JACQUES DE HOBBS, TRY HIS DOOR-PERSUADERS.
But, to return to the women of America, there was one of them came out to our camp not long ago, my boy, with six Saratoga trunks full of moral reading for our troops. She was distributing the cheerful works among the veterans, when she happened to come across Private Jinks, who had just got his rations, and was swearing audibly at the collection of wild beasts he had found in one of his biscuits.
"Young man," says she, in a vinegar manner, "do you want to be damned?"
Private Jinks reflected a moment, and says he:
"Really, mem, I don't know enough about horses to say."
The literary agent was greatly shocked, but recovered in time to hand the warrior a small book, and told him to read it and be saved.
It was a small and enlivening volume, my boy, written by a missionary lately served up for breakfast by the Emperor of Glorygoolia, and entitled "The Fire that Never is Quenched."
Jinks looked at the book, and says he:
"What district is that fire in?"
The daughter of the Republic bit off a small piece of cough candy, and says she:
"It's down below, young man, where you bid fair to go."
"And will it never be put out?" says Private Jinks.
The deeply-affected crinoline shook her head until all her combs rattled, and says she:
"No, young man; it will burn, and burn, young man."
"Then I'm safe enough!" says Private Jinks, slapping his knee; "for I'm a member of Forty Hose, and if that air fire is to keep burning, they'll have to have a paid Fire Department down there, and shut us fellows out."
The daughter of the Republic instantly left him, my boy; and when next I saw her, she was arguing with one of the chaplains, who pretended to believe that firemen sometimes went to Heaven.
Woman, my boy, is an angel in disguise; and if she had wings what a rise there would be in bonnets!
Yours, for the next Philharmonic,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER XLI.
CITING A NOTABLE CASE OF VOLUNTEER SURGERY, AND GIVING AN OUTLINE SKETCH OF "COTTON SEMINARY."
Washington, D.C., April 25th, 1862.
There is a certain something about a sick-room, my boy, that makes me think seriously of my latter end, and recognize physicians as true heroes of the bottle-field. The subdued swearing of the sufferer on his bed, the muffled tread of the venerable nurse, as she comes into the room to make sure that the brandy recommended by the doctor is not too mild for the patient, the sepulchral shout of the regimental cat as she recognizes the tread of Jacob Barker, the sergeant's bull-terrier, outside; all these are things to make the spectator remember that we are but dust, and that to return to dust is our dustiny.
Early in the week, my boy, a noble member of the Pennsylvania Mud-larks was made sick in a strange manner. A draft of picked men from certain regiments was ordered for a perilous expedition down the river. You may be aware, my boy, that a draft is always dangerous to delicate constitutions; and, as the Mud-lark happened to burst into a profuse perspiration about the time he found himself standing in this draft, he, of course, took such a violent cold that he had to be put to bed directly. I went to see him, my boy; and whilst he was relating to me some affecting anecdotes of the time when he used to keep a bar, a member of the Medical Staff of the United States of America came in to see the patient.
This venerable surgeon first deposited a large saw, a hatchet, and two pick-axes on the table, and then says he:
"How do you find yourself, boy?"
The Mud-lark took a small chew of tobacco with a melancholy air, and says he:
"I think I've got the guitar in my head, Mr. Saw-bones, and am about to join the angel choir."
"I see how it is," says the surgeon, thoughtfully; "you think you've got the guitar, when it's only the drum of your ear that is affected. Well," says the surgeon, with sudden pleasantness, as he reached after his saw and one of the pick-axes, "I must amputate your left leg at once."
The Mud-lark curled himself up in bed like a wounded anaconda, and says he:
"I don't see it in that light."
"Well," says the surgeon, in a sprightly manner, "then suppose I put a fly-blister on your stomick, and only amputate your right arm?"
The surgeon was formerly a blacksmith, my boy, and got his diploma by inventing some pills with iron in them. He proved that the blood of six healthy men contained enough iron to make six horse-shoes, and then invented the pills to cure hoarseness.
The sick chap reflected on what his medical adviser had said, and then says he:
"Your words convince me that my situation must be dangerous. I must see some relative before I permit myself to be dissected."
"Whom would you wish me to send for?" says the surgeon.
"My grandmother, my dear old grandmother," said the Mud-lark, with much feeling.
The surgeon took me cautiously aside, and says he:
"My poor patient has a cold in his head, and his life depends, perhaps, on the gratification of his wishes. You have heard him ask for his grandmother," says the surgeon, softly, "and as his grandmother lives too far away to be sent for, we must practice a little harmless deception. We must send for Secretary Welles of the Navy Department, and introduce him as the grandmother. My patient will never know the difference."
I took the hint, my boy, and went after the Secretary; but the latter was so busy examining a model of Noah's Ark that he could not be seen. Happily, however, the patient recovered while the surgeon was getting his saw filed, and was well enough last night to reconnoitre in force.
The Mackerel Brigade being still in quarters before Yorktown, I am at leisure to stroll about the Southern Confederacy, my boy; and on Thursday I paid a visit to Cotton Seminary, just beyond Alexandria, where the Southern intellect is taught to fructify and expand. This celebrated institution of learning is all on one floor, with a large chimney and heavy mortgage upon it, and a number of windows supplied with ground glass—or, rather, supplied with a certain openness as regards the ground.
Upon entering this majestic edifice, the master, Prex Peyton, descended at once from the barrel on which he was seated, and gave me a true Virginian welcome:
"Though you may be a Lincoln horde," says he, in a manorial manner, "the republic of intellect recognizes you only as a man. The Southern mind knows how to recognize a soul apart from its outer circumstances; for what say the logicians?Deus est anima brutorem!Take a seat on yonder barrel, friend Hessian, and you shall hear the wisdom of the youthful minds. First class in computation stand up."
As I took a seat, my boy, the first class in computation came to the front; and it is my private impression, my boy—my private impression—that each child's father was the owner of a rag plantation at some period of his life.
"Boys," says the master, "how is the table of Confederate money divided?"
"Into pounds, shillings, and pence."
"Right. Now, Master Mason, repeat the table."
Master Mason, who was a germ of a first family, took his fingers out of his mouth, and says he:
"Twenty pounds of Confederate bonds make one shilling, twenty shillings make one penny, six pennies one drink."
"That's right, my pretty little cherubs," says the master. "Now go and take your seats, and study your bowie-knife exercises. Class in Geography, stand up."
The class in geography consisted of one small Southern Confederacy, my boy, with a taste for tobacco.
"Master Wise," says the master, confidently, "can you tell us where Africa is?"
Master Wise sniffed intelligently, and says he:
"Africa is situated at the corner of Spruce and Nassau streets, and is bounded on the north by Greeley, on the south by Slavery, on the east by Sumner, and on the west by Lovejoy."
"Very true, my bright little fellow," says the master; "now go back to your chawing."
"You see, friend Hessian," says the master, turning to me, "how much superior Southerners are, even as children, to the depraved Yankees. In my teaching experience, I have known scholars only six years old to play poker like old members of the church, and a pupil of mine euchred me once in ten minutes."
I thanked him for his courtesy, and was proceeding to the door, when I observed four boys in one corner, with their mouths so distorted that they seemed to have subsisted upon a diet of persimmons all their lives.
"Venerable pundit," says I, in astonishment, "how came the faces of those offspring so deformed?"
"O!" says the master, complacently, "that class has been studying Carlyle's works."
I retired from Cotton Seminary, my boy, with a firm conviction of the utility of popular education, and a hope that the day might come when a Professorship of Old Sledge would be created in the New York University.
Yours, for a higher civilization,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER XLII.
REVEALING A NEW BLOCKADING IDEA, INTRODUCING A GEOMETRICAL STEED, AND NARRATING THE WONDERFUL EXPLOITS OF THE MACKEREL SHARPSHOOTER AT YORKTOWN.
Washington, D.C., May 2d, 1862.
Speaking of the patriarch of the Navy Department, my boy, they say that the respected Ancient has under consideration a new and admirable plan for making the blockade efficient. The idea is, to furnish all the naval captains with spectacles made of looking-glass, so that when they are asleep, on the quarterdeck, their glasses will reflect the figure of any rebel craft that may be trying to slip by. These spectacles could all be ready in twenty years; and when the Secretary told a Congressman of the plan, the latter thought carefully over the suggestion, "as dripping with coolness it rose from the Welles," and says he:
"My dear madam, the idea lacks but one thing—the looking-glass spectacles ought to be supplied with a comb and brush, so that the captain could fix himself up after capturing the pirate. Ah, madam," says the Congressman, hastily picking up the Jack of Clubs, which he had accidentally pulled out with his pocket-handkerchief, "you will rank next to Mary, the mother of Washington, in the affections of future generations."
Themotherof Washington, my boy!—themotherof Washington!—why, the Secretary is already celebrated as the grandmother of Washington—city.
On the occasion of my last visit to Yorktown, my boy, I found the Mackerel Brigade so well up in animal spirits that each chap was equal to a pony of brandy, and capable of capturing any amount of glass artillery. At the present time, my boy, the brigade is formed in the shape of a clam-shell, with the right resting on a beer wagon, and the left on a traveling free-lunch saloon. I was examining the new battery of the Orange County Howitzers—whose guns have such large touch-holes that the chaps keep their crackers and cheese in them when not in action—and was also overhearing the remarks of a melancholy Mackerel concerning what he wished to be done with his effects in case he should perish with old age before the battle commenced—when I beheld Captain Villiam Brown, approaching me on the most geometrical beast I ever saw—an animal even richer in sharp corners, my boy, than my own gothic steed, Pegasus.
"Ha!" says Villiam, hastily swallowing something that brought tears to his eyes, and taking a bit of lemon-peel to clear his voice, "you are admiring my Arabian courser, and wondering whether it is one of the three presented to Secretary Seward by the Emperor of Egypt."
"You speak truly, my Bayard," says I; "that superb piece of horseflesh looks like the original plan of the city of Boston—there's so many bisecting angles about him."
"Ah!" says Villiam, with an agreeable smile, "in the words of the anthem of childhood—
"'The angles told me so.'"
Villiam's idea of angels, my boy, constitutes a theory of theology in itself.
"What call you the charger?" says I.
"Euclid," says Villiam, pausing for a moment, to catch the gurgle of a canteen just reversed. "Ah!" says Villiam, recovering his presence of mind, "this here marvel of natural history is a guaranteed 2.40."
"No!" says I.
"Yes," says Villiam, calculatingly, "this superb animal is a sure 2.40—he cost me just Two dollars and Forty cents. But come with me," said Villiam, proudly, "and see the sharpshooter contingent I have just organized to aid in the suppression of this here unnatural rebellion."
I followed the splendidly-mounted warrior, my boy, to a spot not far from the nearest point of the enemy's lines, where I found a lengthy Western chap polishing a rifle with a powerful telescope on the end of it. He had just been organized, and was preparing to make some carnage.
"Now then, Ajack," said Villiam, classically, "let us see you pick off that Confederacy over there, which looks like a mere fly at this distance."
The sinewy sharpshooter sprang to his feet, called a drummer-boy to hold his chew of tobacco, looked at the rebel gunner through his telescope, shut up the telescope, took aim with both eyes shut, turned away his head, andfired!
I must say, my boy, that I at first thought the Confederacy was not hit at all, inasmuch as he only scratched one of his legs and squinted along his gun; but Villiam soon showed me how exquisitely accurate the sharpshooter's aim had been.
"The bullet struck him," says Villiam, confidently, "and would have reached his heart, but for the Bible given him by his mother when he left home, which arrested its fatal progress. Let us hope," says Villiam, seriously, "that he will henceforth search the Scriptures, and be a dutiful son."
I felt the tears spring to my eyes, for I once had a mother myself. I couldn't help it, my boy—I couldn't help it.
The second shot of the unerring rifleman was aimed at a hapless contraband, who had been sent out to the end of a gun by the enemy, to see that the ball did not roll out before the gunner had time to pull the trigger. Crack! went the deadly weapon of the sharpshooter, and down went the unhappy African—to his dinner.
"Ah!" says Villiam, skeptically, "do you think you hit him, Ajack?"
"Truelie, stranger," responded the unmoved marksman, sententiously. "He will die at twenty minutes past three this afternoon."
Sick of this dreadful slaughter, my boy, I turned from the spot with Villiam, and presently overtook the general of the Mackerel Brigade, who was seated on a fence by the roadside, trying to knock the cork out of a bottle with a piece of rock. We saluted, and went on to the camp.
Sharpshooters, my boy, are a source of much pain to hostile gunners, and if one of them should happen to put a bullet through the head of navigation, it would certainly cause the tide to fall.
Yours, take-aimiably,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER XLIII.
CONCERNING MARTIAL LITERATURE: INTRODUCING A DIDACTIC POEM BY THE "ARKANSAW TRACT SOCIETY," AND A BIOGRAPHY OF GARIBALDI FOR THE SOLDIER.
Washington, D.C., May 7th, 1862.
Southern religious literature, my boy, is admirably calculated to improve the morals of race-courses, and render dog-fights the instruments of wholesome spiritual culture.
On the person of a high-minded Southern Confederacy captured the other day by the Mackerel pickets, I found a moral work which had been issued by the Arkansaw Tract Society for the diffusion of religious thoughts in the camp, and was much improved by reading it. The pure-minded Arkansaw chap who got it up, my boy, remarked in pallid print, that every man "should extract a wholesome moral from everything whatsomedever," and then went on to say that there was an excellent moral in the beautiful Arkansaw nursery tale of
THE BEWITCHED TARRIER.Sam Johnson was a cullud man,Who lived down in Judee;He owned a rat tan tarrierThat stood 'bout one foot three;And the way that critter chawed up ratsWas gorjus for to see.One day this dorg was slumberin'Behind the kitchen stove,When suddenly a wicked flea—An ugly little cove—Commenced upon his faithful backWith many jumps to rove.Then up arose that tarrier,With frenzy in his eye,And waitin' only long enoughTo make a touchin' cry,Commenced to twist his head around,Most wonderfully spry.But all in vain; his shape was sich,So awful short and fat—And though he doubled up hisself,And strained hisself at that,His mouth was half an inch awayFrom where the varmint sat.The dorg sat up an awful yowlAnd twisted like an eel,Emitting cries of miseryAt ev'ry nip he'd feel,And tumblin' down and jumpin' up,And turnin' like a wheel.But still that most owdacious fleaKept up a constant chawJust where he couldn't be scratched outBy any reach of paw.But always half an inch beyondHis wictim's snappin' jaw.Sam Johnson heard the noise, and cameTo save his animile;But when he see the crittur spin—A barkin' all the while—He dreaded hiderfobia,And then began to rile."The pup is mad enough," says he,And luggin' in his axe,He gev the wretched tarrierA pair of awful cracks,That stretched him out upon the floor,As dead as carpet-tacks.moral.Take warnin' by this tarrier,Now turned to sassidge meat;And when misfortin's flea shall comeUpon your back to eat,Beware, or you may die becauseYou can't make both ends meet.
THE BEWITCHED TARRIER.
THE BEWITCHED TARRIER.
Sam Johnson was a cullud man,Who lived down in Judee;He owned a rat tan tarrierThat stood 'bout one foot three;And the way that critter chawed up ratsWas gorjus for to see.
Sam Johnson was a cullud man,
Who lived down in Judee;
He owned a rat tan tarrier
That stood 'bout one foot three;
And the way that critter chawed up rats
Was gorjus for to see.
One day this dorg was slumberin'Behind the kitchen stove,When suddenly a wicked flea—An ugly little cove—Commenced upon his faithful backWith many jumps to rove.
One day this dorg was slumberin'
Behind the kitchen stove,
When suddenly a wicked flea—
An ugly little cove—
Commenced upon his faithful back
With many jumps to rove.
Then up arose that tarrier,With frenzy in his eye,And waitin' only long enoughTo make a touchin' cry,Commenced to twist his head around,Most wonderfully spry.
Then up arose that tarrier,
With frenzy in his eye,
And waitin' only long enough
To make a touchin' cry,
Commenced to twist his head around,
Most wonderfully spry.
But all in vain; his shape was sich,So awful short and fat—And though he doubled up hisself,And strained hisself at that,His mouth was half an inch awayFrom where the varmint sat.
But all in vain; his shape was sich,
So awful short and fat—
And though he doubled up hisself,
And strained hisself at that,
His mouth was half an inch away
From where the varmint sat.
The dorg sat up an awful yowlAnd twisted like an eel,Emitting cries of miseryAt ev'ry nip he'd feel,And tumblin' down and jumpin' up,And turnin' like a wheel.
The dorg sat up an awful yowl
And twisted like an eel,
Emitting cries of misery
At ev'ry nip he'd feel,
And tumblin' down and jumpin' up,
And turnin' like a wheel.
But still that most owdacious fleaKept up a constant chawJust where he couldn't be scratched outBy any reach of paw.But always half an inch beyondHis wictim's snappin' jaw.
But still that most owdacious flea
Kept up a constant chaw
Just where he couldn't be scratched out
By any reach of paw.
But always half an inch beyond
His wictim's snappin' jaw.
Sam Johnson heard the noise, and cameTo save his animile;But when he see the crittur spin—A barkin' all the while—He dreaded hiderfobia,And then began to rile.
Sam Johnson heard the noise, and came
To save his animile;
But when he see the crittur spin—
A barkin' all the while—
He dreaded hiderfobia,
And then began to rile.
"The pup is mad enough," says he,And luggin' in his axe,He gev the wretched tarrierA pair of awful cracks,That stretched him out upon the floor,As dead as carpet-tacks.
"The pup is mad enough," says he,
And luggin' in his axe,
He gev the wretched tarrier
A pair of awful cracks,
That stretched him out upon the floor,
As dead as carpet-tacks.
moral.
moral.
Take warnin' by this tarrier,Now turned to sassidge meat;And when misfortin's flea shall comeUpon your back to eat,Beware, or you may die becauseYou can't make both ends meet.
Take warnin' by this tarrier,
Now turned to sassidge meat;
And when misfortin's flea shall come
Upon your back to eat,
Beware, or you may die because
You can't make both ends meet.
The Arkansaw Tract Society put a note at the bottom of this moral lyric, my boy, stating that the "wicked flea here mentioned is the same varmint which is mentioned in Scripture as being so bold; 'the wicked flea, when no man pursueth but the righteous, is as bold as a lion.'"
Speaking of literature, my boy, I am happy to say that the members of the Mackerel Brigade have been inspired to emulate great examples by the biographies of great soldiers which have been sent to the camp for their reading by the thoughtful women of America. For instance, here we have the
LIFE OF GENERAL GARIBALDI.BY THE NOBLEST RUM 'UN OF THE MALL.CHAPTER I.HIS BIRTH.At that period of the world's history when the Past immediately preceded the Present, and the Future was yet to come, there existed in a small town of which the houses formed a part, a rich but respectable couple. Owing to a combination of circumstances, their first son was a boy of the male gender, who inherited the name of his parents from the moment of his birth, and who is the subject of our story. When he was about five hours old, his male parent said to him:"My boy, do you know me?"In an instant the eyes of the child flashed Jersey lightning, he ceased sucking his little fistesses, his hair would have stood on end if there had been any on his head, and he exclaimed in tones of thunder-r-r:"Viva Liberte et Maccaroni!"Mr. Garibaldi instantly clasped the little cherubim to his stomach, while Mrs. Garibaldi waved the tri-colored flag above them both, and requested the chambermaid to bring her a little more of that same burning-fluid, with plenty of sugar in it.Thus was Garibaldi ushered into the world; and the burning fluid is for sale by all respectable druggists and grocers throughout the country, with S. O. P. on the wrapper.CHAPTER II.HIS EDUCATION.On arriving at years of indiscretion, our hero began to display a tendency to "seven-up," Old Sledge, and other card-inal virtues, calculated to fit him for playing his cards right in future years. Just about this time, too, his parents resolved to send him to school, and it is as the young scholar we must now regard him.Behold him, then, at his tasks, in a red shirt amputated at the neck, and two yellow patches (the badge of Sardinia) flaming from the background of his seat of learning. He readily mastered the Greek verbs and roots, comprehended liquorice root, studied geography, etymology, sycorax, and mahogany; could decline to conjugate the verb toby, and quickly knew enough about algebra to prove that X plus Y,notbeing equal to Z, isminusany dinner at noon, andplusone of the tightest applications of birch that ever produced the illusion of a red-hot stove in immediate contact with the human body.CHAPTER III.GARIBALDI GOES TO SEA.Just before the breaking-out of the rebellion at Rome, the trade in garlic and domestic fleas took a sudden start, and the Po was crowded with vessels of all nations—especially the halluci-nations. One day, young Garibaldi was in the act of stabbing a barrel of molasses to the heart with a quill, on Pier 4, P. R. (Po River), when he was descried by the captain of a fishing-smack, detailed by Government to watch the motions of the English fleet."Boy, ahoy!" says the Captain.The future liberator of Italy dropped his murderous quill, wiped his nose with a pine shaving, and answered, in trumpet-tones:"You're another!"So delighted was the captain with this noble reply, that he flogged the whole starboard watch at the gunwales, ordered a preventer backstay on the kedge-anchor, leaped ashore to where Garibaldi was standing, and offered to make him familiar with the seas, and a second Cæsar. Garibaldi replied that he had already been half-seas over, but would not object to another cruise. He said he had traveled half-seas over, "on his face," and would now travel the other half on a vessel. He went. The vessel proved to be a vessel of wrath, and Garibaldi became so familiar with the cat-o-nine-tails, that he soonmusedupon a plan for deserting the ship.CHAPTER IV.HE FIGHTS FOR ROME.All seas are liable to commotions, hence it is not strange that the Holy See encountered a storm about the time that it occurred. For some weeks, certain pure spirits had been fomenting the small beer of civil war, and in spite of vaticanation, it broke out at last, and was a rash proceeding. Garibaldi was sent for by the Goddess of Liberty to lead the insurrectionary forces, while the liberty of the goddess was endangered by the leadership of the commander of the French troops aiding the Pope. Our hero had but a handful of patriots on hand and on foot to fight with him; but he determined to struggle to the last and perish in the attempt, even though he should lose his life by it. The Frenchman had an immense array of tried soldiers on thequi viveand on horseback; but Garibaldi was not dismayed, and kept his courage up to the "sticking" point by hoping for aid. Alas! the only aid they received was lemonade and cannonade—but not a brigade. They fought with the French, and were whipped like blazes.Hinc illa slacryma!CHAPTER V.GARIBALDI IN AMERICA.After wandering about Italy as an exile for some months, the bold patriot came to America and opened a cigar shop. The writer remembers entering his shop one day to purchase a genuine meerschaum, and discovering, afterwards, that it was made of plaster of Paris, and smelt—when heated—like ancient sour-krout flavored with lamp-oil. Garibaldi also sold the finest Habana cigars ever made on Staten Island, one brand of which was so strong in its integrity that it once defeated dishonesty, thus:One night, while Garibaldi was praying for his beloved Italy, at the house of a friend, a burglar broke into his store, with the intention of robbing it. The scoundrel broke open the till, took out all the city money (he refused to take anything but current funds), and then broke open a box of the cigars strong in their integrity, intending to have a quiet smoke before he left. Alas! for him.When Garibaldi opened the store in the morning, he found the burglar laying on his back, with a cigar in his mouth, andtoo weak to move! In the attempt to smoke the cigar, he had drawn his back bone clear through until it caught on his breast bone, and the back of his head was just breaking through the roof of his mouth, when the patriot found him. He was taken to the police-office, and discharged by the first alderman that came along. Such is life!When the Emperor of France commenced his war with Austria, Garibaldi suddenly appeared at one of the elbows of the Mincio, and having passed around the Great Quadrilateral, headed a select body of Alpine shepherds, and charged the Austrians more than they could pay. All the world knows how that war ended. The emperors of France and Austria signed a treaty by which each was compelled to go back to his own country, tell his subjects that it was "all right," and set all the wise men of the nation to discover what he had been fighting about. Sardinia was not asked to give an opinion. About this time Garibaldi was left out in the cold.CHAPTER VI.OUR HERO IN SICILY.As we look abroad upon the vast nations of the earth, and remember that if they were all destroyed, not one of them would be left, the mind involuntarily conceives an idea, and becomes conscious of the pregnant fact, that "what is to be will be, as what has been, was." So when we look upon families, the thought forces itself upon us that if there were no births there would be no children: without fathers there could be no mothers; and if the entire household should be swept away by disease, they would cease to live. So it is also, when we look upon an individual. Our intellect tells us that if he dies in infancy he will not live to be a man; and if he never does anything, he will surely do nothing.This metaphysical line of thought is particularly natural in the case of Garibaldi. Look at him as he now stands, with one foot on Sicily and the other in a boot. Had he not been educated, he would have been uneducated; had he not gone to sea he would never have been a sailor; had he not fought for Rome, he would have laid down arms in her cause; were he not now fighting for Italian independence, he would be otherwise engaged!Thus the aspect presented by Garibaldi throughout his career, leads our thoughts into all the deep meanderings of the German mind, and teaches us to perceive that "whatever is, is right," as whatever is not, is wrong.Enraged at the impotent conclusion of the French-and-Austrian war, Garibaldi determined to prosecute hostilities on his own individual curve. In consequence of the high price of ferriage on the Mincio, he moved down toward Palermo, and there called to his standard all Italians favorable to the immediate emancipation of Sicily and the removal of all duties on Maccaroni. Immediately the wildest enthusiasm raged among the friends of freedom. Six patriots attacked the fortress of Messalina, and were immediately placed in prison, with chains around their necks, and Tupper's poems in their pockets.By degrees, Garibaldi made ready to capture Palermo; he laid in a stock of cannon and woolen stockings, he harangued his warriors, and told them the day was theirs if they won it; he invited all the reporters to a banquet. Then he went and took Palermo.How did he take it?I know not; there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in ordinary philosophy: all I know is, that he took Palermo.
LIFE OF GENERAL GARIBALDI.
BY THE NOBLEST RUM 'UN OF THE MALL.
CHAPTER I.
HIS BIRTH.
At that period of the world's history when the Past immediately preceded the Present, and the Future was yet to come, there existed in a small town of which the houses formed a part, a rich but respectable couple. Owing to a combination of circumstances, their first son was a boy of the male gender, who inherited the name of his parents from the moment of his birth, and who is the subject of our story. When he was about five hours old, his male parent said to him:
"My boy, do you know me?"
In an instant the eyes of the child flashed Jersey lightning, he ceased sucking his little fistesses, his hair would have stood on end if there had been any on his head, and he exclaimed in tones of thunder-r-r:
"Viva Liberte et Maccaroni!"
Mr. Garibaldi instantly clasped the little cherubim to his stomach, while Mrs. Garibaldi waved the tri-colored flag above them both, and requested the chambermaid to bring her a little more of that same burning-fluid, with plenty of sugar in it.
Thus was Garibaldi ushered into the world; and the burning fluid is for sale by all respectable druggists and grocers throughout the country, with S. O. P. on the wrapper.
CHAPTER II.
HIS EDUCATION.
On arriving at years of indiscretion, our hero began to display a tendency to "seven-up," Old Sledge, and other card-inal virtues, calculated to fit him for playing his cards right in future years. Just about this time, too, his parents resolved to send him to school, and it is as the young scholar we must now regard him.
Behold him, then, at his tasks, in a red shirt amputated at the neck, and two yellow patches (the badge of Sardinia) flaming from the background of his seat of learning. He readily mastered the Greek verbs and roots, comprehended liquorice root, studied geography, etymology, sycorax, and mahogany; could decline to conjugate the verb toby, and quickly knew enough about algebra to prove that X plus Y,notbeing equal to Z, isminusany dinner at noon, andplusone of the tightest applications of birch that ever produced the illusion of a red-hot stove in immediate contact with the human body.
CHAPTER III.
GARIBALDI GOES TO SEA.
Just before the breaking-out of the rebellion at Rome, the trade in garlic and domestic fleas took a sudden start, and the Po was crowded with vessels of all nations—especially the halluci-nations. One day, young Garibaldi was in the act of stabbing a barrel of molasses to the heart with a quill, on Pier 4, P. R. (Po River), when he was descried by the captain of a fishing-smack, detailed by Government to watch the motions of the English fleet.
"Boy, ahoy!" says the Captain.
The future liberator of Italy dropped his murderous quill, wiped his nose with a pine shaving, and answered, in trumpet-tones:
"You're another!"
So delighted was the captain with this noble reply, that he flogged the whole starboard watch at the gunwales, ordered a preventer backstay on the kedge-anchor, leaped ashore to where Garibaldi was standing, and offered to make him familiar with the seas, and a second Cæsar. Garibaldi replied that he had already been half-seas over, but would not object to another cruise. He said he had traveled half-seas over, "on his face," and would now travel the other half on a vessel. He went. The vessel proved to be a vessel of wrath, and Garibaldi became so familiar with the cat-o-nine-tails, that he soonmusedupon a plan for deserting the ship.
CHAPTER IV.
HE FIGHTS FOR ROME.
All seas are liable to commotions, hence it is not strange that the Holy See encountered a storm about the time that it occurred. For some weeks, certain pure spirits had been fomenting the small beer of civil war, and in spite of vaticanation, it broke out at last, and was a rash proceeding. Garibaldi was sent for by the Goddess of Liberty to lead the insurrectionary forces, while the liberty of the goddess was endangered by the leadership of the commander of the French troops aiding the Pope. Our hero had but a handful of patriots on hand and on foot to fight with him; but he determined to struggle to the last and perish in the attempt, even though he should lose his life by it. The Frenchman had an immense array of tried soldiers on thequi viveand on horseback; but Garibaldi was not dismayed, and kept his courage up to the "sticking" point by hoping for aid. Alas! the only aid they received was lemonade and cannonade—but not a brigade. They fought with the French, and were whipped like blazes.Hinc illa slacryma!
CHAPTER V.
GARIBALDI IN AMERICA.
After wandering about Italy as an exile for some months, the bold patriot came to America and opened a cigar shop. The writer remembers entering his shop one day to purchase a genuine meerschaum, and discovering, afterwards, that it was made of plaster of Paris, and smelt—when heated—like ancient sour-krout flavored with lamp-oil. Garibaldi also sold the finest Habana cigars ever made on Staten Island, one brand of which was so strong in its integrity that it once defeated dishonesty, thus:
One night, while Garibaldi was praying for his beloved Italy, at the house of a friend, a burglar broke into his store, with the intention of robbing it. The scoundrel broke open the till, took out all the city money (he refused to take anything but current funds), and then broke open a box of the cigars strong in their integrity, intending to have a quiet smoke before he left. Alas! for him.
When Garibaldi opened the store in the morning, he found the burglar laying on his back, with a cigar in his mouth, andtoo weak to move! In the attempt to smoke the cigar, he had drawn his back bone clear through until it caught on his breast bone, and the back of his head was just breaking through the roof of his mouth, when the patriot found him. He was taken to the police-office, and discharged by the first alderman that came along. Such is life!
When the Emperor of France commenced his war with Austria, Garibaldi suddenly appeared at one of the elbows of the Mincio, and having passed around the Great Quadrilateral, headed a select body of Alpine shepherds, and charged the Austrians more than they could pay. All the world knows how that war ended. The emperors of France and Austria signed a treaty by which each was compelled to go back to his own country, tell his subjects that it was "all right," and set all the wise men of the nation to discover what he had been fighting about. Sardinia was not asked to give an opinion. About this time Garibaldi was left out in the cold.
CHAPTER VI.
OUR HERO IN SICILY.
As we look abroad upon the vast nations of the earth, and remember that if they were all destroyed, not one of them would be left, the mind involuntarily conceives an idea, and becomes conscious of the pregnant fact, that "what is to be will be, as what has been, was." So when we look upon families, the thought forces itself upon us that if there were no births there would be no children: without fathers there could be no mothers; and if the entire household should be swept away by disease, they would cease to live. So it is also, when we look upon an individual. Our intellect tells us that if he dies in infancy he will not live to be a man; and if he never does anything, he will surely do nothing.
This metaphysical line of thought is particularly natural in the case of Garibaldi. Look at him as he now stands, with one foot on Sicily and the other in a boot. Had he not been educated, he would have been uneducated; had he not gone to sea he would never have been a sailor; had he not fought for Rome, he would have laid down arms in her cause; were he not now fighting for Italian independence, he would be otherwise engaged!
Thus the aspect presented by Garibaldi throughout his career, leads our thoughts into all the deep meanderings of the German mind, and teaches us to perceive that "whatever is, is right," as whatever is not, is wrong.
Enraged at the impotent conclusion of the French-and-Austrian war, Garibaldi determined to prosecute hostilities on his own individual curve. In consequence of the high price of ferriage on the Mincio, he moved down toward Palermo, and there called to his standard all Italians favorable to the immediate emancipation of Sicily and the removal of all duties on Maccaroni. Immediately the wildest enthusiasm raged among the friends of freedom. Six patriots attacked the fortress of Messalina, and were immediately placed in prison, with chains around their necks, and Tupper's poems in their pockets.
By degrees, Garibaldi made ready to capture Palermo; he laid in a stock of cannon and woolen stockings, he harangued his warriors, and told them the day was theirs if they won it; he invited all the reporters to a banquet. Then he went and took Palermo.
How did he take it?
I know not; there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in ordinary philosophy: all I know is, that he took Palermo.
Having brought my history down to this point, I deem it proper to pause in my task until the future shall have revealed what takes place hereafter; and the past shall have ceased to interfere so outrageously with the present, that its limits can only be distinguished through the bottom of a tumbler. Liberty is the normal condition of the Italian, and while Garibaldi leads, the cry will be: "Liberty or death, with a preference for the former." Already the day-star of freedom gilds the horizon of beautiful Naples, and if it should not happen to be proved a comet by some evil-minded astronomer, Italy may yet be as free as New York itself, and pay a war-tax of not more than some millions a year.
This finely-written life of the great Italian patriot had such an effect upon the Mackerels, my boy, that they all wished tolivelike Garibaldi—hence, they are in no hurry to die for their country.
Lives of great men all remind us, my boy, that we may make our lives sublime; but I never read one yet, that gave instructions for making our deaths sublime—to ourselves.
Yours, for continued respiration,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER XLIV.
SHOWING HOW THE GREAT BATTLE OF PARIS WAS FOUGHT AND WON BY THE MACKEREL BRIGADE, AIDED AND ABETTED BY THE IRON-PLATED FLEET OF COMMODORE HEAD.
Washington, D.C., May 10th, 1862.
I have just returned, my boy, from witnessing one of the most tremendous battles of modern times, and shall see star-spangled banners in every sunset for six months to come.
Hearing that the Southern Confederacy had evacuated Yorktown, for the reason that the Last Ditch had moved on the first of May to a place where there would be less rent from our cannon, I started early in the week for the quarters of the valorous and sanguinary Mackerel Brigade, expecting that it had gone toward Richmond for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
On reaching the Peninsula, however, I learned that the Mackerel "corpse dammee" had been left behind to capture the city of Paris in co-operation with a squadron.
Reaching the stamping-ground, my boy, I beheld a scene at once unique and impressive. Each individual Mackerel was seated on the ground, with a sheet of paper across his knees and an ink-bottle beside him, writing like an inspired poet.
I approached Captain Villiam Brown, who was covering some bare spots on his geometrical steed Euclid, with pieces scissored out of an old hair-trunk, and says I:
"Tell me, my noble Hector, what means this literary scene which mine eyes behold?"
"Ah!" says Villiam, setting down his glue-pot, "we are about to engage in a skrimmage from which not one may come out alive. These heroic beings," says Villiam, "are ready to die for their country at sight, and you now behold them making their wills. We shall march upon Paris," says Villiam, "as soon as I hear from Sergeant O'Pake, who has been sent to destroy a mill-dam belonging to the Southern Confederacy. Come with me, my nice little boy, and look at the squadron to take part in the attack."
This squadron, my boy, consisted of one twenty-eight-inch row-boat, mounting a twelve-inch swivel, and commanded by Commodore Head, late of the Canal-boat Service. It is iron-plated after a peculiar manner. When the ingenious chap who was to iron-plate it commenced his work, Commodore Head ordered him to put the plates on theinsideof the boat, instead of outside, as in the case of the Monitor and Galena.
"What do you mean?" says the contractor.
"Why," says the commodore, "ain't them iron plates intended to protect the crew?"
"Yes," says the contractor.
"Well, then, you poor ignorant cuss," says the commodore, in a great passion, "what do you want to put the plates on the outside for? The crew won't be on the outside—will it? The crew will be on the inside—won't it? And how are you going to protect the crew on the inside by putting iron plates on the outside?"
Such reasoning, my boy, was convincing, and the Mackerel Squadron is plated inside.
While I was contemplating this new triumph of American naval architecture, and wondering what they would say about it in Europe, an orderly rode up and handed a scrap of paper to Villiam.
"Ha!" says Villiam, perusing the message, and then passing it to me, "the veteran O'Pake has not deceived the United States of America."
The message was directed to the General of the Mackerel Brigade, my boy, and read as follows:
"General:—In accordance with your orders, I have destroyed the mill d—n."O'Pake."
"General:—In accordance with your orders, I have destroyed the mill d—n.
"O'Pake."
"And now," says Villiam, returning his canteen to his bosom and pulling out his ruffles, "the United States of America will proceed to capture Paris with great slaughter. Let the Brigade form in marching order, while the fleet proceeds around by water, after the manner of Lord Nelson."
The Mackerel Brigade was quickly on the march, headed by the band, who played an entirely new version of "Hail Columbia" on his key bugle. Tramp, tramp, tramp! and we found ourselves in position before Paris.
MAP OF THE WORLD, SHOWING THE POSITION OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE AT THE GREAT BATTLE OF PARIS.
MAP OF THE WORLD, SHOWING THE POSITION OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE AT THE GREAT BATTLE OF PARIS.
Paris, my boy, was a city of two houses previous to the recent great fire, which destroyed half of it, and we found it fortified with a strong picket-fence and counterscarp earthworks, from the top of which frowned numerous guns of great compass.
The Mackerel Brigade was at once formed in line-of-battle-order—the line being not quite as straight as an ordinary Pennsylvania railroad—while the fleet menaced the water-front of the city from Duck Lake.
You may not be able to find Duck Lake on the maps, my boy, as it is only visible after a heavy rain.
Previous to the attack, a balloon, containing a Mackerel chap, and a telescope shaped like a bottle, was sent up to reconnoitre.
"Well," says Villiam to the chap when he came down, "what is the force of the Confederacy?"
The chap coughed respectfully, and says he:
"I could only see one Confederacy, which is an old woman!"
"Scorpion!" says Villiam, his eyes flashing like the bottoms of two reversed tumblers, "I believe you to be an accursed abolitionist. Go instantly to the rear," says Villiam, fiercely, "and read the Report of the Van Wyck Investigating Committee."
It was a terrible punishment, my boy, but the example was needed for the good of the service.
The Orange County Howitzers now advanced to the front, and poured a terrible fire in the direction of a point about half way between the nearest steeple and the meridian, working horrible carnage in a flock of pigeons that happened to be passing at the time.
"Splendid, my glorious Prooshians!" says Villiam, just escaping a fall from his saddle by the convulsive start of Euclid, that noble war-horse having been suddenly roused from a pleasant doze by the firing—"Splendid, my artillery darlings. Only," says Villiam, thoughtfully, "as the sun is a friendly power, don't aim at him so accurately next time."
Meantime, Company 3, Regiment 5, had advanced from the right, and were just about to make a splendid bayonet-charge, by the oblique, over the picket-fence and earthwork, when the concealed Confederacy suddenly opened a deadly fire of old shoes, throwing the Mackerels into great confusion.
Almost simultaneously, a large potato struck the fleet on Duck Lake on the nose, so intensely exciting him that he incontinently touched off his swivel, to the great detriment of the surrounding country.
This was a critical moment, my boy; the least trifle on either side would have turned the scale, and given the victory to either party. Villiam Brown had just assumed the attitude in which he desired Frank Leslie's Illustrated Artist to draw him, when a familiar domestic utensil came hissing through the lurid air from the rebel works, and exploded in two pieces at his feet.
"Ha!" says Villiam, eyeing the fragments with great pallor, "they have commenced to throw shell."
In another moment that incomparable officer was at the head of a storming party; and as the fleet opened fire on the cabbage-patch in the rear of the enemy's position, an impetuous charge was precipitated in front.
Though met by a perfect hail of turnips, stove-covers, and kindling-wood, the Mackerels went over the fence like a fourth-proof avalanche, and hemmed in the rebel garrison with walls of bayonets.
"Surrender to the Union Anaconda and the United States of America," thundered Villiam.
"You're a nasty, dirty creetur," responded the garrison, who was an old lady of venerable aspect.
"Surrender, or you're a dead man, my F. F. Venus," says Villiam, majestically.
The old lady replied with a look of scorn, my boy, walked deliberately toward the road, and when last seen was proceeding in the direction of Richmond under a green silk umbrella and a heavy press of snuff.
Now it happened, just after we had formally taken possession of the city, while the band was playing martial airs, and the fleet winding up his chronometer, that the General of the Mackerel Brigade made his appearance on the field, and was received with loud cheers by those who believed that he brought their pay back with him.
"My children," says the general, with a paternal smile, "don't praise me for an achievement in which all have won such imperishable laurels. I have only done my jooty."
This speech, my boy, made a great impression upon me on account of its touching modesty. War, my boy, is calculated to promote an amount of bashful modesty never equaled except in Congress, and I have known brigadiers so self-deprecatory that they lived in a state of perpetual blush—especially at the ends of their noses.
Yours, inadequately,
Orpheus C. Kerr.
LETTER XLV.
EXEMPLIFYING THE INCONSISTENCY OF THE CONSERVATIVE ELEMENT, AND SETTING FORTH THE MEASURES ADOPTED BY CAPTAIN VILLIAM BROWN IN HIS MILITARY GOVERNMENT OF PARIS.
Washington, D.C., May 18th, 1862.
Suffer me, my boy, to direct your attention to the Congress of our once distracted country, which is now shedding a beautiful lustre over the whole nation, and exciting that fond emotion of admiration which inclines the human foot to perform a stern duty. "Congress," says Captain Samyule Sa-mith, nodding to the bar-keeper, and designating a particular bottle with his finger—"Congress," says he, "is a honor and a ornament to our bleeding land. The fortunes of war may fluctuate, the rose may fade; but Congress is ever stable. Yes," says Samyule, in a beautiful burst of enthusiasm, softly stirring the Oath in his tumbler with a toothpick, "Congress is stable—in short, a stable full of mules."
The Conservatives from the Border States, my boy, look upon the Southern Confederacy as a brother, whom it is our duty to protect against the accursed designs of the fiendish Abolitionists, who would make this war one of bloodshed. They ignore all party feeling, support the Constitution as it was, in contra-distinction to what it is, and object to any Confiscation measure calculated to irritate our misguided brothers and sisters in that beautiful land where
The suitor he goes to the planter so grand,And "Give me your daughter," says he,"For each unto other we've plighted our loves—I love her and so she loves me,"Says he,"And married we're wishing to be."The planter was deeply affected indeed,Such touching devotion to see;"The giving I couldn't afford; but I'll sellHer for six hundred dollars to thee,"I love her and so she loves me,"Says he,"Her mother was worth that to me."
The suitor he goes to the planter so grand,And "Give me your daughter," says he,"For each unto other we've plighted our loves—I love her and so she loves me,"Says he,"And married we're wishing to be."
The suitor he goes to the planter so grand,
And "Give me your daughter," says he,
"For each unto other we've plighted our loves—
I love her and so she loves me,"
Says he,
"And married we're wishing to be."
The planter was deeply affected indeed,Such touching devotion to see;"The giving I couldn't afford; but I'll sellHer for six hundred dollars to thee,"I love her and so she loves me,"Says he,"Her mother was worth that to me."
The planter was deeply affected indeed,
Such touching devotion to see;
"The giving I couldn't afford; but I'll sell
Her for six hundred dollars to thee,"
I love her and so she loves me,"
Says he,
"Her mother was worth that to me."
Which I quote from a sweet ballad I recently found among some rebel leave-ings at Yorktown.
These conservative patriots, my boy, remind me of a chap I once knew in the Sixth Ward. A high moral chap, my boy, and full of venerable dignity. One night the virtuous cuss doing business next door to him, having just got a big insurance on his stock, and thinking himself safe for a flaming speculation, set fire to his own premises and then called "Murder" on the next corner. Out came the whole Fire Department, only stopping to have two fights and a scrimmage on the way, and pretty soon the water was pouring all over every house in the street except the one on fire. The high moral chap stuck his head out of the window, and says he:
"This here fire ain't in my house, and I don't want no noise around this here residence."
Upon this, some of our gallant firemen, who had just been into a fashionable drinking-shop not more than two blocks off, to see if any of the sparks had got in there, called to the chap to let them into his house, so that they might get at the conflagration more easily.
"Never!" said the chap, shaking his nightcap convulsively; "I didn't set fire to Joneses, and I can't have no Fire Department running around my entries."
"See here, old blue-pills," says one of the firemen, pleasantly, "if you don't let us in, your own crib will go to blazes in ten minutes."
But the dignified chap only shut down the window and went to bed again, saying his prayers backwards. I would not accuse a noble Department of violence, my boy, but in about three minutes there was a double back-action machine standing in that chap's front entry, with three-inch streams out of all the back windows. The fire was put out with only half a hose company killed and wounded, and next day there was a meeting to see what should be done with the incendiary when he was caught. The high moral chap was at that meeting very early, and says he:
"Let me advise moderation in this here unhappy matter. I feel deeply interested," says the chap, with tears; "for I assisted to put out the conflagration by permitting the use of my house by the firemen. I almost feel," says the genial chap, "like a fellow fireman myself."
At this crisis, a chap who was assistant engineer, and also Secretary to the Board of Education, arose, and says he:
"What are yer coughin' about, old peg-top? Didn't me and the fellers have to cave in your door with a night-key wrench—sa-a-ay? What are yer gassin' about, then?Youdid a muchness—youdid! Yes—slightually—ina horn. Now," says the gallant fireman, with an agreeable smile, "if you don't jest coil in yer hose and take the sidewalk very sudden, it'll be my duty, as a member of the Department, to bust yer eye."
I commend this chaste and rhetorical remark, my boy, to the attention of Border State Conswervatives.
Since the occupation of Paris by the Mackerel Brigade, affairs there have been administered with great intellectual ability by Captain Villiam Brown, who has been appointed Provisional Governor, to govern the sale of provisions.
The city of Paris, my boy, as I told you lately, is laid out in one house at present; and since the discovery, that what were at first supposed to be Dahlgren guns by our forces were really a number of old hats with their rims cut off, laid in a row on top of the earthworks, the democracy have stopped talking about the General of the Mackerel Brigade for next President.
The one house, however, was a boarding-house; and though all the boarders left at the approach of our troops, it was subsequently discovered that all of them save one, were good Union men, and were brutally forced to fly by that one Confederate miscreant. When Villiam heard of the fate of these noble and oppressed patriots, my boy, he suffered a tear to drop into the tumbler he had just found, and says he:
"Just Hevings! can this be so? Ah!" says Villiam, lifting a bottle near by to see that no rebel was concealed under it, "I will issue a proclamation calculated to conciliate the noble Union men of the sunny South, and bring them back to those protecting folds in which our inedycated forefathers folded theirselves."
Nobody believed it could be done, my boy—nobody believed it could be done; but Villiam understood his species, and issued the following