A Reporter's Idea of Mules -- Letter from Kentucky --
Chaplain Gaddis Turns Fireman -- Gaddis and the Secesh
Grass-Widow.
A REPORTER'S IDEA OF MULES.
Junius Browne, describing a mule and his antics, says: "Now, be it
known, I never had any faith in, though possessed of abundant
commiseration for, a mule. I always sympathized with Sterne in his
sentimental reverie over a dead ass, but for a living one, I could
never elevate my feeling of pity either into love or admiration. The
mule in question, however, seemed to be possessed of gentle and kindly
qualifications. He appeared to have reached that degree of culture
that disarms viciousness and softens stubbornness into tractability. I
believed the sober-looking animal devoid of tricks peculiar to his
kind, such as attempting to run up dead walls in cities, and climb
trees in the country, mistaking himself for a perpetual motion, and
trying to kick Time through the front window of Eternity. I was
deceived in the docile-looking brute. He secured me as his rider by
false pretenses. He won my confidence, and betrayed it shamefully.
That he was a good mule, in some respects, I'll willingly testify; but
in others, he was deeply depraved. He exhibited a disposition
undreamed of by me, unknown before in the brothers and sisters of his
numerous family. In brief, he was a sectarian mule; a bigot that held
narrow views on the subject of religion; believed Hebrew the
vernacular of the devil, and regarded the Passover with malevolent
eyes. Confound such a creature, there was no hope for him! Who could
expect to free him from his prejudices? He hated Moses for his fate,
and Rebekkah for her forms of worship. He was insane on Judaism. He
was a monomaniacal Gentile. Who could make out a mental diagnosis, or
anticipate the conduct of a mule afflicted with religious lunacy? Well
for your correspondent had he discovered beforehand the bias of the
brute, or suspected he was a quadruped zealot! Much might have been
saved to him, and more to a number of unoffending gentlemen from
church, as the sequel of my 'o'er true tale' will prove.
"The train got off about eight o'clock, on a cloudy, rainy, muddy,
suicidal morning, and the material that composed it was worthy of
illustration by Cruikshank. The procession was singularly varied, and
supremely bizarre. There were the army-wagons, with sick and wounded
soldiers, lumbering heavily along; the paroled prisoners wading
through the mire; cotton-buyers, on foot and on horseback; members of
the twelve tribes of Israel, with all possible modes of conveyance--in
broken buggies, in dilapidated coaches, on bare-boned Rosinantes, on
superannuated oxen, with fragmentary reins, rope reins, and no reins;
spurring, swearing, hallooing, and gesticulating toward Memphis, in
mortal terror lest the rebels would capture them again, and some of
their hard-earned gains. Pauvre Juils! They would have excited the
pity of a pawnbroker, if he had not known them, so frightened and
anxious and disconsolate they looked. They could not have appeared
more miserable if they had just learned that a brass watch they had
sold for silver had turned out gold. The mule trotted along briskly
and quietly enough until he beheld the grotesque vision of the
heterogeneously-mounted Israelites. Then he displayed most
extraordinary conduct. He pawed, he hawed, he kicked, all the while
glancing at the sons of Jerusalem, and braying louder and more
discordant every moment. I could not understand the mule's
idiosyncrasies. Possibly, I thought, the doctrine of the
metempsychosis may be true, and this brute, in the early stages of its
development, once have been in love. He has a fit on him now, I
fancied--he is once more possessed of a petticoat. Why not? If love
converts men into asses, why should not asses, in their maddest
moments, act like men in love? The mule's ire was culminating. I dug
my spurs into his side. Vain effort! He was bent on mischief, and
malignant against the persecuted race. If he had been in the House of
Commons, (and many of his brethren are there,) I know he never would
have voted for the admission of Jews into the English Parliament.
Before I could anticipate his movement, he rushed at several
pedestrian Hebrews and kicked the wind out of their stomachs and three
pairs of green spectacles from their noses. While endeavoring to
recover their glasses, the mule knocked their hats off with his hoofs,
and impaired the perfect semicircle of their proboscis, thus imitating
the rebels--by destroying their bridges totally. The infuriated brute
then ran for an old buggy, and, by supreme perseverance, kicked it
over, and its two Hebrew occupants, into the road, where they fell,
head-foremost, into the mire, growling profanely, like tigers that
have learned German imperfectly, and were trying to swear, in choice
Teutonic, about the peculiar qualities of Limburger cheese. In their
sudden subversion, the Israelites dropped three fine watches out of
their pockets, and the mule, with an unprecedented voracity, and
determined on having a good time, ate the chronometers without any
apparent detriment to digestion. The owners of the watches were
frenzied. They glanced at my beast, and were about to devour him,
hoping thereby to get the timepieces back. They did not violate the
third commandment. They could not. They were too mad. They merely
hissed rage, like a boiling tea-kettle, and grew purple in the face,
and spun round in the road, from the excess of their wrath. Your
correspondent was alarmed. He feared the mule would devour the Hebrews
themselves, and he knew, if that were done, the animal would explode,
and said animal had not been paid for. No time was given for
reflection. Off ran the mule again, and made a pedal attack on a small
Hebrew with a huge nasal organ, seated on top of a decayed coach,
drawn by a horse, a cow, and three negroes. The quadruped made a
herculean effort to kick the diminutive Shylock from his seat, but all
in vain. The altitude was too great, and, in the midst of his
exertions, he kicked himself off his feet, and fell over into a
gulley, in which he alighted and stood on his head, as if he had been
trained in a circus. The position was admirable, and so worthy of
imitation that I stood on my head also, in two feet of mire, and
beckoned with my boots for some passing pedestrians to come and pull
me out, as they would a radish from a kitchen-garden. The mule resumed
his normal position speedily, and went off in his well-sustained
character of a Jew-hunter. I was less fortunate. Three teamsters drew
my boots from my feet, and tears from my eyes, before they could
extricate me. And when I was removed from _terra firma_, I resembled a
hickory stump dragged out by the roots, or a large cat-fish that had
left his native element, and, seized with a fit of science, had
endeavored to convert himself into a screw of the Artesian well.
Placed feet downward on the ground again, I could not thank my
deliverers or swear at the mule. I was dumb with astonishment and the
mud, having swallowed eighteen ounces avoirdupois weight of the sacred
soil of Mississippi while endeavoring to express my admiration of the
performance of the mule. When I had removed the mire from my optics,
in which cotton-seed would have grown freely, I beheld the mule in the
dim distance. I could not see the brute plainly, but I could determine
his course by the frequent falling of a human figure along the road. I
knew the figures were those of his enemies, the much-abused
Hebrews--that he was still wreaking his vengeance on the
representatives of Israel--that he was fulfilling the unfortunate
destiny of a misguided and merciless mule. Strange animal! Had the
honest tradesman ever sold his grandfather a bogus watch? or
inveigled his innocent sire into the mysterious precincts of a
mock-auction? Alas! history does not record, and intuition will not
reveal.
"My narrative is over. I did not go to Memphis. I returned, limping,
to town, mentally ejaculating, like many adventurous gentlemen who,
before me, have recklessly attempted to ride the peculiar beast,
'D----n a mule, any how!'"
LETTERS FROM KENTUCKY.
Early in September, 1862, I was sent by General Starbuck & Co.,
proprietors of the Cincinnati _Daily Times_, to reconnoiter in
Kentucky. My first stop was a very pleasant one--at the Galt House,
Louisville. From that place I wrote incident after incident concerning
the most inhuman barbarity that had been enacted by citizen guerrillas
and butternut soldiers. Louisville was in a foment of excitement, and
if the rebels had only possessed the dash, there was scarce a day but
they could have made a foray upon the "Galt," and captured from forty
to fifty nice-looking officers, from brigadier-generals down to
lieutenants.
It was supposed the Government could spare them; else why were they in
the North, when they should have been in the South?
While there, I met Lieutenant Thomas S. Pennington, of Columbus, Ohio,
a gentleman of intelligence, who told me HE SAW CITIZENS OF RICHMOND
(Kentucky) who had pretended to be FRIENDLY WITH OUR MEN, SHOOT THEM
DOWN AS THEY WERE RETREATING THROUGH THEIR STREETS. G. W. Baker, the
regimental blacksmith of the 71st Indiana, who resides in Terre
Haute, was in the city in charge of a number of horses left in
Richmond. As our boys, worn-out and unarmed, retreated through the
place, Mr. Baker says the men fired from their windows and doors. J.
C. Haton, of Point Commerce, Indiana, also corroborates this fiendish
piece of work upon the very men who had for days stood guard over
their private property. All agree that more of our men were killed by
these incarnate fiends in citizens' clothing than by the secesh in
uniforms. Many of the pretended friendly citizens went out (says
Lieutenant Pennington) to aid us, and then treacherously picked off
our officers. Colonel Topkins, of the 71st Indiana, died nobly,
leading his men, who, although undisciplined, stood bravely by their
gallant colonel while there was a shadow of hope. Twice was his horse
shot beneath him; and mounting the third horse, he received two
bullets. A number of his boys hastily gathered around him. His last
words were: "Boys, did I do my duty?" With tears coursing their manly
cheeks, they replied: "You did, Colonel." "Then," said he, "I DIE
HAPPY." Major Concklin, of the 71st, whom I reported wounded, died
shortly afterward. Coming from Shelbyville, I passed more than one
hundred wagons, all heavily loaded with the wreck of the late battles,
many of the wounded being brought to this city.
CHAPLAIN GADDIS AND THE 2d OHIO.
Charley Bunker, in writing from the 2d Ohio, says: "This is the
Sabbath, which, under present circumstances, can only be known by the
neat appearance of the boys, in their shiny boots and clean, boiled
shirts, as they make their early morning entree for company inspection
of arms and accouterments, after which, all is dullness and vacuity.
There is a sensible void, apparent to all, requiring something to
remove the depressing dullness now surrounding them; and that
something is to be found only in the presence of an accommodating and
pleasing chaplain. Being to-day in the camp of the 2d Ohio Regiment, I
observed this lack of a clerical adviser, in the absence of Brother M.
P. Gaddis, the pleasing and affable chaplain of this gallant band of
patriots. Brother Gaddis, being naturally of a pleasing and
accommodating disposition, has won the confidence and favor of his
entire command, and is an ever-welcome guest wherever he may chance to
offer his presence. But one instance can be recorded wherein the
parson has met with refusal of friendship and favor--and this can be
credited to nothing but the present distracted condition of our
unfortunate country. But, even in this instance, the kind and
accommodating nature of the chaplain was fully manifested; forgetting
all party or political prejudices, he viewed all the circumstances
with a happy mind and Christian heart. The following are the
circumstances of the above-mentioned case: On the first advance of the
national army from Louisville toward the land of Dixie, a portion of
our forces marched along the turnpike, passing in their route the
time-noted tavern-stand, distant some twenty miles north of Bowling
Green, and known to all travelers as "Ball's Tavern." On the evening
of the arrival of the forces under the immediate command of General
Mitchel, at this place, one of the buildings attached to the premises
accidently caught fire."
CHAPLAIN GADDIS TURNS FIREMAN.
The 2d Ohio Regiment being encamped near the premises, and observing
the flames bursting from the roof of the building, Brother Gaddis,
with a number of others, instantly made their way to the building to
save the entire property from destruction. Entering the building, they
made their way to the top of the house, where the fire was then
raging, and commenced tearing away the wood-work near the devouring
element. No water being convenient, they were obliged to resort to the
snow as a substitute, which, at that time, covered the ground, to
subdue the flames. Having partially succeeded in checking the raging
of the fire, a small aperture was made in the roof of the building,
and Dave Thomas, the sutler of the 2d Ohio, being the smallest one of
the party, was thrust through the hole in the roof, and made a
desperate onslaught upon the fire, while Brother Gaddis continued to
hand up the snow in hats and caps to the daring firemen on the roof,
until the fire was entirely extinguished. The following day Brother
Gaddis, knowing the former reputation of the tavern, and, as is
natural with all clerical exponents, preferring _fried chicken to hog
meat_, and warm rolls to hard crackers, wended his way to the tavern,
with a craving appetite, and the full expectation of a kind welcome
and an agreeable entertainment.
Before proceeding further, I must here state that, attached to these
premises, is a noted subterranean recess, which has ever been the
attraction of all travelers who have chanced to pass over this
frequented thoroughfare, and is known as the "Diamond Cave."
GADDIS AND THE SECESH GRASS-WIDOW.
Entering the dwelling, Brother Gaddis sought the landlady, Mrs.
Proctor, or the late widow Bell, but now the wife of a Proctor, who,
by-the-by, is at present to be found in the ranks of the rebel army,
the madam's entire sympathies leading in the same direction.
Addressing the landlady in his usual winning manner, Brother Gaddis
requested the privilege of remaining as a guest of the house, and
enjoying the luxuries of her well-stored larder and the comforts of
her well-furnished rooms. What was the surprise of the chaplain to
find in the landlady a real she-devil in politics, and utterly
inexorable to all appeals to her charity and hospitality. In her
remarks, she observed that "He was on the wrong side of the fence;
that she had entertained, the day before the arrival of the Union
troops, a company of three hundred gentlemen, (referring to that
number of rebel cavalry,) and that they had treated her like a lady,
and paid her for what they had received"--(_in Confederate scrip_). In
reply, Brother Gaddis, not wishing to be deprived of her coveted
entertainment, inquired "What was the difference which side of the
fence he was on, so that he conducted himself with propriety, and paid
her for her trouble?" asking if his money was not as good as that of
those of whom she spoke. She answered, "No!" and positively refused to
entertain any of the "hated Yankees" in her house.
"TURCHIN'S GOT YOUR MULE."
A planter came to camp one day,
His niggers for to find;
His mules had also gone astray,
And stock of every kind.
The planter tried to get them back,
And thus was made a fool,
For every one he met in camp
Cried, "Mister, here's your mule."
CHORUS.--Go back, go back, go back, old scamp,
And don't be made a fool;
Your niggers they are all in camp,
And Turchin's got your mule.
His corn and horses all were gone
Within a day or two.
Again he went to Colonel Long,
To see what he could do.
"I can not change what I have done,
And won't be made a fool,"
Was all the answer he could get,
The owner of the mule.
CHORUS.--Go back, go back, go back, old scamp,
And don't be made a fool;
Your niggers they are all in camp,
And Turchin's got your mule.
And thus from place to place we go,
The song is e'er the same;
'Tis not as once it used to be,
For Morgan's lost his name.
He went up North, and there he stays,
With stricken face, the fool;
In Cincinnati now he cries,
"My kingdom for a mule."
CHORUS.--Go back, go back, etc.