by R. H. Newell
There's music in thy lowest tone, And silver in thy laughter; And truth--but we will give the full Particulars hereafter.
Oh! we could tell thee of our plans All obstacles to scatter; But we are full just now, and have A press of other matter.
Then let us marry, Queen of Smiths, Without more hesitation; The very thought doth give our blood A larger circulation!
When the editor noticed my presence, he scowled so that his spectaclesdropped off.
"Ha, my fine little fellow," says he, hastily; "I don't want to buy anypoetry to-day."
"Don't fret yourself, my venerable cherub," says I; "I don't deal inpoetry at present. I just came here to tell you that if you don't stopwriting treason, I'll suppress you in the name of the United States."
"You're a mudsill mob," says he; "and I don't allow no violent mobsaround this office. I am an American citizen, and I won't stand nomobs. What does the Constitution say about newspapers? Why, theConstitution don't say anything about them; so you've got noConstitutional authority for mobbing me."
"Then take the Oath," says I.
He looked at me for a moment, and then passed me a small black bottle.I held it up over my eyes for some time, to see if it was perfectlystraight, and he remarked that if all Northerners took the Oath asfreely as I did, they must be a water-proof conglomeration of patriots.I believe him, my boy!
The Mackerel Brigade has established a cookery department for itself,and is using a stove recently patented by the colonel of Regiment 5.This stove is a miraculous invention, and has already made fortunes forsix cooks and a scullion. You put a shilling's worth of wood into it,which first cooks your meat and then turns into two shilling's worth ofcharcoal; so you make a shilling every time you kindle a fire.
Yesterday, a gentleman, brought up to the oyster-trade, and who hasmade several voyages on the Brooklyn ferry-boats, exhibited the modelof a new gun-boat to the Secretary of the Navy. He said its greatadvantage was that it could easily be taken to pieces; and theSecretary was just going to order seventy-five for use in Central Park,when it leaked out that when once the gun-boat was taken to piecesthere was no way of putting it together again. Only for this, my boy,we might have a gun-boat in every cistern.
Yours, nautically,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER XVI.
INTRODUCING THE GOTHIC STEED, PEGASUS, AND THE REMARKABLE GERMANCAVALRY FROM THE WEST.
WASHINGTON, D.C., October 6th, 1861.
The horse, my boy, is an animal in which I have taken a deep interestever since the day on the Union Course, when I bet ten dollars that the"Pride of the Canal" would beat "Lady Clamcart," and was compelled toleave my watch with Mr. Simpson on the following morning. The horse, myboy, is the swarthy Arab's bosom friend, the red Indian's solitarycompanion, and the circus proprietor's salvation. One of these nobleanimals was presented to me last week, by an old-maid relative whoseage I once guessed to be "about nineteen." The glorious gift wasaccompanied by a touching letter, my boy; she honored my patriotism,and the self-sacrificing spirit that had led me to join the gallantMackerel Brigade, and get a furlough as soon as a rebel picketappeared; she loved me for my mother's sake, and as she happened tohave ten shillings about her, she thought she would buy a horse with itfor me. Mine, affectionately, Tabitha Turnips.
Ah, woman! glorious woman! what should we do without thee? All ourpatriotism is but the inspiration of thy proud love, and all our moneyis but the few shillings left after thou hast got through buying newbonnets. Oh! woman--thoughtful woman! the soldier thanks thee forsending him pies and cakes that turn sour before they leave New York;but, for heaven's sake don't send any more havelocks, or there'll be acrisis in the linen market. It's a common thing for a sentry to report"eighty thousand more havelocks from the women of America;" and thenyou ought to hear the Brigadier of the Mackerel Brigade cuss!"Jerusalem!" says he, "if any more havelocks come this afternoon, tellthem that I've gone out and won't be back for three weeks. Thunder!"says he, "there's enough havelocks in this here deadly tented field toopen a brisk trade with Europe, and if the women of America keep onsending them, I'm d--d if I don't start a night-cap shop." The generalis a profane patriarch, my boy, and takes the Oath hot. The Oath, myboy, is improved by nutmeg and a spoon.
But to return to the horse which woman's generosity has made me own--mebe-yuteous steed. The beast, my boy, is fourteen hands high, fourteenhands long, and his sagacious head is shaped like an old-fashionedpick-axe. Viewed from the rear, his style of architecture is gothic,and he has a gable-end, to which his tail is attached. His eyes, myboy, are two pearls, set in mahogany, and before he lost his sight,they were said to be brilliant. I rode down to the Patent Office, theother day, and left him leaning against a post, while I went inside totransact some business. Pretty soon the Commissioner of Patents cametearing in like mad, and says he:
"I'd like to know whether this is a public building belonging to theUnited States, or a second-hand auction-shop."
"What mean you, sirrah?" I asked majestically.
"I mean," says he, "that some enemy to his country has gone and stoodan old mahogany umbrella-stand right in front of this office."
To the disgrace of his species be it said, my boy, he referred to thespirited and fiery animal for which I am indebted to woman'sgenerosity. I admit that when seen at a distance, the steed somewhatresembles an umbrella-stand; but a single look into his pearly eyes isenough to prove his relations with the animal kingdom.
I have named him Pegasus, in honor of Tupper, and when I mount him,Villiam Brown, of Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, says that Iremind him of Santa Claus sitting astride the roof of a small gothiccottage, holding on by the chimney. Villiam is becoming rather toofamiliar, my boy, and I hope he'll be shot at an early day.
Yesterday the army here was reenforced with a regiment of fat Germancavalry from the West, under the command of Colonel Wobert Wobinson,who has had great experience in keeping a livery-stable. Their animalsare well calculated to turn the point of a sword, and are of thehigh-backed fluted pattern, very glossy at the joints. I saw one of thedragoons cracking nuts on the backbone of the Arabian he rode, andasked him about how much such an animal was worth without the fur? Heconsidered for a moment and then remarked that nix fustay anddampfnoodle, though many believed that swei glass und sweitzerkase; butupon the whole, it was nix cumarouse and apple-dumplings,notwithstanding the fact that yawpy, yawpy, betterish. Singular torelate, my boy, I had arrived at the very same conclusion before Iasked him the question.
Colonel Wobert Wobinson reviewed the regiment near Chain Bridge thismorning, and each horse used about an acre to turn around in. Justbefore the order to "charge" was given, the orderly sergeant kindled afire under each horse, and when the charge commenced, only about six ofthe animals laid down. Colonel Wobinson remarked that these six horseswere in favor of peace, and refused to fight against their Southernbrethren. I told him I thought that the peace breed had longer ears;and he said that that kind had been very scarce since the Governmentcommenced appointing its foreign consuls.
Yours, hoarsely,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER XVII.
NOTING A NEW VICTORY OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE IN VIRGINIA, ANDILLUSTRATING THE PECULIAR THEOLOGY OF VILLIAM BROWN; WITH SOME MENTIONOF THE SHARPSHOOTERS.
WASHINGTON, D.C., October 18th, 1861.
At an early hour yesterday morning, while yet the dew was on the grass,and on everything else green enough to be out at that matinal hour, myboy, I saddled my gothic steed Pegasus, and took a trot for the benefitof my health. Having eaten a whole straw bed and a piece of anIrishman's shoulder during the night, my architectural beast was ingreat spirits, my boy, and as he snuffed the fresh air and unfurled theremnants of his warlike tail to the breeze of heaven, I was reminded ofthat celebrated Arabian steed which had such a contempt for the speedof all other horses that he never would run with them--in fact, my boy,he never would run at
all.
Having struck a match on that rib of Pegasus which was most convenientto my hand, I lit a cigar, and dropped the match, still burning, intothe right ear of my fiery charger. Something of this kind is alwaysnecessary to make the sagacious animal start; but when once I get hismettle up he never stops, unless he happens to hear some crows cawingin the air just above his venerable head. I am frequently glad thatPegasus has lost his eyesight, my boy; for could he see the expressionon the faces of some of these same crows, when they get near enough tosquint along his backbone, it would wound his sensibilities fearfully.
On this occasion he carried me, at a speed of 2.40 hours a mile, to apoint just this side of Alexandria, where the sound of heavycannonading and cursing made me pause. At first, my boy, I rememberedan engagement I had in Washington, and was about to hasten back; butwhile I was pressing the lighted end of my cigar to the side ofPegasus, to make him turn, Colonel Wobert Wobinson, of the WesternCavalry, came walking toward me from a piece of woods on my right, andinformed me that ten of his men had just been attacked by fourteenthousand rebels, with twenty columbiads. "The odds," says he, "israther heavy; but our cause is the noblest the world ever knew, and ifmy brave boys do not vanquish the unnatural foe, an indignant anddecimated people will at once call upon the Cabinet to resign."
I told him that I thought I had read something like that in the_Tribune_; but he didn't seem to hear me.
By this time the cannonading had commenced to subside, and as I trottedalongside of Colonel Wobinson toward the field of battle, I asked himwhat he had done with his horse. He replied, that while on his way tothe field, his sagacious beast had observed a hay-stack, and was soentranced with the vision that he refused to go a step further; so hehad to leave him there.
Upon reaching the scene of strife, my boy, we discovered that the tenWestern Cavalry men had routed the rebels, killing four regiments,which were all carried away by their comrades, and capturing sixcolumbiads, which were also carried away. On our side nobody was killednor wounded. In fact, two of our men, who went into the fight sick withthe measles, were entirely cured, and captured four good surgeons. Imust state, however, my boy, that although nobody was killed or woundedon our side, there was one man missing. It seems that when he found theballs flying pretty thickly about his ears, he formed himself into ahollow-square, my boy, and retreated in good order into the neighboringbushes. He formed himself into a hollow-square by bending gentlyforward until his hands touched the ground, and made his retrogrademovement on all-fours. Colonel Wobinson remarked that this style offorming a hollow-square was an intensely-immense thing on Hardee.
I believe him, my boy!
The women of America, my boy, are a credit to the America eagle, and agreat expense to their husbands and fathers, but they don't exactlyunderstand the most pressing wants of the soldier. For instance, ayoung girl, about seventy-five years of age, has been sending tenthousand pious tracts to the Mackerel Brigade, and the consequence is,that the air around the camp has been full of spit-balls for a week.These tracts, my boy, are very good for dying sinners and otherSoutherners, but I'd rather have Bulwer's novels for general reading.Villiam Brown, of Company 3, Regiment 5, got one of them the other day,headed, "Who is your Father?" The noble youth read the question overonce or twice, and then dashed the publication to the ground, and tooksome tobacco to check his emotions. (That brave youth's father, my boy,is a disgrace to his species; he has been sinking deeper and deeper inshame for some months past, until at last his name has got on theMozart Hall ticket.) I saw that Villiam didn't understand what thetract really meant, and so I explained to him that it was intended tosignify that God was his Father. The gifted young soldier looked at medreamily for a moment, and then says he:
"God is my Father!" says he. "Well, now I am hanged if that ain'tfunny; for, whenever mother spoke of dad, she always called him 'theold devil!'"
Villiam never went to Sabbath-school, my boy, and his knowledge oftheology wouldn't start a country-church.
Wishing to find out if he knew anything about catechism, I asked him,last Sunday afternoon, if he knew who Moses was.
"Yes," says he, "I know him very well; he sells old clothes in Chathamstreet."
I went over to Virginia the other day to review Berdan's Sharpshooters,and was much astonished, my boy, at their wonderful skill with therifle. The target is a little smaller than the side of a barn, with ahole through the centre exactly the size of a bullet. They set this up,my boy, just six hundred yards away, and fire at it in turn. Aftersixty of them had fired, I went with them to the target, but couldn'tsee that it had been hit by a single bullet. I remarked this to thecaptain, whereupon he looked pityingly at me, and says he:
"Do you see that hole in the bull's eye, just the size of a bullet?"
I allowed that I did.
"Well," says he, "the bullets all went through that hole."
Now I don't mean to say that the captain lied, my boy; but it's myopinion--my private opinion, my boy, that if he ever writes a work offiction, it will sell!
La Mountain has been up in his balloon, and went so high that he couldsee all the way to the Gulf of Mexico, and observe what they had fordinner at Fort Pickens. He made discoveries of an important character,my boy, and says that the rebels have concentrated several troops atManassas. A reporter of the _Tribune_ asked him if he could see anynegro insurrections, and he said that he _did_ see some black spotsmoving around near South Carolina, but found out afterward that theywere some ants which had got into his telescope.
The Prince de Joinville's two sons, my boy, are admirable additions toGeneral McClellan's staff, and speak English so well that I can almostunderstand what they say. Two Arabs are expected here tomorrow to takecommand of Irish brigades, and General Blenker will probably have twoAztecs to assist him in his German division.
Yours, musingly,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER XVIII.
DESCRIBING THE TERRIBLE DEATH AND MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF ACONFEDERATE PICKET, WITH A TRIBUTE TO HIS MEMORY.
WASHINGTON, D.C., October 28th, 1861.
My head swells with patriotic pride when I casually remark that theMackerel Brigade occupy the post of honor to the left of Bull Run,which they also left on the day we celebrated. The banner which waspresented to us by the women of America, and which it took the oratorof the day six hours and forty minutes to describe to us, we are usingin the shape of blazing neck-ties; and when the hard-up sun of Virginiashines upon the glorious red bands around the sagacious necks of ourveterans, they all look as though they had just cut their throats. Theeffect is gory, my boy--extremely gory and respectable.
At the special request of Secretary Seward, who wrote six letters aboutit to the Governors of all the States, I have been appointed a picketof the army of the Upper Potomac. In your natural ignorance, my boy,you may not know why a man is called a picket. He is called a picket,my boy, because, if anybody drops a pocket-book or a watch anywhere,his natural gifts would cause him to pick-it up. If he saw a pocket, hewould not pick-it--oh, no! But pick-it--picket.
The Picket, my boy, has been an institution ever since wars began, andhis perils are spoken of by some of the high old poets in thesebeautiful lines:
"The chap thy tactics doom to bleed to-day-- Had he thy reasons, would he poker play? Pleased to the last, he does a deal of good, And licks the man just sent to shed his blood."
I am weeping, my boy.
While on my lonely beat, about an hour ago, a light tread attracted myattention, and looking up, I beheld one of secesh's pickets standingbefore me.
"Soldier," says he, "you remind me of my grandmother, who expiredbefore I was born; but this unnatural war has made us enemies, and Imust shoot you. Give me a chaw terbacker."
He was a young man, my boy, in the prime of life, and descended fromthe First Families of Virginia.
I looked at him, and says I:
"Let's compromise, my brother."
"Never!" says he.
"The South is fighting for her liberty, herfiresides, and the pursuit of happiness, and I desire most respectfullyto welcome you with bloody hands to a hospitable grave."
"Stand off ten paces," says I, "and let's see whose name shall comebefore the coroner first."
He took his place, and we fired simultaneously. I heard a ball gowhistling by a barn about a quarter of a mile on my right; and, whenthe smoke cleared away, I saw the secesh picket approaching me with anawful expression of woe on his otherwise dirty countenance.
"Soldier," says he, "was there anything in my head before you fired?"
"Nothing," says I, "save a few harmless insects."
"I speak not of them," says he. "Was there anything _inside_ of myhead?"
"Nothing!" says I.
"Well," says he, "just listen now."
He shook his head mournfully, and I heard something rattle in it.
"What's that?" I exclaimed.
"That," says he, "is your bullet, which has penetrated my skull, and isrolling about in my brain. I die happy, and with an empty stomach; butthere is one thing I should like to see before I perish for my country.Have you a quarter about you?"
Too much affected to speak, I drew the coin from my pocket and handedit to him.
The dying man clutched it convulsively, and stared at it feverishly.
"This," said he, "is the first quarter I've seen since the fall ofSumter; and, had I wounded you, I should have been totally unable togive you any quarter. Ah! how beautiful it is! how bright, howexquisite, and good for four drinks! But I have not time to say all Ifeel."