boots?_' '_We're the boys to give the Rebels comfort!_' and
cheers.) We are here to-night to stand by the Constitution. (A
voice: '_What's old Abe about?_' '_Locking up good Democrats in
Fort Lafayette!_' '_Well, it's our own fault, you know._' '_We
deserve worse treatment!_' and hisses.) We abhor these Rebels as
much as the Black Republicans (a voice: '_We can give the Rebels
what they want!_' and applause), but we also hate home-tyranny. Why
was the idolized General of the Mackerel Brigade removed? (A voice:
'_To please the Rebels!_ '_We have licked the Black Republicans in
New York!_' '_We've done the Rebels!_' '_Good!_') To spite us!
That's so, boys! (A voice: '_And we'll make them love us yet?_'
'_The New York election tickles them!_' and cheers.) Whose good was
he removed for? (A voice: '_For Jeff Davis!_' '_Three cheers,
boys!_' and great enthusiasm.) Let History show! (A voice: '_We'll
make him President in 1864!_') Good night."
Here you have the true speech of the Venerable Gammon, my boy, with all
those patriotic interruptions which lend such a chaste rhetorical charm
to the extemporized oratory of our distracted country; but how shall I
express the pangs which tore the breasts of the fond populace, when the
reliable morning journal of Mugville came out next morning with six
pounds of heavy editorial to show that the Venerable Gammon had
ruthlessly betrayed the excellent national Democratic organization! How
shall I depict the public misery that ensued in Mugville when that
reliable morning journal, upon the authority of its inebriated
reporter, gave _this_ as a correct report of the revered patriarch's
SPEECH.
The speaker said: "How are you, old boots? (A voice: '_Thank you
for your compliment._') We're the boys to give the Rebels comfort
and cheers. (A voice: '_We are here to-night to stand by the
Constitution!_') What's old Abe about? Locking up good Democrats in
Fort Lafayette! Well; it's our own fault, you know; we deserve
worse treatment and hisses. (A voice: '_We abhor these Rebels as
much as the Black Republicans!_') We can give the Rebels what they
want and applause. (A voice: '_But we also hate home tyranny!_'
'_Why was the idolized General of the Mackerel Brigade removed?_')
To please the Rebels we have licked the Black Republicans in New
York; we've done the Rebels good. (A voice: '_To spite us, that's
so, boys!_') And we'll make them love us yet! The New York election
tickles them, and cheers. (A voice: '_Whose good was he removed
for?_') For Jeff Davis three cheers, boys, and great enthusiasm. (A
voice: '_Let history show!_') We'll make him President in 1864! (A
voice: '_Good night!_')"
You see, my boy, this horrible twistification was the result of the
reporter's getting confused about who was the speaker--him on the hotel
balcony or the talkative chaps in the street. If our excellent national
Democratic Organization would have less talking during their public
speeches, my boy, there need be no such inhuman mistakes as that which
has calumniated and utterly prostrated the Venerable Gammon.
On Wednesday I took a trot on the war-path upon the architectural
street, Pegasus, and found the veteran Mackerel Brigade back at Paris
again. They had made a great march from the Blue Ridge, my boy, and
when I reached the front I found a scientific chap from Cincinnati
taking observations. He stuck a tall stick into the ground, and
scratched a long line on the damp sod, from the foot of this stick to
the extreme right of the spectacled Brigade, letting the toes of the
front rank of the Mackerels just touch it. Then he attached a powerful
magnifying-glass to about the centre of the upright stick, and
commenced looking through it very intently all along the line he had
drawn.
I observed him attentively, and says I: "What is the nature of your
contract with the Government, my serious friend?"
He rubbed the glass with his blue silk pocket-handkerchief, and says
he: "I have invented this useful arrangement to ascertain whether or
not the Army of Accomac is really advancing. I closely watch the line
to which the toes of the front rank of the army are already very near,
and could almost swear that the forward movement is still going on. The
average speed of this army," says the scientific chap, calculatingly,
"has hitherto been six miles in six weeks; but now that the war is
about to commence in earnest, I think that the troops are making better
time."
And so they were, my boy, so they were; for the heel of the first
rank's boots were almost on the line in less than an hour,--no
Confederacies being in sight.
Noticing a circle of Mackerel Officers a short distance in my rear, I
dismounted from Pegasus and walked thither for greater speed,
discovering that the brilliant staff were admiring the great equestrian
gambols of the new General of the Mackerel Brigade.
The new General is a dignified, middle-aged chap, my boy, with a face
which expresses many whiskers, and an eye to look you through and
through when your meaning is transparent. He is not quite two yards
high, has a head which looks like a lustrous apple-dumpling, dropped
into the middle of a window-brush, and graduates downward into his
boots without seeming to be either growing out of them, or running
through them.
And he is none of your military popinjays, my boy, all plastered with
buttons and gold lace, but an earnest, hardworking soldier. His dress
for the field is characterized by genuine republican simplicity, and
consists of hardworking corduroy breeches, sternly patched; an earnest
pea-jacket, resolutely out at the elbows; a pair of straightforward
slippers, unflinchingly ragged around the toes, and an untrifling silk
hat, determinedly mashed-in at various points. You feel as you look at
him, my boy, that he means hard work, and is indifferent to good
clothes as long as he can save his distracted country.
On the majestic brow of a true hero, a shocking bad hat is a far
nobler, more glittering crown, than the circle of filthy lucre which
surmounts the head of Europe's bloated despot. Grander, far grander is
the nightcap of a Washington, than any style of army cap I have yet
seen.
The new General was mounted upon a long-tailed cob, and his
horsemanship thrilled this manly bosom with rapture. Did he wish to
deliver an order to his aid, he but slightly tightened the reins of his
horse, and at once the noble animal arose to his hind legs and fired
off a pistol held for him by an orderly. Did he wish to go the rounds,
he but touched the left flank of his horse, and straightway the
sagacious charger struck into a graceful waltz, leaping over
five-barred gates as he went along, and dashing through hoops held
aloft by the troops. Did he desire to approach one of his Generals for
consultation, he had but to give a low whistle, and forthwith the
intelligent animal limped about on three feet, as though lame, and
drank a bottle of wine presented to him by an orderly. Did he have an
inclination to review his troops, he was compelled only to gently pinch
his horse's neck, and at once the graceful beast laid down upon his
side and pretended to die as naturally as any human being.
In short, my boy, it is argued from the earnest new General's bad
clothes, that he will speedily bring the war to a good close; and from
his being such a particular horseman, that he will never become any
party's footman.
But let me change my subject for a time, and relate the great triumph
of our new naval artillery on Duck Lake, which majestic sheet of water
has returned to earth with the late rains.
Rear Admiral Head has so improved the deadly swivel-gun of the Mackerel
iron-plated squadron, that it will send a ball some distance without
kicking the gunner overboard. The secret of this improvement is known
only to the Government, my boy, and will be used to advantage when our
gory conflict with combined Europe comes off.
It was on Thursday morning, my boy, when an enthusiastic military mob,
consisting of Captain Villiam Brown, Captain Bob Shorty, and myself,
stood once more upon the familiar shore of Duck Lake. The squadron,
which has been named the "Secretary Welles," having been launched upon
the treacherous element by Rear Admiral Head and one Mackerel, we took
out our pieces of smoked glass and prepared for the naval pageant.
We could plainly see the stern old Rear Admiral bustling about on the
gallant Grandmother of the Seas, as I may term the noble craft, and
hear him swearing in his iron-plated manner.
"Fracture my turret," says the old sea-dog, "if I don't think this gun
will surpass the Armstrong; blockade me, if I don't."
When it became the duty of the solitary Mackerel crew to load the awful
instrument of destruction, it was discovered that the ramrod had been
left behind at the Navy Yard Foundry. This nautical disaster might have
marred the experiments, had not the Rear Admiral chanced to have his
brown gingham umbrella along with him. This was used as a rammer, and
the experiment proceeded.
The first charge was twenty pounds of powder, not more than nineteen of
them running out of the touchhole. The ball slightly touched the water
and went down, the recoil of the squadron being only the width of Duck
Lake.
The second shot was made with only one pound of powder, as it was
feared that the rudder might be strained by too much concussion, and we
saw the ball drop into the ocean wave. At this shot, the "Secretary
Welles" only hopped out of the water a few inches. The third shot was
made with half a pound of powder, as it was not deemed advisable to do
too much damage to the surrounding country by the gunnery.
We were gazing intently at the merciless implement of death, through
our smoked glass, when this shot was fired, and suddenly beheld a
phenomenon which made us catch our breath.
Mixed up with the fire and smoke, there emerged from the mouth of the
swivel-gun, what appeared to be an immense brown bird of some kind,
spreading its huge wings as if came out, and skimming wearily to the
shore!
Captain Bob Shorty commenced to quake, and says he:
"It's a Confederate insect!"
"No," says Villiam, lowering his smoked glass, and speaking in a solemn
whisper, "It's the distracted bird of our country, floating spectrally
on the battle-smoke. Ah!" says Villiam, abstractedly uncorking my
canteen, "our distracted bird is no inseck."
Was it indeed a majestic Eagle, my boy, stooping from his clouded
heights to sanctify the terrible naval scene? I guess not, my boy,--I
guess not; for we presently ascertained that, when the careless
Mackerel crew rammed home that last charge, he heedlessly left
Rear-Admiral Head's brown gingham umbrella sticking in the gun, and it
was the flight of the umbrella we had witnessed.
An umbrella, my boy, and a horse, may be said to have some relations.
We put one up when it rains, and we rein the other up when we "put."
Yours, good-naturedly,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER LXXXIII.
REFERRING TO WASHINGTON CITY AND THE PRESIDENT'S MESSAGE, AND
GIVING THE SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY'S VERY REASONABLE PEACE
PROPOSITION.
WASHINGTON, D.C., Jan. 28th, 1863.
The city of Washington, my boy, without her Congress, is like a maiden
without her plighted young man. She surveys herself in the mirror of
the Potomac, and says she: "Where's my Congress, without whom I am like
a gas bracket deserted by its old flame?" Alas! all flesh is gas, my
boy, and some of our congressmen are very fleshy. Their presence it is
that makes Washington a light for the world, and many of them who once
rode high horses have alighted. At the present moment our distracted
country is enveloped in darkest night, and the day seems so far off
that many Mackerels despair of ever seeing payday, even. At such a time
what a blessing is that Congress which burns to illumine us after the
manner of an elaborate chandelier! It passes away to leave everything
dark; it returns, and behold all is darkey.
I was in my room at my hotel, when Congress commenced to arrive,
conversing with Captain Bob Shorty; and, as a seedy-looking,
middle-aged chap passed by on the opposite side of the street, the
captain looked out of the window, and says he:
"That's one of the new legislators, my Pythias."
"How can you tell a new Solon from an old one?" says I, curiously.
"Why," says Captain Bob Shorty, profoundly, "an old congressman never
wears a tall hat. An old congressman," says Captain Bob Shorty, sagely,
"always wears a soft hat, so that it wont be injured by being knocked
over his eyes."
I pondered deeply over this idea, my boy, and it seemed to me that a
soft hat must be the real Cap of Liberty.
Passing over the organization of Senate and House, which suggested
thoughts of ancient Rome about the time she was saved by geese, I shall
proceed to notice the Message which our honest Abe fired into Congress
from his intellectual breastworks during the week.
You have undoubtedly read this Abe L. paper, my boy, in the reliable
morning journals, making due allowance for the typographical outrages
committed by printers of opposite politics; but there was one portion
of it gotten up for the honest Abe by the Chaplain of the Mackerel
Brigade, and this portion is so mutilated in the publishing, that I
cannot refrain from giving you the true version. Speaking of the cost
to the country of Emancipation with compensation, the Chaplain wrote:
"Certainly it is not so easy to pay something as it is to pay nothing;
but it is easier to pay a small sum than it is to pay a large sum; and
it is easier to pay any bill when we have the money, than it is to pay
a smaller bill when we have no money. Compensated Emancipation requires
no more money than would be necessary to the progress of Remunerated
Enfranchisement, which would not close before the end of five hundred
years. At that time, we shall undoubtedly have five hundred times as
many people as we have now, provided that no one dies in the mean time;
and supposing the premium on gold to increase in the same ratio as it
has increased since our last census was taken, the premium on the
specie belonging to five hundred times our present population will be
amply sufficient to pay for all persons of African descent.
"I do not state this inconsiderately. At the same ratio of increase as
we now realize, American gold will soon be worth more than all Europe.
We have ten millions nine hundred and sixty-three thousand miles, while
Europe has three millions eight hundred thousand, and yet the average
premium on specie, in some of the States, is already above that of
Europe. Taking the brokers in the aggregate, I find that if one gold
dollar is worth $1.30 in one year,
It will be worth $2.60 in two years,
" " " " 3.90 " 3 "
" " " " 5.20 " 4 "
" " " " 6.50 " 5 "
"This shows a yearly increase. If a gold dollar is worth $6.50 in five
years, it will, of course, be worth $3,250 or five hundred times as
much in five hundred years. Thus, when our population is five hundred
times as great as at present, supposing each man to have a single gold
dollar, the premium of $3,250 on his gold dollar will enable such man
to purchase thirty-two and a half persons of African descent from the
loyal slaveholders of our border States at $100 a piece, though he
would be virtually expending but one dollar himself.
"This scheme of emancipation would certainly make the war shorter than
it now has a prospect of being. In a word, it shows that a dollar will
be much harder to pay for the war than will be a dollar for
emancipation on the proposed plan."
You will observe, my boy, that this same great mathematical idea is
advanced in the Message as it is printed; but our Honest Abe has chosen
to vary the terms somewhat. If you have a gold dollar, my boy, salt it
down for five hundred years, and some future generation of offspring
will call you blessed for leaving them $3,250 in postage-stamps.
On my last journey toward Paris, finding the Mackerel Brigade still
halting before that ancient city, I rode straight to the tent of
Captain Villiam Brown, whom I found making himself a fall overcoat from
some old newspapers, while the Chaplain sat near by, making himself a
pair of shoes from a remnant of calico.
"Well, paladin," says I to Villiam, "what is it that so long detains
our noble army on the path of conquest?"
Villiam sighed as he used a little more paste to fasten the sleeves of
the garment he was constructing, and says he:
"It's the overcoats."
"Why," says I, epigrammatically, "don't they go far enough forward in
front?"
"Ah!" says Villiam, thoughtfully, "they come far enough forward in
front, but then they leave the rear exposed. On Monday," says Villiam,
reflectively, "Company Three's overcoats arrived, and I requested the
warriors to attire themselves after the designs of frequent
fashion-plates. But scarce had their manly forms commenced to assume
the garments, when the garments tore frantically from their warlike
shapes."
"Hum!" says I, questioningly, "the overcoats were Rebels in disguise."
"No," says Villiam, gloomily, "but it took two Mackerels to hold an
overcoat together while another warrior put it on, and when it was
buttoned in front, the rear presented the aspeck of two separate
departments. I am now making myself a stronger coat of Democratic
newspapers," says Villiam, explainingly, "in order that my Constitution
may be protected from harm."
I glanced at him askant, my boy, and says I, innocently, "I see a still
better reason for your clothing yourself for battle in newspapers."
"Ah!" says Villiam, complacently, "you think that I adopt the
intellectual garment to show that my line of battle is ten cents a
line."
"No, my hero," says I, pleasantly, "I think you clothe yourself for
battle in printed matter, to make sure that 'he who runs may read.'"
I would not say positively that Villiam "saw" this agreeable remark, my
boy. I am not prepared to affirm that he took the hit; but as the
canteen left his hand, my ears recognized a hasty whiz, and the effect
upon the side of the tent, near my head, was perforating.
Turning from the spot, I next had my attention attracted by a tall
whiskered chap, in a paralyzed whirlpool of gray rags, who was closely
examining a stack of Mackerel muskets near at hand. Hearing me ask his
object, he remarked casually that I was a "mudsill," and says he:
"As the unconquerable Southern Confederacy has a great contempt for the
Yankee army, it has sent me here to see whether these muskets are worth
taking. If they proved to be worth taking, the war was to continue; if
not, I was to offer indirect proposals for peace, as the Sunny South
does not wish to protect a struggle that does not pay."
Instead of replying to him, I stepped aside to give place to the
Conservative Kentucky chap, who had just been denouncing the Message to
the Mackerel Chaplain in the tent, and was greatly outraged by the
Chaplain's response.
It seems that he had abruptly addressed the Chaplain, and says he: "If
that Message wants to make the nigger the equal of the conservative
element by implication, I hereby announce that Kentucky considers
herself much offended. I fight for that flag," says he, hotly, pointing
to the national standard,--"I fight for the stars on that flag, to aid
the cause of the white man alone; and with the black man Kentucky will
have nothing to do whatever."
The Chaplain looked dreamily at the flag, as it patched the sky above
him, and says he:
"For men of your way of thinking, my friend, that banner should bear a
sun, rather than the stars."
"Hem!" says the Kentucky chap. "How so?"
"Why," says the Chaplain, gravely, "beneath the stars alone, you cannot
tell a black man from a white man. The master and slave of the broad
noonday are equals under the stars; for if the sun shines upon the one
working that the other may be idle, the gentle planets of the night
make master and bondman of one hue and perfect equals in Nature's own
Republic,--starry Night. The banner for you, my friend, should bear the
sun, to show that it is but for a day."
The conservative Kentucky chap came away swearing, my boy; and hence,
it was in no very good humor that he now saluted the Confederate
raggedier.
"Hem!" says he, ungraciously, "where did all those rags come from, and
what is their name?"
The Confederacy hastily put on a pair of white cotton gloves, and says
he:
"Am I addressing the Democratic Organization?"
"You address the large Kentucky branch," says the Conservative chap,
pulling out his ruffles.
"Then," says the Confederacy, "I am prepared to make an indirect
proposition for peace. My name is Mr. Lamb, by which title the
Democratic Organization has always known the injured Confederacy, and I
propose the following terms: Hostilities shall at once cease, and the
two armies be consolidated under the title of the Confederate States
Forces. The war-debts of the North and South shall be so united that
the North may be able to pay them without confusion. An election for a
new President shall at once be held, everybody voting save those who
have shown animosity to the sunny South. France shall be driven out of
Mexico by the consolidated armies, the expense being so managed that
the North may pay it without further trouble. Upon these terms, the
Confederacy will become a peaceful fellow-man."
"Hem!" says the Kentucky chap, "What you ask is perfectly reasonable. I
will consider the matter after the manner of a dispassionate Democrat,
and return you my answer in a few days."
Here I hastily stepped up, and says I, "But are you not going to
consult the President at all about it, my Jupiter Tonans?"
"The President? the President?" says the Conservative Kentucky chap,
with a vague look. "Hem!" says he, "I really forgot all about the
President!"
The Democratic Organization, my boy, in its zeal to benefit its
distracted country, is occasionally like that eminent fire company in
the Sixth Ward, which nobly usurped with its hose the terrible business
of putting out a large conflagration, and never remembered, until its
beautiful machine was all in position, that another company of
fellow-firemen had exclusive possession of all the waterworks.
Yours, comparingly,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER LXXXIV.
PROVING THAT RUSSIA IS INDEED OUR FRIEND; INSTANCING THE TERRIFIC
BOMBARDMENT OF PARIS; AND TELLING HOW THE NEW GENERAL OF THE
MACKEREL BRIGADE DELIGHTED ALL WITH HIS SURPRISING "SHAPE."
WASHINGTON, D.C., February 2d, 1863.
The sagacious Russian bear, my boy, is found to regard the Eagle of our
distracted country with more than his ordinary liking for fancy
poultry, and our shattered bird may feel proud of a friendship
proffered by such an excellent beast. Truth to tell, the present aspect
of our national chicken is not calculated to inspire an idolatrous
passion in the breast of European zoology. All his tail-feathers have
seceded, and are in rebellion against him; and he has got a black eye,
my boy, from strategic gambols with the playful Southern Confederacy.
Hence, we should accept the bear's affection as a marvel of
disinterested emotion; for I am almost sure, my boy, I am almost sure
that nothing handsomer than a bear could have much real love for such a
fractured fowl.
A relative of mine, named A. Merry Kerr,[2] went to Russia some time
ago, being secretly deputed by Government to expend the amount of his
passage-money in a judicious manner. He writes to me of his friendly
reception by Gorchakoff, and says he:
[2] Excepting Mr. Bayard Taylor, no ordinary traveler ever
excited so much wild affection in the breasts of foreign kings
and noblemen as this gentleman.
"Mr. Gorchakoff ordered my trunks to be put away under the throne for
the time being, and then hastened me to his own private bedroom, whose
windows command a full view of all you can see through them. Having
brushed me off and kissed me, he ordered some fried candles for two,
and then says he:
"How comes on the Union cause, whose pregnant misery on Potomac's shore
has caused the heart of the Czar untold anguish? How often has his
majesty said to me: 'The North _must_ triumph, Prince; and mark me when
I say, that two more centuries will not roll by without witnessing the
fall of Richmond.'"
"Sir," says I,--
"'The lightning-motion of the fish,
Beneath the sea, will just compare
With victory's impulse to our flag,--
That striped bass of upper air.'
"The North must conquer, you see, Mr. G."