by R. H. Newell
British neutrality, my boy, reminds me of a chap I once knew in theSixth Ward. Two solid men, who didn't get drunk more than once a day,were running for alderman, and they both made a dead set on this chap;but they hadn't any money, and he couldn't see it.
"See here, old tops," says he, "I'll be a neutral this time; so go inporgies!"
Well, my boy, the election came off, and neither of the old tops waselected. No, sir! Now, who do you suppose _was_ elected?
The _Neutral Chap_, my boy!
Mad as hornets with the hydrophobia, the two old tops went to see him,and says they:
"Confound your picture, didn't you promise to be neutral?"
The chap dipped his nose into a cocktail, and then says he, blandly:
"I _was_ neutral, old Persimmonses. I only went to fifty Democrats, andgot 'em to vote for me. Then to be neutral, I had to get fifty of theother feller's Black Republicans to do the same thing. Then I votedtwelve times for myself, _and went in_."
It was a very beautiful case, my boy, and the old tops were only heardto utter--they were only known to exclaim--they were barely able toarticulate--that neutrality didn't pay.
Early yesterday morning, my boy, Company B, Regiment 3, MackerelBrigade, went down toward Centreville on a reconnoissance in forceunder Captain Bob Shorty. The Captain is a highly intellectual patriot,and don't get his sword twisted between his legs when he carries it inhis hand. He led the company through the mud like a Christmas duck,until they came to a thicket in which something was seen to move.
"Halt, you tarriers!" says Captain Bob Shorty, in a voice tremblingwith bravery. "Form yourselves into a square according to Hardee, whileI stir up this here bush. There's something in that bush," says he,"and it's either the Southern Confederacy, or some other cow."
The captain then leaned up to a tree to make him steady on his pins, myboy, and rammed his sword into the bushes like a poker into afire--thus:
Nobody hurt on our side.
What followed, my boy, can be easily told. At an early hour on theevening of the same day, a solitary horseman might have been seenapproaching Washington. It was Captain Bob Shorty, with his hat cavedin, and a rainbow spouting under his left eye. He went straight to thehead-quarters of the General of the Mackerel Brigade, and says he:
"General, I've reconnoitered in force, and found the enemy bothnumerious and cantankerous."
"Beautiful!" says the general; "but where is your company?"
"Well, now," says Captain Bob Shorty, "you'd hardly believe it; but thelast I see of that ere company, it was engaged in the pursuit ofhappiness at the rate of six miles an hour, with the rebels at thewrong end of the track. Dang my rations!" says Captain Bob Shorty, "ifI don't think that ere bob-tailed company has got to Richmond by thistime."
"Thunder!" says the general, "didn't they kill any of the rebels?"
"Nary a Confederacy," says Captain Bob Shorty. "The bullets all rolledout of them ere muskets of theirs before the powder got fairly on fire.Them muskets," continued Captain Bob Shorty, "would be good for abombardment. You might possibly hit a city with them at two yards'range; but in personal encounters they are inferior to theputty-blowers of our innocent childhood."
As the captain made this observation, my boy, he stepped hurriedly tothe table, lifted a tumbler containing the Oath to his pallid lips,took a seat in the coal-scuttle, and burst into a flood of tears.
Deeply affected by this touching display of a beautiful trait in ourcommon nature, the general placed a small piece of ice on the captain'sslanting brow, and hid his own emotions in a bottle holding about aquart.
In reference to the beautiful battle-piece, accompanying this epistle,my boy, allow me to observe that it was taken on the spot by the_Chiar' oscuro_ artist, Patrick de la Roach, well-known in his nativeItaly as "Roachy." He studied in Rome (New York), and has a stylepeculiar for its width of tone and length of breath. The darkcomplexion of the figures in this fine picture represents the effectsof the Virginia sun. Our troops are much tanned. The work was paintedin oil colors with a bit of charcoal, my boy, and a copy of it willprobably be ordered for the Capitol.
Yours, for high old art,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER XXIV.
NARRATING THE MACKEREL BRIGADE'S MANNER OF CELEBRATING CHRISTMAS, ANDNOTING A DEADLY AFFAIR OF HONOR BETWEEN TWO WELL-KNOWN OFFICERS.
WASHINGTON, D.C., December 26th, 1861.
A Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, my boy, and the same to yourself.The recurrence of these gay old annuals makes me feel as ancient as theFirst Families of Virginia, and as grave as a church-yard. How well Iremember my first Christmas! Early in the morning, my dignifiedpaternal presented me with a beautiful spanking, and then my maternaltouched me up with her slipper to stop my crying. Sensible people arethe women of America, my boy; they slap a boy on his upper end, whichmakes him howl, and then hit him on the other end to stop his noise.There's good logic in the idea, my boy. That first Christmas of minewas memorable from the fact that my present was a drum, on which Iexecuted a new opera of my own composition with such good effect, thatin the evening, a deputation of superannuated neighbors and old maidswaited on my father with a petition that he would send me to seaimmediately.
But to return to the present, suffer me to observe that last Wednesdaywas celebrated by the Mackerel Brigade in a manner worthy of theoccasion. Two hundred turkeys belonging to the Southern Confederacywere served up for dinner, and from what I tasted, I am satisfied thatthey belonged to the First Families. They were very tough, my boy.
In the evening, there was a ball, to which a number of the women ofAmerica were invited. Captain Villiam Brown came up from Accomac onpurpose to attend, and looked, as the General of the Mackerel Brigadegenteelly expressed it, like a bag of indigo that had been out withoutan umbrella in a hard shower of brass buttons. The general has an acuteperception of the Beautiful, my boy.
Villiam took the Oath six times, and then took a survey of the festivescene through the bottom of a tumbler. The first person he recognizedwas the youngest Miss Muggins, waltzing like a deranged balloon withCaptain Bob Shorty. Captain Bob was spinning around like a dislocatedpair of tongs, and smirked like a happy fiend. Villiam gave one stare,put the tumbler in his pocket, and then made a bee-line for the pair.
"Miss Muggins," says he, "you'll obleege me by dropping that air massof brass buttons and moustaches, and dancing with me."
"I beg your parding, sir," says Miss Muggins, with dignity, "but Ichooses my own company."
"Villiam," says Captain Bob Shorty, "if you don't take that big nose ofyours away, it will be my painful duty to set it a little further backin your repulsive countenance."
Then Villiam _was_ mad. He hastily buttoned his coat up to the neck,took a bite of tobacco, and says he:
"Captain Shorty, we have lived like br-r-others; I have borrowed many aquarter of you; and you promised that when I died, you would wrap me upin the American flag. But now you are mine enemy, and--ha! ha!--I amyours. Wilt fight?"
'Twas enough!
"I wilt," responded Captain Bob Shorty. And in ten minutes' time thesedesperate men stood face to face on the banks of the Potomac, theghastly moon looking solemnly down upon them through a rift of floatingshrouds; and one of the First Families of Virginia pickets squinting atthem from a neighboring bush. Villiam's second was Colonel WobertWobinson of the Western Cavalry, Captain Bob Shorty's was SamyuleSa-mith. The fifth of the party was a fat surgeon from St. Louis, whostood with his sleeves rolled up and a big jack-knife in his hand. Thesurgeon also had a stomach pump with him, my boy, and twelve boxes ofanti-bilious pills. The weapons were pistols, and the distance seventypaces.
Captain Villiam Brown was observed to shiver, as he took his place, andwas so cold, that he took aim at the surgeon instead of his antagonist.The surgeon called his attention to this little error; and heimmediately rectified his mistake by pointing his weapon point-blank atSamyule Sa-mith.
"You blood-thirsty cuss!" sh
outed Samyule, with great emotion, "whatare you pointing at me for?"
"I was thinking of my poor grandmother," said Villiam, feelingly; andimmediately fired at the moon.
Simultaneously, Captain Bob Shorty sent his bullet skimming along theground, in the direction of Washington, and said that he wanted to gohome.
The surgeon decided that nobody was hurt; and the two infuriatedprincipals commenced to reload their pistols, with horrible calmness.
Now it came to pass, that while Captain Villiam Brown was stooping downfixing his weapon, his hand became unsteady, and he pulled the trigger,without meaning to. Bang! went the concern, and whiz! went the ballright between the legs of Colonel Wobert Wobinson, causing that nobleofficer to skip four times, and swear awfully.
"Treachery!" says Captain Bob Shorty, spinning around in greatexcitement, and letting drive at Samyule Sa-mith who happened to benearest.
"Gaul darn ye!" screamed Samyule, turning purple in the face, "you'vegone and shot all the rim of my cap off."
"I couldn't help it," says Bob, looking into the barrel of his pistolwith great intensity of gaze.
At this moment, Villiam, who had loaded up again, tried to put thehammer of his weapon down on the cap; but his hand slipped, and thecharge exploded, barking the shins of the fat surgeon, and sending abullet clean through his stomach-pump.
The surgeon just took a seat, my boy, rubbed his shins half a second,took four boxes of pills, and then began to cuss! Marshal Rynders cancuss _some_, my boy, but that fat surgeon could beat him and all theCustom-House together.
But suddenly a strange sound reduced all else to silence. It came firstlike the rumbling of a barrel of potatoes, and then grew into afiendish chuckle. It was found to proceed from a neighboring bush, andon proceeding thither the party beheld a sight to make the pious weep.Rolling about in the brush was one of the First Families of Virginiapickets, kicking his heels in the air, and laughing himself rightstraight into apoplexy.
"O Lord!" says he, going into a fresh convulsion, "take me prisoner andhang me for a rebel, but I never _did_ see such a good one as that airgay old duel. If you'd kept on," says the picket, turning purple in theface, "I really reckon I should a busted myself."
Captain Villiam Brown was greatly scandalized at this unseemly mirth,my boy, and requested the surgeon to cut the picket's head off; butColonel Wobert Wobinson interposed, and the laughing chap was only madeprisoner.
"And now, Villiam," says Captain Bob Shorty, "we've had thesatisfaction of gentlemen, and can be friends again. I spurns MissMuggins. The American flag is my only bride, and as for you!--well, Ithink rather more of you than I do of my own father."
"Come to my arms!" exclaimed Villiam, falling upon his neck, andimproving the opportunity to take the Oath from his canteen.
It was an affecting sight, my boy; and as those two noble youths walkedamicably back to the camp together, the fat surgeon remarked to SamyuleSa-mith that they reminded him of Damon and Pythias just returned fromthe Syracuse Convention.
Yours, for the Code,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER XXV.
PRESENTING THE CHAPLAIN'S NEW YEAR POEM, AND REPORTING THE SINGULARCONDUCT OF THE GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE ON THE DAY HECELEBRATED.
WASHINGTON, D.C., January 2d, 1862.
Another year, my boy, has dawned upon a struggle in which the hopes offreedom and integrity all over the world are breathlessly involved; andif the day-star of Liberty is destined to go down into the ocean wave,what is to become of the unoffending negroes? I extract this beautifulpassage, my boy, from the forthcoming speech of a fat Congressman, whois a friend to the human race, and charges the Administration withimbecility and with mileage. I conversed with him the other evening,and, after discussing various topics, asked him what he thought of theWashington statue as it stood? He winked three times, and then says he:
"The only Washington statue I know anything about, is _statu quo_."
The chaplain of the Mackerel Brigade joined seriously in our stafffestivities on New Year's eve, my boy; but as midnight approached hegrew very silent, and at a quarter of twelve he arose from his seat bythe fire and asked permission to read something which he had written.
"I would not retard your inevitable inebriation," says he to us, as hedrew a manuscript from one of his pockets, "but it is only fitting thatwe should pay some regard to
"THE DYING YEAR.
"Dying at last, Old Year! Another stroke of yonder clock, and thou Wilt pass the threshold of the world we see Into the world where Yesterday and Now Blend with the hours of the No More To Be.
"I saw the moon last night Rise like a crown from the dim mountain's head, And to the Council of the Stars take way; For thou, the king, though kinsman of the dead, Swayed still the sceptre of Another Day.
"I see the moon to-night, Sightless and misty as a mourner's eye, Behind a vail; or, like a coin to seal The lids of Time's last-born to majesty, Touched with the darkness of a hidden Leal.
"Mark where yon shadow crawls By slow degrees beneath the window-sill, Timed by the death-watch, ticking slow and dull; The tide of night is rising, black and still-- Old Year, thou diest when 'tis at its full!
"Ay! moan and moan again, And shake all Nature in thine agony, And tear the ermine robes that mock thee now Like gilded fruit upon a blasted tree; To-morrow comes! To-morrow, where are Thou?
"Wouldst thou be shrived, Old Year? Thou subtle sentence of delusive Time, Framed but to deepen all the mystery Of Life's great purpose! Come, confess the crime, And man's Divinity shall date from thee!
"Speak to my soul, Old Year; Let but a star leave its bright eminence In thy death-struggle, if this deathless Soul Holds its own destiny and recompense In the grand mast'ry of a GOD'S control!
"No sound, no sign from thee? And must I live, not knowing why I live, Whilst Thou and years to come pass by me here With faces hid, refusing still to give The one poor word that bids me cease to fear?
"That word, I charge thee, speak! Quick! for the moments tremble on the verge Of the black chasm where lurks the midnight spell, And solemn winds already chant thy dirge-- Give Earth its Heaven, or Hell a deeper Hell!
"Speak! or I curse thee here! I'll call it YEA if but a withered twig, Tossed by the wind, falls rattling on the roof; I'll call it YEA, if e'en a shutter creak, Breathe but on me, and it shall stand for proof!
"Too late! The midnight bell-- The crawling shadow at its witching flood, With the deep gloom of the Beyond is wed, And I, unanswered, sit within and brood, And thou, Old Year, art silent--Thou art DEAD!"
When the chaplain finished his reading, my boy, I told him that he mustexcuse the party for going to sleep, as they were really very tired.
On New Year's day, my boy, the General of the Mackerel Brigade desiredme to make a few calls with him; and appeared at my lodgings in aconfirmed state of kid gloves, which he bought for the express purposeof making a joke.
"A happy New Year to you, my Duke of Wellington," says I. "You look asfrisky as a spring lamb."
Immediately a look of intense meaning came over his Corinthian face,and he remarked, with awful solemnity:
"Thunder! you might better call me a goat, my Prushian blue, seeingthat I've got a couple of kids on hand just now."
The joke was a good article in the glove line, my boy, and I don'tthink that the general had been studying over it more than four hoursbefore we met.
We made our first call at a house where the ladies were covered withsmiles as with a garment; and remarked that the day was fine. Thegeneral smiled in return, until his profile reminded me of a crackedtea-pot; and says he: "Ladies, allow me to tender the compliments ofthe season. In this wine," says he, "which I hold in my hand, I beholdthe ros
es of your cheeks when you blush, and the sparkle of your eyeswhen you laugh. Let us hope that another New Year will find our unhappycountry free from her enemies, and the curse of African slavery blottedout of the map."
I whispered to the general that slavery wasn't on the map at all; andhe confidentially informed me, that I be dam.
We then repaired to a house where the ladies had a very happyexpression of countenance, and told us that it was a pleasant day. Thegeneral accidentally filled a wine glass with the deuce of the grape,and says he: "Ladies, suffer me to articulate the compliments of theseason. This aromatic beverage," says he, "is but a liquid presentmentof your blushes and glances. Let us trust that within a year ourcountry will resume the blessings of peace, and the unhappy bondmanwill be obliterated from the map."
One of the ladies said, "te-he."
Another said that she felt "he! he! he!"
"I believe her, my boy!"
As we returned to the street, I told the general that he'd better leaveout the map at the next place, and he said that he'd do it if he was'ntafraid that Congress would'nt confirm his appointment, if he did.
We then visited a family where the ladies had faces beaming withhappiness, and observed that it was really a beautiful day. The generalhappened to be placed near a cut-glass goblet, and says he: "Ladies, incompliance with the day we celebrate, I offer the compliments of theseason. This mantling nectar," says he, "blushes like women andglitters like her orbs. Let us pray that in the coming twelve months,the stars and stripes will be re-established, and the negro removedfrom the map."