by R. H. Newell
In the absence of my war-horse I hired a respectable hack to take me toManassas, the driver saying that he would not charge me more than tendollars an hour, as he had seen better days himself. What his seeingbetter days had to do with me I didn't exactly see, my boy; but I hiredthe chariot, and we went down the river at a pace sometimes achieved bythat carriage in a funeral which contains the parents of the deceased.
Wet towels, soda-water, and a few wholesome kicks in the rear havingrendered Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, sufficiently certainof their legs to march a polka in the space of an ordinary corn field,Captain Villiam Brown placed himself at their head, and, flanked by acanteen and an adjutant, the combined pageant was just about to move ona reconnoitering expedition as I came up.
"Ha!" said Villiam, hastily placing his shirt-frill over the neck of abottle that accidentally peeped from his bosom--"I am about to leadthese noble beings on the path of glory, and you shall participate inthe beams."
Without a word, I turned his left wing; and as the band, whichconsisted of a fat Dutchman and a night-key bugle, struck up "Drops ofBrandy," we moved onward, like the celestial vision of childhood'sdream.
Like the radiance of a higher heaven streaming through thegolden-tinted windows of some grand old cathedral, fell the softenedlight of that April afternoon, on budding Nature, as we halted before apiece of woods just this side of Strasburg. On the new leaves of thetrees in front of us the sunshine coined a thousand phantom cataractsof specie, and in the vale below us a delicate purple shadow wrestledwith the hill-reflected fire of the sun. Deep silence fell on Company3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade; the band put his instrument on thering with the key of his trunk, and Villiam softly reconnoitred througha spy-glass furnished with a cork. Suddenly the tones of a rich, manlyvoice swelled up from the bosom of the valley.
"Hush!" says Villiam, sternly eyeing the band, who had justhiccupped--"'tis the song of the Contrabands."
We all listened, and could distinctly hear the following words of thesinger:
"They're holding camp-meeting in Hickory Swamp, O, let my people go; De preacher's so dark dat he carry um lamp, O, let my people go. De brudders am singing dis jubilee tune, O, let my people go; Two dollars a year for de Weekly Tribune, O, let my people go!"
As the strain died away in the distance, the adjutant slapped his leftleg.
"Why," said he, dreamily, "that must be Greeley down there."
"No!" says Villiam, solemnly, "it is one of the wronged children oftyranny warbling the suppressed hymn of his injured people. It is asign," says Villiam, trembling with bravery, "that the SouthernConfederacy is somewhere around; for when you hear the squeak of theagonized rat," said Villiam, philosophically, "you may be sure that thesanguinary terrier is on the war-path."
Scarcely had he spoken, my boy, when there emerged from the edge of thewood before us a rebel company, headed by an officer of hairycountenance and much shirt collar. This officer's face was a whiskerplantation, through which his eyes peeped forth like two snakes coiledup in a window-brush. His dress was shoddy, his air was toddy, and ayard of valuable stair-carpet enveloped his manly shoulders.
"Halt!" said he to his file of reptiles, whose general effect was thatof a congress of rag-merchants just come in from a happy speculation inGeorge-Law muskets.
"Sir," said the officer, bowing in a graceful semicircle, "I amsomewhat in the First Family way, own a plantation, drink but littlewater at home, and have the honor to be Captain Munchausen, of theSouthern Confederacy."
"Dost fence?" says Villiam, grimly drawing his sword.
"Fence!" says Captain Munchausen, also drawing his disguised crowbar."Didst ever hear, boy, or read, of that great fencer of the olden time,the Chevalier St. George?"
"Often," says Villiam, in a tone that was as plainly the echo of a lieas is that of the delicate female eater of slate-pencils, when she saysthat she never could bear pork and beans.
"Well," says Captain Munchausen, haughtily, "the chevalier was soextremely jealous of my superior skill, that he actually went and diednearly a hundred years before I was born."
"Soap," says Villiam, like one talking in his sleep, "is sometimes madewith powerful lie."
"By Chivalry!" says Captain Munchausen, cholerically; "I swear, I nevertold a single lie in all my life."
"A _single_ lie!" says Villiam, abstractedly; "ah, no! for the lies ofthe Southern Confederacy are all married, and have large families."
This domestic speech, my boy, was too much for Munchausen. Asking oneof the rag merchants to hold his three-ply overcoat, and carefullyremoving his fragmentary cap, that none of the cold potatoes shouldspill out of it, he planted the remains of his right boot slightly inadvance of the skeleton of his left, and thundered:
"'Sblood!"
Quick as the lightning leaps along the cloud did Captain Villiam Brownsend the great toe of his dexter foot to meet that of his foe; hisDamascus blade lay across the opposing brand, and he whispered:
"'Sdeath!"
It was a beautiful sight--by Minerva it was!
"Stop!" says Villiam, suddenly hauling in his weapon again; "it shallnever be said that I took advantage of a foeman."
As he uttered these memorable words, my boy, this ornament of theservice plucked an infant demijohn from his fearless bosom andmagnanimously passed it to his antagonist.
A soft commotion was visible in the whiskers of Captain Munchausen--thesuburb of a smile as it were; a cavern opened in their midst, thevessel ascended curvilinearly thereto, and the sound was as thetrickling of water down a mountain gulch.
The adjutant took his seat on the sleeping body of the band, and withpencil and paper prepared to record the combat. The opposing championsfaced each other, and as Villiam once more raised his blade he smiledhorribly.
Then, my boy, was witnessed a scene to make old Charlemagne's paladinsdance High-jinks in their graves, and call all the Arturian knights tolife again. _Carte et tierce!_ but it was a spectacle for Hector andAchilles. With swords pointed straight at each other's noses did thevalorous heroes skip wildly back, and then as wildly forward. Slam!bang! crack! smack! right and left! over and under! parry, feint, and_premiere force_! Now did they hop fierily along on opposite sides ofthe road, eyeing each other like demoniac Thomas Cats upon the moonlitfence. Ever and anon did they dart furiously to the centre, cutting theblessed atmosphere to invisible splinters, and slaying imaginarylegions.
But a crisis was at hand! In one of his terrible chops, the cool andcollected Villiam brought his deadly weapon down full upon the knucklesof the enemy. But for the fact that Villiam's sword was not quite assharp as the side of an ordinary three-story house, Munchausen's handwould never more have wielded trenchant blade. As it was, he hastilydashed his brand to the ground, crammed his knuckles into his mouth,struck up an impassioned dance, and mumbled, in extreme agitation:
"Golfire your cursed abolition soul!"
It was beautiful, my boy, to see how the calm Villiam leaned upon hissword and smiled.
"Ah!" says Villiam, "so perish the foes of the Union, the Constitution,and the Enforcement of the Laws. I have bruised the Confederacy.--Adjutant!"says Villiam, in a sudden burst of pardonable exultation, "score onefor the United States of America!"
Now it happened, my boy, that, as Villiam said this, he turned to wherethe adjutant was sitting, and bent down to give particular directions.His body was thus made to assume somewhat of the shape of the letter U,the curve being sharply toward the enemy. In an instant CaptainMunchausen regained his sword, grasped it after the manner of a flail,and, with a prodigious spank, applied it to the unguarded portion of myhero's anatomy.
High sprang the almost assassinated Villiam into the air, with sparkspouring from his eyes, and Union oaths hissing from his working jaws.
"Adjutant!" roared Captain Munchausen, "score one for the SouthernConfederacy!"
No sooner had Villiam reached the ground a
nd picked up the cork thathad fallen from his bosom as he ascended, than he plunged rampagiouslyat his adversary, and aimed a blow at his head that must have taken itoff had Captain Munchausen been about a yard taller. As it was, thestroke mercilessly split the air, and caused my hero to spin like amighty top.
In vain did the shameless Confederate swordsman endeavor to get in ahit as Villiam went round; the sword of the Union met him at everyturn, and right quickly was the avenging blade humming around his headagain. Inspired with the strength of Hercules, the endurance ofPrometheus, and the fire of Pluto, the gorgeous Villiam Brown went athis work once more, like a feller of great trees, and in another momenthis awful blade twanged upon the foeman's head.
Down went Captain Munchausen singing inverted psalms, with a whole nestof rockets exploding in his brain. Pale turned his rag merchants at thesight, and one of them immediately deserted to our side and swore thathe had always been a Union man.
Villiam leaned upon his blade, and kindly remarked:
"His head is broken; I heard it crack."
"'Tis false!" says Captain Munchausen, gloomily; "that is an oldcrack--I've had it ever since I was a boy."
"Ah!" says Villiam, airily, "I'm afraid my blow has caused more thanone funeral in the inseck kingdom, for the cut went right through thehair. Have a comb?" says Villiam, pleasantly.
Captain Munchausen made no reply, my boy, but motioned for his men tobear him from the field. It was noticed however, that, as he was beingcarried into the wood, he asked a gentleman in remarkable tatters, totake him to the last ditch.
As the Southern Confederacy disappeared, Captain Villiam Brown hammeredhis sword straight with a bit of stone, forced it into its scabbard,and turned majestically to Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade,several members of which were engaged in the athletic game ofpitch-penny.
"Let the band be awakened," says Villiam.
A Mackerel at once proceeded to break the slumbers of the orchestra, byshaking a bottle near his ear--that experiment having never been knownto fail in the case of a pronounced musical character.
"Ha!" says Villiam, with much spirit, "we will march to the nationalairs of our distracted country!"
After sounding several cat-calls on his night-key bugle, in the mannerof all great instrumentalists who wish to know about their instrumentsbeing in tune, the band struck up "Ale to the Chief," and we marched toquarters like so many heroes of ancient Rum.
Shall treason triumph in our land, my boy, while there's a sword towave? I think not, my boy, I think not. Though Columbia did not rulethe wave, her champions would see to it that she never waived the rule.
Yours, for the Star-Spangled,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER XXXIX.
SHOWING HOW A REBEL WAS REDUCED, AND CONVERTED TO "RECONSTRUCTION," BYTHE VALOROUS ORANGE COUNTY HOWITZERS.
WASHINGTON, D.C., April 13th, 1862.
The stirring times are come again, the maddest of the year, and I ambeginning to believe, my boy, that what is to be will be as what hasbeen has. Though still without my Gothic charger, Pegasus, thatsymmetrical racer having been borrowed for a writing-desk by aSecretary of the Fronterior, I am enabled to keep up communicationswith the Mackerel _corpse dammee_ down the river, and ten thousandstar-spangled banners flash through my veins as I relate the recentgreat artillery expedition of the Orange County Howitzers.
It seems, my boy, that an intellectual member of the Mackerel Brigadegot tired of investing Yorktown, and wandered away in pursuit ofadventure. As he peregrinated in the neighborhood of a rebel domicil,he beheld what he took for the bird of our country, stalking out of thebarnyard, and was taking measures to confiscate it, when the proprietormade his appearance, and says he:
"Hessian, spare that goose!"
The Mackerel chap gave a tragic start, and says he:
"'Tis the Eagle I would rescue, Horatio; the bird celebrated by mybrother, the Congressman, in all his speeches."
"Well," says the foul traitor, "it is undoubtedly what the Congressmantakes for an Eagle, as I am aware that Congressmen generally treat theAmerican Eagle as if he were a goose; but as that gander happens tobelong to one of the very First Families of Virginia, and cost me fourshillings, it becomes my painful duty to resist your habeas corpusact." And with that he drove the beautiful bird into the barnyard, andlocked the gate.
Fired to fury by this insult from one of those whom our army had cometo protect, the Mackerel chap went immediately back to quarters, andappealed to his comrades for vengeance.
That gifted officer Samyule Sa-mith, heard his burning words, and sayshe:
"The cannon of the Union shall speak in this matter. Let the OrangeCounty Howitzers get ready for action, and I will lead them against thePhilistine."
Instantly arose the notes of dreadful preparation; the guns weremobilized, six English gentlemen in the hosiery business were invitedto view the coming battle, and just as the moon rose above the trees,the artillery started for the rebel stronghold.
Arriving before the offending house, the howitzers were placed in line,and all got ready for the bombardment. It was just possible, my boy,that two men might have marched into that house, and captured themisguided Confederacy without slaughter. You may be unable to see whatuse there was in bringing artillery and forming in line of battle; butyou are very ignorant, my boy; you know nothing about strategy and war.
"Soldiers," says Samyule, "remember that the eyes of the whole worldare upon you at this moment, and endeavor to hit the house as often aspossible. We will fire one round without ball," says Samyule, "to seeif the powder is first-class."
Now it chanced that while the loading-up was going on, the gallantLieutenant Lemons got his legs wonderfully entangled in the lanyard ofhis piece, and kept turning the howitzer around in a manner stronglyexpressive of nervous agitation. Suddenly he stepped across to whereSamyule was standing, and whispered in his ear.
"O, I see," says Samyule, kindly, "you were educated at West Point, andwant to know which end of the cannon ought to be pointed at the enemy.Well," says Samyule, instructively, "you'd better point the end with ahole in it."
Everything being in readiness, my boy, the combined battery launchedits thunders on the air, creating a great sensation in the neigboringhen-roosts, and causing a large rooster to fall from a branch in themidst of his refreshing slumbers.
"Now, that the powder has sustained its reputation," says Samyule,impressively, "let the two-inch balls be hurled at the enemy's works."
As the house was full ten yards off, this second discharge failed tohit it; but it brought the Southern Confederacy to the window in hisnight-cap, and says he:
"There's no use of my trying to sleep, if you chaps keep making such anoise down there."
"Unhappy man," says Samyule, solemnly, "we come here to reduce you, andwill listen to nothing but unconditional surrender."
The Confederacy gaped, and says he:
"I'm very sleepy, and can't talk to you now; but I'll call over in themorning."
And he shut the window, and went back to bed. A frown was observed tosteal over the face of Samyule. He has a peculiar countenance, my boy,and a frown affects it strangely. Take his mouth and moustachetogether, and they remind you of a mouse sunning himself on the edge ofhis hole; and when the frown comes on, the mouse acts as though he hada stomach-ache.
"Comrades," says Samyule, "the enemy requires another round, and wemust do it on the square. Fire!"
Like four-and-twenty thunder-storms the howitzers roared together, andhad not the Orange County veterans forgotten to put in any balls, thereis reason to believe that some windows would have been broken. Anotherdischarge, however, was more successful, as it knocked the top off thechimney.
The Southern Confederacy appeared at the window again, and says he:
"If you fellows don't quit that racket down there, you'll irritate mepretty soon."
This significant remark caused a sudden cessation of the bombardment,and Samyule hastily ca
lled a council of war.
"Gentlemen," says Samyule, "a new issue has arisen. If we irritate theSouthern Confederacy, all hopes of future Union and reconstruction maybe destroyed."
A chap who was a conservative democrat suddenly flamed up at this, andsays he:
"The abolitionists caused this terrible war, and it is our business, asno-party men, to finish it Constitutionally. If we irritate this man,no power on earth will ever make him submit to reconstruction. Askhim."
Here the democratic chap took a large taste of tobacco, and sighed forhis country.
"Mr. Davis," says Samyule to the Confederacy at the window, "if we donot irritate you, will you consent to be reconstructed?"
"Reconstructed!" says the Confederacy, thoughtfully; "reconstructed!Ah!" says he, "you mean, will I consent to be born again?"
"Yes," says Samyule, metaphysically; "will you consent to be borneagain, as we have borne with you heretofore?"
The Confederacy thought awhile, and then says he:
"Consider me reconstructed."
As that was all the Constitution asked, of course there was no more tobe done, and the Orange County Howitzers returned to their originalposition in the mire, the English gentlemen remarking that theappearance and discipline of our troops were satisfactory to Albion.