by R. H. Newell
When it became generally known, my boy, that Company 3, Regiment 5,Mackerel Brigade, were falling back across Duck Lake, there was greatagitation in Government circles, and the general of the MackerelBrigade prepared to call out all persons capable of bearing arms.
"The Constitution is again in danger," says the general, impulsively,"and we must appeal to the populace."
"Ah!" says Villiam, "it would also aid our holy cause to call out thewomen of America. For the women of America," says Villiam, advisedly,"are capable of baring arms to any extent."
"No!" says the general. "Woman's place in this war is beside the couchof the sick soldier. Thunder!" says the general, genially, "it's enoughto make us fonder of our common nature to see the devotion of women tothe invalid volunteer. As I was passing through the hospital just now,"says the general, feelingly, "I saw a tender, delicate woman acting thepart of a ministering angel to a hero in a hard ague. She was fanninghim, my friend--she was fanning him."
"Heaven bless her!" says Villiam, with streaming eyes; "and may shenever be without a stove when she has a fever. I really believe," saysVilliam, glowingly, "that if woman found her worst enemy, even, burningto death, she would heap coals of fire upon his head."
Villiam's idea of heaping coals of fire, my boy, is as literal as wasthe translation of Enoch.
On learning of the repulse from Richmond, all the Southern Union men ofParis commenced to remember that the rebels are our brethren, and thatthis war was wholly brought about by the fiendish abolitionists.
"Yes!" says a patriotic chap from Accomac, sipping the oath loyally,"the Abolitionists brought this here war about, and I have determinednot to support it. Our slaves read the _Tribune_, and have learned somuch from military articles in that paper that the very life of theSouth depended upon separation."
In fact, my boy, notwithstanding the efforts of Captain Villiam Brownto tranquillize public feeling by seizing the telegraph office andrailroad depot, telegraphing to everybody he knew for reenforcements,the excitement was steadily increasing, until word came from Company 3,Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, that no enemy had been in sight at all.
When the intelligence was brought to the General of the MackerelBrigade, and as soon as the band had finished serenading him, he calledfor a fresh tumbler, and says he:
"I may as well tell you at once, my children, that this whole matter issimply a part of my plan for bringing this unnatural war to a speedytermination. Company 3 retired by my design, and--and--in fact, mychildren," says the general, confidingly, "it's something you can'tunderstand--it's strategy."
Perhaps it was, my boy--perhaps it was; for there is more than onereason to believe that strategy means military shoes with the heels infront.
Yours, cautiously,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER XLIX.
NOTING THE ARCHITECTURAL EFFECTS OF THE GOTHIC STEED, PEGASUS, ANDDESCRIBING THE MACKEREL BRIGADE'S SANGUINARY ENGAGEMENT WITH THERICHMOND REBELS.
WASHINGTON, D.C., June 8th, 1862.
Once more, my boy, the summer sun has evoked long fields of bristlingbayonets from the seed sown in spring tents, and the thunder of theshower is echoed by the roar of the scowling cannon. Onward, rightonward, sweeps the Sunset Standard of the Republic, to plant its Rosesand its Lilies on the soil where Treason has so long been the maskedreaper; to epitaph with its eternal Violet the honored battle-graves ofthe heroic fallen, and to set its sleepless Stars above the SouthernCross in a new Heaven of Peace.
In my voyage down the river, to witness the great battle for Richmond,I took my frescoed dog, Bologna, and my gothic steed, Pegasus. Thelatter architectural animal, my boy, has again occasioned an opticalmistake. Being of a melancholy turn, and partaking somewhat of thetastes of the horrible and sepulchral German Mind, the gothic chargerhas peregrinated much in a churchyard near Washington, frequentlystanding for hours in that last resting-place, lost in profoundmortuary contemplation, to the great admiration of certain vagrantcrows in the atmosphere. On such occasions, my boy, his casual pace is,if possible, rather more _requiescat in_ "_pace_" than on ordinarymarches. I was going after him in company with a religious chap fromBoston, who is going down South to see about the contrabands being bornagain, when we caught sight of Pegasus, in the distance. The sagaciousarchitectural stallion had just ascended the steps leading into thegraveyard, my boy, and presented a gothic and pious appearance. Thereligious chap clutched my arm, and says he:
"How beautiful it is, my fellow-sinner, to see that simple villagechurch, resting like the spirit of Peace in the midst of this scene ofwar's desolation."
"Why, my dear Saint Paul," says I, "that's my gothic steed, Pegasus."
"Ahem!" says he. "You must be mistaken, my poor worm; for I can seehalf way down the aisle."
"The perspective," says I, "is simply the perspective between the hindlegs of the noble creature, and his rear elevation deceives you."
"Well," says the religious chap, grievously, "if you ever want to doanything for the missionary cause, my poor lost lamb, just skin thathorse and let me have his frame for a numble chapel, wherein to convertcontrabands."
REQUIESCAT IN "PACE."
ARCHITECTURAL VIEW OF THE GOTHIC STEED, PEGASUS--REAR ELEVATION.]
On my way down the Potomac to Paris, my boy, with Pegasus and theintelligent dog Bologna, I met Commodore Head, of the new iron-platedMackerel fleet, who was taking his swivel Columbiad to a blacksmith, tohave the touch-hole repaired. The Commodore met with a greatdisappointment at Washington, my boy. He ordered the great militarypainter, Patrick de la Roach, to paint him a portrait of SecretaryWelles, Cabinet size. When the picture came home, my boy, it was nolarger than a twenty-five-cent piece, frame and all; and the portraitwas hardly perceptible to the naked eye.
"Wedge my turret!" says the Commodore, in his iron-plated manner, "Iwouldn't give a Galena for such a picture as that. What did you make itso small for, you daubing cuss?"
"Didn't you want it Cabinet size?" says the artist.
"Batter my plates! of course I did," says the Commodore.
"Well," says the artist, earnestly, "if you ever attended a Cabinetmeeting, you'd know that that is exactly the Cabinet size of theSecretary of the Navy."
The Commodore related this to me, my boy, in the interval of navalcriticisms on the gothic Pegasus, whom he pronounced as incapable ofbeing hit at right angles by a shell as the Monitor. "Explode myhundred-pounder!" says the Commodore, admiringly, "I don't see any flatsurface about that oat-crushing machine. Perforate my armor, if I do!"
A great battle was going on upon the borders of Duck Lake when wereached Paris, my boy, and on ambling to the battle-field with my steedand my dog, I found the Mackerel Brigade blazing away at the foe in athunder-storm and vivid-lightning manner.
Captain Villiam Brown, mounted on the geometrical steed Euclid, to whomhe had administered a pinch of Macaboy to make him frisky--was justreceiving the answer of an orderly, whom he had sent to demand thesurrender of a rebel mud-work in front.
"Did you order the rebel to surrender his incendiary establishment tothe United States of America?" says Villiam, majestically returning hiscanteen to his bosom.
"I did, sire," says the Orderly, gloomily.
"What said the unnatural scorpion?" says Villiam.
"Well," says the Orderly, "his reply was almost sarcastic."
"Ha!" says Villiam, "what was't?"
"Why," says the Orderly, sadly, "he said that if I didn't want to see adam fool, I'd better not go into a store where they soldlooking-glasses."
"Ah!" says Villiam, nervously licking a cork, "that _was_ sarcastic.Let the Orange County Howitzers push to the front," says Villiam,excitedly, "and we'll shatter the Southern Confederacy. Hello!" saysVilliam, indignantly, "Who owns that owdacious dog there?"
I looked, my boy, and behold it was my frescoed canine, Bologna, whowas innocently discussing a bone right in the track of the advancingartillery. I whistled to him, my boy, and he loafed dreamily tow
ard me.
The Orange County Howitzers thundered forward, and then hurled aninfernal tempest of shell and canister into the horizon, taking theroofs off of two barns, and making twenty-six Confederate old maidsdeaf for life. At the same instant, Ajack, the Mackerel sharpshooter,put a ball from his unerring rifle through a chicken-house about half amile distant, causing a variety of fowl proceedings.
"Ah!" says Villiam, critically, "the angels will have to get a new sky,if the artillery practice of the United States of America keeps on muchlonger."
Meantime Company 2, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, was engaging theenemy some distance to the right, under Captain Bob Shorty; and nowthere came a dispatch from that gallant officer to Villiam, thus:
"_The Enemy's Multiplication is too much for my Division. Send me some more Democrats._
"CAPTAIN BOB SHORTY."
"Ah!" says Villiam, "the Anatomical Cavalry and the Western Centaursare already going to the rescue. Blue blazes!" says Villiam,cholerically, "Why don't that blessed dog get out of the way?"
I looked, my boy, and, behold! it was my frescoed canine, Bologna,calmly reasoning with a piece of army beef, in the very middle of thefield. I whistled, my boy, and the intelligent animal floated toward mewith subdued tail.
The obstruction being removed, the Anatomicals and the Centaurs chargedgloriously under Colonel Wobert Wobinson, and would have swept theSouthern Confederacy from the face of the earth, had not the fiendishrebels put a load of hay right in the middle of the road. To get thehorses past this object was impossible, for they hadn't seen so muchforage before in a year.
"Ah!" says Villiam, contemplatively, "I'm afraid cavalry's a failure inthis here unnatural contest. Ha!" says Villiam, replacing the stopperof his canteen, and quickly looking behind him, "What means thisspectacle which mine eyes observe?"
A cloud of dust opened near us, and we saw Captain Samyule Sa-mithrushing right into headquarters, followed by Company 6, having an agedand very reliable contraband in charge.
"Samyule, Samyule," says Villiam, fiercely, "expound why you leave thefield with your force, at this critical period in the history of theUnited States of America?"
"I'm supporting the Constitution," says Samyule, breathlessly, "I'm aconservative, and--." Here Samyule tumbled over something and fell flaton his stomach.
"By all that's blue!" says Villiam, frantically, "why the thunder don'tsomebody shoot that unnatural dog!"
I looked, my boy, and beheld it was my frescoed canine, Bologna, whohad run between the legs of the fallen warrior, with the remains of acaptured Confederate chicken. I whistled, my boy, and the faithfulcreature angled towards me with mitigated ears.
"I'm supporting the Constitution," repeated Samyule, rising to his feetand examining a small, black bottle to see if anything had spilt, "I'ma conservative, and have left the field to restore this here misguidedcontraband to his owner, which is a inoffensive rebel. War," saysSamyule, convincingly, "does not affect the Constitution."
"Ah!" says Villiam, "that's very true. Take the African chasseur to hisproper master, and tell him that the United States does not war againstthe rights of man."
Now it happened, my boy, that the withdrawal of this force to carry outthe Constitution, so weakened the Advance Guard, that the SouthernConfederacy commenced to gain ground, and Villiam was obliged to formCompany 3, Regiment 5, in line immediately, for a charge to the rescue.He got the splendid _corps_ to leave the distillery where they werequartered, for a few minutes, and says he:
"There's beings for you, my nice little boy! Here's veteran centurionsfor you."
"Yes," says I, admiringly. "I never saw so many red noses togetherbefore, in all my life."
"Ah!" says Villiam, dreamily, "there's nary red about them, excepttheir noses. And now," says Villiam, "you will see me lead a chargedestined to cover six pages in the future history of our distractedcountry."
"Soldiers of the Potomac!" says Villiam, drawing his sword, and hastilysharpening it on the left profile of his geometrical steed, "yourcomrades are engaging nine hundred and fifty thousand demoralized androuted rebels, and you are called upon to charge bayonets. Follow me."
Not a man moved, my boy. Many of them had families, and more wereengaged to be married to the women of America. They were brave but notrash.
Villiam drew his breath, and says he: "The United States of America,born on the Fourth of July, 1776, calls upon you to charge bayonets,Come on, my brave flowers of manhood!"
Here a fearless chap stepped out of the ranks, and says he: "Inconsequence of the heavy dew which fell this morning, the roads isimpassable."
Villiam remained silent, my boy, and drooped his proud head. Couldnothing induce those devoted patriots to strike for the forlorn hope?Suddenly, a glow of inspiration came over his face, he rose in hissaddle like a flash, waved his sword toward the foe, and shouted--
"I know you now, my veterans! The day is hot, yonder lies our road,and--my peerless Napoleons," said Villiam, frenziedly:
"COME AND TAKE A DRINK!"
In an instant I was blinded with a cloud of dust, through which camethe wild tramp and fierce hurrahs of Company 3, Regiment 5, MackerelBrigade. The appeal to their finer feelings had carried them by storm,and they charged like the double-extract of a compound avalanche. I waslistening to their cheers as they drove the demoralized foe beforethem, when a political chap came riding post-haste from Paris, and sayshe:
"How many voters have fallen?"
Before I could answer him, my boy, the triumphant Mackerels camepouring in, just in time to meet the General of the Mackerel Brigade,who had just rode up from a village in the rear, with an umbrella overhis head to keep off the sun.
"My children," says the general, kindly, as their shouts fell upon hisears, "you have sustained me nobly this day, and we will enjoy thethanks of our grateful country together. I thank you, my children."
Here the political chap threw up his hat, and says he: "Hurroar for theUnion! My fellow-beings," says the political chap, glowingly, "Iannounce the idolized General of the Mackerel Brigade for President ofthe United States in 1865."
"Ah!" says Villiam--he would have said more, but at that moment hishorse's legs became entangled in something, and both horse and riderwent to grass. I looked, my boy, and behold, it was my frescoed dogBologna, who had run against the geometrical steed of the warrior inpursuit of an army biscuit. I whistled, my boy, and the docilequadruped shrunk toward me with criminal aspect.
And so, the unblest cause of treason has received a decisive blow. Theend approaches; but I can't say which end, my boy--I can't say whichend.
Yours, martially,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER L.
REMARKING UPON A PECULIARITY OF VIRGINIA, AND DESCRIBING COMMODOREHEAD'S GREAT NAVAL EXPLOIT ON DUCK LAKE, ETC.
WASHINGTON, D.C., June 15th, 1862.
Early in the week I trotted to the other side of the river on my gothicsteed Pegasus, and having lent that architectural pride of the stud toa thoughtful individual, who wished to make a sketch of his facade, Itook a branch railroad for a circuitous passage to Paris, intending tomake one stoppage on the way. The locomotive was about two-saucepanpower, my boy, and wheezed like a New York Alderman at a free lunch.First we stopped at a town composed of one house, and that was a depot.
"What place is this?" says I to my fellow passenger, who was theconductor, and was reading the _Tribune_, and was swearing to himself."It's Mulligan's Court-House, the Capital of Sally Ann County," sayshe, and again took out the bill I had paid my fare with to see if itwas good.
I took another branch road here, and we snailed along to another town,composed of a wood-pile. "What place is this?" says I to myfellow-traveller, the brakeman. "It's Abednego Junction, the capital ofLaura Matilda County," says he, sounding my quarter on his seal ring tomake sure that it was genuine. Now, as London, the city I was going to,happened to be the capital of Anna Maria County, my boy, I made up mymind that the sacred soil
had as many metropolises as railways.
"Virginia," says a modern Southern giant of intellect, "is one grandembodied poem."
I believe him, my boy; for, like a poem, Virginia appears to have acapital at the commencement of every line.
Reaching London, and brushing past a crowd of our true friends thecontrabands, whose cries of anguish upon hearing that I had broughtthem no plum-pudding, were truly harrowing, I pushed forward to the newUnion paper, the London Times, with whose editor I had business.
Just as I entered the office, my boy, there rushed out in great rage anexasperated southern Union man. Having no gun about the house to pickoff our pickets as they came into town, he borrowed a barber's pole andstuck it out of the window, proclaimed himself an oppressed Unionist,had a meeting of his family to elect him to the United States Congressfrom Anna Maria County, and made a thrilling Union address to twocontrabands from his back-stoop. He wound up this great speech, my boy,by saying:
"Young men, it is your duty to fight for the Union, which has caused usall so many tears. If any young man's wife would fain dissuade him, lethim say to her, in the language of the poet,
"'I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not Honor more!'"
This touching peroration was sent in manuscript to the London Times,and this is the way it appeared in that intellectual American journal:
"Young hen, it is your duty to fight for the Onion, which has caused usall so many tears. If any young man's wife would fain dissuade him, lethim say to her, in the language of the poet: