber-lamp burnethNo more.Silent he lies on the broad path of glory,Where withers ungarnered the red crop of war.Grand is his couch, though the pillows are gory,'Mid forms that shall battle, 'mid guns that shall rattleNo more.Soldier of Freedom, thy marches are ended—The dreams that were prophets of triumph are o'er—Death with the night of thy manhood is blended—The bugle shall call thee, the fight shall enthrall theeNo more.Far to the Northward the banners are dimming,And faint comes the tap of the drummers before;Low in the tree-tops the swallow is skimming;Thy comrades shall cheer thee, the weakest shall fear theeNo more.Far to the Westward the day is at vespers,And bows down its head, like a priest, to adore;Soldier, the twilight for thee has no whispers,The night shall forsake thee, the morn shall awake theeNo more.Wide o'er the plain, where the white tents are gleaming,In spectral array, like the graves they're before—One there is empty, where once thou wert dreamingOf deeds that are boasted, of One that is toastedNo more.When the Commander to-morrow proclaimethA list of the brave for the nation to store,Thou shalt be known with the heroes he nameth,Who wake from their slumbers, who answer their numbersNo more.Hushed be the song and the love-notes of gladnessThat broke with the morn from the cottager's door—Muffle the tread in the soft stealth of sadness,For one who returneth, whose chamber-lamp burnethNo more.
NO MORE.
NO MORE.
Hushed be the song and the love-notes of gladnessThat broke with the morn from the cottager's door—Muffle the tread in the soft stealth of sadness,For one who returneth, whose chamber-lamp burnethNo more.
Hushed be the song and the love-notes of gladness
That broke with the morn from the cottager's door—
Muffle the tread in the soft stealth of sadness,
For one who returneth, whose chamber-lamp burneth
No more.
Silent he lies on the broad path of glory,Where withers ungarnered the red crop of war.Grand is his couch, though the pillows are gory,'Mid forms that shall battle, 'mid guns that shall rattleNo more.
Silent he lies on the broad path of glory,
Where withers ungarnered the red crop of war.
Grand is his couch, though the pillows are gory,
'Mid forms that shall battle, 'mid guns that shall rattle
No more.
Soldier of Freedom, thy marches are ended—The dreams that were prophets of triumph are o'er—Death with the night of thy manhood is blended—The bugle shall call thee, the fight shall enthrall theeNo more.
Soldier of Freedom, thy marches are ended—
The dreams that were prophets of triumph are o'er—
Death with the night of thy manhood is blended—
The bugle shall call thee, the fight shall enthrall thee
No more.
Far to the Northward the banners are dimming,And faint comes the tap of the drummers before;Low in the tree-tops the swallow is skimming;Thy comrades shall cheer thee, the weakest shall fear theeNo more.
Far to the Northward the banners are dimming,
And faint comes the tap of the drummers before;
Low in the tree-tops the swallow is skimming;
Thy comrades shall cheer thee, the weakest shall fear thee
No more.
Far to the Westward the day is at vespers,And bows down its head, like a priest, to adore;Soldier, the twilight for thee has no whispers,The night shall forsake thee, the morn shall awake theeNo more.
Far to the Westward the day is at vespers,
And bows down its head, like a priest, to adore;
Soldier, the twilight for thee has no whispers,
The night shall forsake thee, the morn shall awake thee
No more.
Wide o'er the plain, where the white tents are gleaming,In spectral array, like the graves they're before—One there is empty, where once thou wert dreamingOf deeds that are boasted, of One that is toastedNo more.
Wide o'er the plain, where the white tents are gleaming,
In spectral array, like the graves they're before—
One there is empty, where once thou wert dreaming
Of deeds that are boasted, of One that is toasted
No more.
When the Commander to-morrow proclaimethA list of the brave for the nation to store,Thou shalt be known with the heroes he nameth,Who wake from their slumbers, who answer their numbersNo more.
When the Commander to-morrow proclaimeth
A list of the brave for the nation to store,
Thou shalt be known with the heroes he nameth,
Who wake from their slumbers, who answer their numbers
No more.
Hushed be the song and the love-notes of gladnessThat broke with the morn from the cottager's door—Muffle the tread in the soft stealth of sadness,For one who returneth, whose chamber-lamp burnethNo more.
Hushed be the song and the love-notes of gladness
That broke with the morn from the cottager's door—
Muffle the tread in the soft stealth of sadness,
For one who returneth, whose chamber-lamp burneth
No more.
To escape my own thoughts, I went over into a camp of New England chaps, yesterday, my boy, and one of the first high-privates my eyes rested on was Jed Smith, of Salsbury. He winked to the chaps lounging near him, when he noted my doleful look, and says he:
"You're mopish, comrade. Hez caliker proved deceitful?"
"No," says I, indifferently. "Calico rather shuns me, as a general thing, my Down-easter, on account of my plain speaking."
This startled him, my boy, as I expected it would, and says he:
"That's jest like the mock-modesty of the wimmin folks all the world over, and a body might think they had the hull supply and nothin' shorter; but I tell ye it's the heartiest sow that makes the least noise, and half this here modesty is all sham. Onct in a while these here awful modest critters git shook down a bit, I guess; and gheewhillikins! ef it don't do me good to see it. I recollect I was goin' down from Augusty some two years ago, in the old stage that Sammy Tompkins druv, and we had one of the she-critters aboard—and shewasa scrouger, I tell ye! Bonnet red as a blaze, and stuck all over with stiff geeranium blows, a hump like a Hottentot gal, and sich ankles! but hold your horses, I'm gettin' ahead of time. We was awful crowded, and no mistake—piled right on top of each other, like so many layers of cabbage; and the way that gal squealed when we struck a rut, was a caution to screech owls. And she was takin' up her sheer of the coach, too, I guess; and kind of stretched her walkin' geer way under the seat in front of her, and out t'other side, just to brace herself agin the diffikilties of travel. It being pretty bad goin' down in them parts, she had on a pair of her brother's butes, and they was what she wouldn't have had seen if she'd knowed it. One of the fellers on the middle seat was Zeb Green—gone to glory some time ago—and when he spied them butes, he winked to me, and sung out:
"Gheewhillikins! who owns these ere big trotters?"
"Now, ye see, the she-critter was one of yer modest ones, and she wouldn't have owned up for the world, after that. Says she:
"'I guess they ain't mine.'
"Zeb see her game in a twinklin', and he was a tall one for a lark; so says he:
"'I rayther guess there's petticuts goes with them mud mashers.'
"The gal she flamed up at that, and says she:
"'I guess you're barkin' up the wrong saplin', Major, and yer must have a most audacious turkey on, not to know yer own butes.'
"Sich lyin' tuk Zeb all aback for a minute; but he combed up his bristles again, and tried her on another trail.
"'Now, you don't mean to come for to insinuate that them ere'smybutes, and I not know it?' says he:
"She was in for it then, and wouldn't back down; so says she:
"'In course I do, Major, and you'd better look out fur your own leather.'
"Zeb took a chaw of his terbacky, and says he:
"'Well, if you says it's so, I'm bound to swaller the oyster; but I'll be dod-rotted if my bute-maker won't hev to shave my last next winter.'
"I seen right off that Zeb was up to the biggest kind of a spree, and I knew them butes was the gist of it; cause ye see the she-critter couldn't hull 'em in nohow, after what she'd said.
"We went wrigglin' along for a while as still as cats in a milk-house, and the butes stayed where they was. But pretty soon Zeb began to grow uneasy like, and screwed up his ugly nose, like as if he was took with the pangs, and the doctor gone a courtin'.
"'Gheewhillikins!' says he, at last, 'I shan't stand this here much longer, if thereiscompany in the parlor!'
"We all looked at him, and says one feller:
"'I guess, Major, you're took putty bad.'
"Zeb gave his phizog another twist, an' says he:
"'You'd better believe it, squire. I've got corns on them ere feet of mine that'd make a preacher swear, and them butes pinch like all tarnation.'
"I see right off how the smoke was blowin', and says I:
"'Off with 'em, Zeb! We're all in the family, and won't mind you.'
"That was all the old he-one was waitin' fur; and as quick as I said it, he had one of that modest gal's feet in his hand, and twisted off the bute in a twinklin'!! We all see a perfect Wenus of a foot, and a golfired ankle, and then it was jerked away quicker'n a flash, and the critter screamed like a rantankerous tom-cat with his tail under a cheese-knife!
"'Murder!—you nasty thing,' says she, 'give me my bute.'
"With that, me, and Zeb, and the hull bilin' of us roared right out; and says Zeb, says he, as he handed her the bute with a killin' bow—says he:
"'Young woman, I guess I've taken your modesty, as the wimmen call it, down a peg. You sed them wasmybutes, and in course I had a right to shed 'em; but ef they're your'n now, why keep 'em to yourself, for massy's sake!'
"That settled the gal down some, I tell ye; and it give her such a turn that her putty face was like a rose when we stopt at the Red Tavern."
We were so much pleased with this story, my boy, that we entreated the opponent of mock modesty to spin us another.
"Well, feller citizens," says he, "I don't mind if I do tell ye about
"A JOFIRED WAGON-TRADE"I onct made down in Texas. You see I was doin' a right smart chance of trade down in that deestrict with clocks, fur caps, Ingin meal, and other necessaries of life; and onct in a while I went it blind on a spekullation, when there was a chance to get a bargain, and pay fifty per cent. on a stiff swindle. They was an old chap of a half breed they called Uncle Johnny, down there, and somehow he got wind of my pertikler cuteness, and he guessed he could run a pretty sharp saw on me, if he only got a sight."I heerd he was after me, and thinks I 'you'll get a roastin', my boy, ef you pick up this hot-chestnut;' but I was consated beyond my powers then, and he was jist one huckleberry above my tallest persimmon. We cum together one night at Bill Crown's tavern, and the fust thing the old cuss said was:"'Jerewsalem crickets! I'm like a fellow jist out of a feather bed and no mistake. I tell ye that 'ere wagging uv mine rides jist about as slick as a railroad of grease, and if it warn't so allfired big, I wouldn't sell it for its weight in Orleans bank notes.'"I kinder thought I smelt a putty big bed-bug; but I glimpsed outer the door, and there stood the wagon under the shed, and lookin' orful temptin'. It war a big four wheel consarn, with a canvas top, and about as putty a consarn for family use as ever I sot my winkers on. Thinks I:"'You don't fetch me this time, hoss; for I'll be jist a neck ahead of you!'"So I stood a minit, and then says I:"'Without lookin' nor nuthin', Uncle Johnny, I'll jest give you $50 for that 'ere hearse.'"He kinder blinked around, and says he:"'I'd rather sell my grandmother; but the consarn's yourn, cunnel. Show yer hand.'"He was too willin' to suit me; but the game was outer cover, and I wouldn't back down. So I give him the rags, and went out to look at my bargain. Would you 'bleave it, the old varmint had jist fetched that ere wagon down to the shed, and sot it up end on, so that I didn't see how the fore-wheels wasn't thar! Fact! They had marvelled, and the fore-axles was restin' on two hitchin' stakes: Jist as I got through cussin,' I heerd a jofired larfin, and thar was the robber and his friends standin' in the door, splittin' their sides at me. Thinks I, 'I went cheap, then, my beauty; but look out for a hail-storm when the wind's up next time.' I borreyed a horse, and took that ar bargain to my shanty; and then I sot down and went to thinkin'. Fur two days I war as melancholy as a chicken in gooseberry time, tryin' to hit some plan to get even with the cuss. All to onct somethin' struck me, and I felt better. Ye see there was great talk down thar jist then, about the doctor's gig what they heard tell on, but not a one was there in the hull deestrict. I'd seen one up in York, and thinks I, 'Ef I don't make a doctor's two-wheeler outer that ere wagon, then bleed me to death with a oyster-knife!' So I jist got a big saw, and went to work quiet like, and cut that ere wagon right in two in the middle—cover and all. Then I took the shafts and fastened them onto the hind part, and rigged up a dash-board. And then I took part of the cut-off piece for a seat, and painted the hull thing with black paint; and dod-rot me if ef I didn't hev a doctor's gig as rantankerous as you please! I knew it would fetch a thunderin' price fur its novelty to any one; but I was after Uncle Johnny, and nobody else. One night I druv down to the tavern at a tearin' rate, and the fust feller I see was hisself, a standin' in the door, and sippin' kill-me-quick. He was kinder took down when he see me comin' it so piert in my new two-wheeler, and some of his friends inside axed him what was the matter. He kept as still as a mouse in a pantry until I come up, and then says he:"'What's that ere concern of yourn, hoss?'"Says I:"'It's one of them doctor's flyers as I'd rather ride in it than in Queen Victory's bang-up, A, No. 1, stage-coach. It's a scrouger.'"He kinder stuck a minute, and then says he:"'What'll ye take for it, hoss?'"I made out as though I didn't keer, and says I:"'It was sent to me by a cousin up in York, and I don't keer to sell; but yer may take it for $250.'"He turned green about the gills at that, and says he:"'Say $100, and I'll take it with my eyes shut.'"'It's yourn,' says I. 'Give us the rags.'"He smelt a bug that time; but it was too late; so he forked out the rale stuff, and then went to look at the two-wheeler."'Thunder!' says he, blinkin' at the seat. 'I've seen that afore, or my name isn't what my father's wus!'"'Better 'blieve it,' says I; 'that's your four-wheeler shaved down to the very latest York-fashion.'"Then hedidcuss; but twarn't no use. The trade was a trade, and all the boys larfed till their tongues hung out. I treated all round, and as I left 'em, says I:"'Uncle Johnny, when ye want to trade agin, jist pick out a grindstun that isn't too hard for yer blade.'"
"A JOFIRED WAGON-TRADE
"I onct made down in Texas. You see I was doin' a right smart chance of trade down in that deestrict with clocks, fur caps, Ingin meal, and other necessaries of life; and onct in a while I went it blind on a spekullation, when there was a chance to get a bargain, and pay fifty per cent. on a stiff swindle. They was an old chap of a half breed they called Uncle Johnny, down there, and somehow he got wind of my pertikler cuteness, and he guessed he could run a pretty sharp saw on me, if he only got a sight.
"I heerd he was after me, and thinks I 'you'll get a roastin', my boy, ef you pick up this hot-chestnut;' but I was consated beyond my powers then, and he was jist one huckleberry above my tallest persimmon. We cum together one night at Bill Crown's tavern, and the fust thing the old cuss said was:
"'Jerewsalem crickets! I'm like a fellow jist out of a feather bed and no mistake. I tell ye that 'ere wagging uv mine rides jist about as slick as a railroad of grease, and if it warn't so allfired big, I wouldn't sell it for its weight in Orleans bank notes.'
"I kinder thought I smelt a putty big bed-bug; but I glimpsed outer the door, and there stood the wagon under the shed, and lookin' orful temptin'. It war a big four wheel consarn, with a canvas top, and about as putty a consarn for family use as ever I sot my winkers on. Thinks I:
"'You don't fetch me this time, hoss; for I'll be jist a neck ahead of you!'
"So I stood a minit, and then says I:
"'Without lookin' nor nuthin', Uncle Johnny, I'll jest give you $50 for that 'ere hearse.'
"He kinder blinked around, and says he:
"'I'd rather sell my grandmother; but the consarn's yourn, cunnel. Show yer hand.'
"He was too willin' to suit me; but the game was outer cover, and I wouldn't back down. So I give him the rags, and went out to look at my bargain. Would you 'bleave it, the old varmint had jist fetched that ere wagon down to the shed, and sot it up end on, so that I didn't see how the fore-wheels wasn't thar! Fact! They had marvelled, and the fore-axles was restin' on two hitchin' stakes: Jist as I got through cussin,' I heerd a jofired larfin, and thar was the robber and his friends standin' in the door, splittin' their sides at me. Thinks I, 'I went cheap, then, my beauty; but look out for a hail-storm when the wind's up next time.' I borreyed a horse, and took that ar bargain to my shanty; and then I sot down and went to thinkin'. Fur two days I war as melancholy as a chicken in gooseberry time, tryin' to hit some plan to get even with the cuss. All to onct somethin' struck me, and I felt better. Ye see there was great talk down thar jist then, about the doctor's gig what they heard tell on, but not a one was there in the hull deestrict. I'd seen one up in York, and thinks I, 'Ef I don't make a doctor's two-wheeler outer that ere wagon, then bleed me to death with a oyster-knife!' So I jist got a big saw, and went to work quiet like, and cut that ere wagon right in two in the middle—cover and all. Then I took the shafts and fastened them onto the hind part, and rigged up a dash-board. And then I took part of the cut-off piece for a seat, and painted the hull thing with black paint; and dod-rot me if ef I didn't hev a doctor's gig as rantankerous as you please! I knew it would fetch a thunderin' price fur its novelty to any one; but I was after Uncle Johnny, and nobody else. One night I druv down to the tavern at a tearin' rate, and the fust feller I see was hisself, a standin' in the door, and sippin' kill-me-quick. He was kinder took down when he see me comin' it so piert in my new two-wheeler, and some of his friends inside axed him what was the matter. He kept as still as a mouse in a pantry until I come up, and then says he:
"'What's that ere concern of yourn, hoss?'
"Says I:
"'It's one of them doctor's flyers as I'd rather ride in it than in Queen Victory's bang-up, A, No. 1, stage-coach. It's a scrouger.'
"He kinder stuck a minute, and then says he:
"'What'll ye take for it, hoss?'
"I made out as though I didn't keer, and says I:
"'It was sent to me by a cousin up in York, and I don't keer to sell; but yer may take it for $250.'
"He turned green about the gills at that, and says he:
"'Say $100, and I'll take it with my eyes shut.'
"'It's yourn,' says I. 'Give us the rags.'
"He smelt a bug that time; but it was too late; so he forked out the rale stuff, and then went to look at the two-wheeler.
"'Thunder!' says he, blinkin' at the seat. 'I've seen that afore, or my name isn't what my father's wus!'
"'Better 'blieve it,' says I; 'that's your four-wheeler shaved down to the very latest York-fashion.'
"Then hedidcuss; but twarn't no use. The trade was a trade, and all the boys larfed till their tongues hung out. I treated all round, and as I left 'em, says I:
"'Uncle Johnny, when ye want to trade agin, jist pick out a grindstun that isn't too hard for yer blade.'"
At the conclusion of this tale of real life I returned to the city, my boy; impressed with the conviction that the purpose of the sun's rising in the East is to give the New Englanders the first chance to monopolize the supply, should daylight ever be a sailable article.
Yours, admiringly,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER XXXV.
GIVING PRACTICAL ILLUSTRATION OF MODERN PATRIOTISM, AND CELEBRATING THE ADVANCE OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE TO MANASSAS, ETC.
Washington, D.C., March 14th, 1862.
Patriotism, my boy, is a very beautiful thing. The surgeon of a Western regiment has analyzed a very nice case of it, and says that it is peculiar to this hemisphere. He says that it first breaks out in the mouth, and from thence extends to the heart causing the latter to swell. He says that it goes on raging until it reaches the pocket, when it suddenly disappears, leaving the patient very Constitutional and conservative. "Bless me!" says the surgeon, intently regarding a spoon with a tumbler round it, "if a genuine American ever dies of patriotism it will be because the Tax Bill hasn't been applied soon enough."
I believe him, my boy!
On Monday morning, just as the sun was rising, like a big gold watch "put up" at some celestial Simpson's, the sentinels of Fort Corcoran were seized with horrible tremblings at a sight calculated to make perpendicular hair fashionable. As far as the eye could reach on every side of the Capital, the ground was black with an approaching multitude, each man of which wore large spectacles, and carried a serious carpet-bag and a bottle-green umbrella.
"Be jabers!" says one of the sentinels, whose imperfect English frequently causes him to be taken for the Duc de Chartres, "it's the whole Southern Confederacy coming to boord with us."
"Aisey, me boy," says the other sentinel, straightening the barrel of his musket and holding it very straight to keep the fatal ball from rolling out, "it's the sperits of all our pravious descindants coming to ax us, was our grandmother the Saycretary of the Navy."
Right onward came the multitude, their spectacles glistening in the sun like so many exasperated young planets, and their umbrellas and carpet-bags swinging like the pendulums of so many infuriated clocks.
Pretty soon the advance guard, who was a chap in a white neck-tie and a hat resembling a stove-pipe in reduced circumstances, poked a sentinel in the ribs with his umbrella, and says he:
"Where's Congress?"
"Is it Congress ye want?" says the sentinel.
"Yessir!" says the chap. "Yessir. These are friends of mine—ten thousand six hundred and forty-two free American citizens. We must see Congress. Yessir!—dammit. How about that tax-bill? We come to protest against certain featuresinthat bill."
"Murther an turf!" says the sentinel, "is it the taxes all of them ould chaps is afther blaming?"
"Yessir!" says the chap, hysterically jamming his hat down over his forehead and stabbing himself madly under the arm with his umbrella. "Taxes is a outrage. Notalltaxes," says the chap with sudden benignity, "but the taxes which fall upon us. Why don't they tax them as is able to pay, without oppressing us ministers, editors, merchants, lawyers, grocers, peddlers, and professors of religion?" Here the chap turned very purple in the face, his eyes bulged greenly out, and says he: "Congress is a ass."
"That's thrue for you," says the sentinel: "they ought to eximpt the whole naytion and tax the rest of it."
The multitude then swarmed into Washington, my boy, and if they don't smother the Tax Bill, it will be because Congress is case-hardened.
The remainder of the Mackerel Brigade being ordered to join the Conic Section at Accomac for an irresistible advance on Manassas, I mounted my gothic steed Pegasus on Tuesday morning.
Pegasus, my boy, has greatly improved since I rubbed him down with Snobb's Patent Hair Invigorator, and his tail looks much less like a whisk-broom than it did at first. It is now fully able to maintain itself against all flies whatsoever. The general of the Mackerel Brigade rode beside me on a spirited black frame, and says he:
"That funereal beast of yours is a monument of the home affections. Thunder!" says the general, shedding a small tear of the color of Scheidam Schnapps, "I never look at that air horse without thinking of the time I buried my first baby; its head is shaped so much like a small coffin."
On reaching Accomac, my boy, we found Captain Villiam Brown at the head of the Conic Section of the Mackerel Brigade, dressed principally in a large sword and brass buttons, and taking the altitude of the sun with a glass instrument operated by means of a bottle.
"Ah!" says Villiam, "You are just in time to hear my speech to the sons of Mars, previous to the capture of Manassas by the United States of America."
Hereupon Villiam mounted a demijohn laid length-wise, and says he:
"Fellow-Anacondas:—Having been informed by a gentleman who has spent two weeks at Manassas, that the Southern Confederacy has gone South for its health, I have concluded that it is time to be offensive. The great Anaconda, having eluded Barnum, is about to move on the enemy's rear:"'Rear aloft your peaks, ye mountings,Rear aloft your waves, O sea!Rear your sparkling crests, ye fountings,For my love's come back to me.'"The day of inaction is past, and now the United States of America is about to swoop down like a exasperated Eagle, on the chickens left by the hawk. Are you ready, my sagacious reptiles, to spill a drop or so for your soaking country? Are you ready to rose up as one man—"'The rose is red,The wi'lets blue,Sugar is sweet, andBully for you.'"Ages to come will look down on this day and say: 'They died young.' The Present will reply: 'I don't see it;' but the present is just the last thing for us to think about. Richmond is before us, and there let it remain. We shall take it in a few years:"'It may be for years and it may be for ever,Then why art thou silent, O pride of me heart.'
"Fellow-Anacondas:—Having been informed by a gentleman who has spent two weeks at Manassas, that the Southern Confederacy has gone South for its health, I have concluded that it is time to be offensive. The great Anaconda, having eluded Barnum, is about to move on the enemy's rear:
"'Rear aloft your peaks, ye mountings,Rear aloft your waves, O sea!Rear your sparkling crests, ye fountings,For my love's come back to me.'
"'Rear aloft your peaks, ye mountings,Rear aloft your waves, O sea!Rear your sparkling crests, ye fountings,For my love's come back to me.'
"'Rear aloft your peaks, ye mountings,
Rear aloft your waves, O sea!
Rear your sparkling crests, ye fountings,
For my love's come back to me.'
"The day of inaction is past, and now the United States of America is about to swoop down like a exasperated Eagle, on the chickens left by the hawk. Are you ready, my sagacious reptiles, to spill a drop or so for your soaking country? Are you ready to rose up as one man—
"'The rose is red,The wi'lets blue,Sugar is sweet, andBully for you.'
"'The rose is red,The wi'lets blue,Sugar is sweet, andBully for you.'
"'The rose is red,
The wi'lets blue,
Sugar is sweet, and
Bully for you.'
"Ages to come will look down on this day and say: 'They died young.' The Present will reply: 'I don't see it;' but the present is just the last thing for us to think about. Richmond is before us, and there let it remain. We shall take it in a few years:
"'It may be for years and it may be for ever,Then why art thou silent, O pride of me heart.'
"'It may be for years and it may be for ever,Then why art thou silent, O pride of me heart.'
"'It may be for years and it may be for ever,
Then why art thou silent, O pride of me heart.'
"which is poickry. I hereby divide this here splendid army into onecorpse dammee, and take command of it."
At the conclusion of this thrilling oration, my boy, thecorpse dammeeformed itself into a hollow square, in the centre of which appeared a mail-clad ambulance.
I looked at this carefully, and then says I to Villiam:
"Tell me, my gay Achilles, what you carry in that?"
"Ha!" says Villiam, balancing himself on one leg, "them's my Repeaters. This morning," says Villiam, sagaciously, "I discovered six Repeaters among my men. Each of them voted six times last election day, and I've put them where they can't be killed. Ah!" says Villiam, softly, "the Democratic party can't afford to lose them Repeaters."
Here a rather rusty-looking chap stepped out of the ranks, and says he:
"Captain, I'm a Repeater too. I voted four times last election."
"It takes six to make a reliable Repeater," says Villiam.
"Yes," says the chap: "but I voted for different coves—twice for the Republican candidate and twice for the Democrat."
"Ha!" says Villiam, "you're a man of intelleck. Here, sargent," says Villiam, imperiously, "put this cherubim into the ambulance."
"And, sargent," says Villiam, thoughtfully, "give him the front seat."
And now, my boy, the march for Manassas commenced, being timed by the soft music of the band. This band, my boy, issui generis. Its chief artist is an ardent admirer of Rossini, who performs with great accuracy upon a night-key pressed closely against the lower lip, the strains being much like those emitted by a cart-wheel in want of grease. Then comes a gifted musican from Germany, whose instrument is a fine-tooth comb wrapped in paper, and blown upon through its vibratory covering. The remainder of the band is composed chiefly of drums, though the second-base achieves some fine effects with a superannuated accordeon.
Onward moved the magnificent pageant toward the plains of Manassas, the Anatomical Cavalry being in advance, and the Mackerel Brigade following closely after.
Arriving on the noted battle-field, we found nothing but a scene of desolation; the rebels gone; the masked batteries gone; and nothing left but a solitary daughter of the sunny South, who cursed us for invading the peaceful homes of Virginia, and then tried to sell us stale milk at six shillings a quart.
When Captain Villiam Brown, surveyed this spectacle, my boy, his brows knit with portentous anger, and says he:
"So much for wasting so much time. Ah!" says Villiam, clutching convulsively at his canteen, "we have met the enemy, and they are hours—ahead of us."
The only thing noticeable we found, my boy, upon searching the late stamping ground of the Southern Confederacy, was a beautiful "romaunt," evidently written by an oppressed Southern Union man, who had gone from bad to verse, and descriptive of