spectacled Mackerel Brigade greatly excited and demoralized by the
insidious report that their famous new General, the Grim Old Fighting
Cox, had actually washed himself. This injurious rumor, my boy,
suggested such humiliating national recollections of those days of
consummate strategy, when a certain egotistical commander indulged in
the vanities of soap and hair-oil, that the Brigade were naturally
terrified. Finally, however, the absurd story received a decisive
quietus, when the Grim Old Fighting Cox was seen riding slowly on his
unostentatious steed, the "Pride of the Canal," dressed in the
unassuming republican habiliments of a stern and inflexible
coal-heaver. It is needless to say that he had not washed himself. This
war is at length beginning in earnest.
It is beautiful to see how the Grim Old Fighting Cox is improving the
morals of the venerable Mackerels, and winning their affection,
confidence, and respect. Coming, unexpectedly, upon a Mackerel, who had
just laid aside his umbrella, and removed his spectacles, in order that
he might weep the more freely, he fired a pistol over his head, and
says he:
"What is the matter, my dear sir?"
"Oh!" says the poor Mackerel, sobbing, "I am in sore need of the pay
which is due me for two years' faithful strategy to the Union, and know
not where to get it."
The Grim Old Fighting Cox was much affected, and says he, softly: "You
must humbly kneel, and beseech Providence for it."
The afflicted chap toyed with his spectacles, and says he: "But suppose
Providence should refuse?"
"Then come to ME!" thundered the Grim Old Fighting Cox, with the air of
a stern national parent.
I could relate hundreds of such significant anecdotes as this, my boy;
though when the Grim Old Fighting Cox tells them himself to all the
reporters of the reliable morning journals, he invariably desires that
they shall go no further; but other great events demand my immediate
attention.
It was very shortly after the victorious but disastrous blowing up of
the Mackerel iron-plated squadron, the "Secretary Welles," on Duck
Lake, by the infatuated Confederacies of Pier No. 1,--it was shortly
after this event, which I duly recounted at the time, that our
unconquerable old sea-dog, Rear Admiral Head, invented an entirely new
iron-clad after the model of a Quaker hat, the turret being of solid
iron all through, and so arranged that it could be used to cover the
gangway amidships. In fact, my boy, the turret was a movable block of
iron, with the swivel-gun mounted on top; so that if the turret
happened to be hit, the artillery would not be disabled, and if the
artillery was disabled, the turret would still be as good as ever.
(Patent applied for.) There was some discussion as to what name should
be given to this formidable monster, nearly the whole six-barrelled
Indian language having been almost exhausted by our national navy; but
finally it was resolved to call her the "Shockingbadhat,"--an old
Choctaw title of much simplicity, signifying originally "The Head what
errs," but now understood as meaning "The Head waters."
There has also been a great improvement in the swivel-gun, my boy,
which has been so reconstructed as to remedy the evil of immediate
bursting so common to our heavier ordnance. A select committee of
Mackerels having been appointed to examine our national ordnance
system, and discover the cause of its inefficiency, stated in their
able report that the causes of the frequent bursting of our larger guns
are,--
_First._ The powder used in propelling the appropriate missile against
the enemy.
_Second._ The addition of an incendiary spark to said powder.
It was further stated in the report, that, although the barrel of a gun
was frequently fractured when it exploded, there was no record of the
touch-hole ever having burst; and the committee believed that this
curious fact should serve as a valuable suggestion to the manufacturers
of future heavy ordnance.
Acting upon this truly valuable suggestion, our stern old Son of
Neptune caused his swivel-gun to be reconstructed upon a novel
principle; the touch-hole was extended to the usual size of a barrel,
and the barrel was reduced to the usual size of a touch-hole; so that,
although the terrible weapon looked precisely the same as ever, it was,
in reality, _completely reversed_!
But while the "Shockingbadhat" was being built, and receiving her
terrific new armament, the shameless Confederacies on their Pier in
Duck Lake had been industriously building Fort Piano and mounting it
with their villanous horse-pistols; so that when the new Mackerel
iron-plated squadron was ready for carnage and fishing, there was a
hostile projection in the way.
"Chip my turret!" says Rear Admiral Head, in his iron-plated manner, "I
think I shall have to blow a few more Rebels into eternity--smash my
casemate! if I don't."
I stood upon the shore of Duck Lake, with a bit of smoked glass to my
eye as usual, when our new monster of the deep came abreast of Fort
Piano, and Rear Admiral Head commenced to reconnoitre through his
pocket-microscope. The venerable commander gazed steadfastly through it
for a moment, and then, says he:
"Crack my plates! if I don't perceive an insect on the wall of the
hostile work."
There was indeed a solitary Confederacy seated upon the front wall of
Fort Piano, dining sumptuously upon some fresh hoe-cake, and says he:
"You can't pass here without a New Jersey ferry-ticket."
(New Jersey, my boy, is now a Southern Confederacy, or a Peace of one.)
I could hear the glorious old naval hero say, in a suppressed voice, to
the intelligent Mackerel crew on top of the turret:
"Depress your weapon four points to windward, grease the ball, and fire
at his stomach."
In another instant, the whole landscape shook with a tremendous
explosion, jarring the Admiral so greatly that his spectacles fell off,
and causing his blue cotton umbrella to tremble like a leaf. The ball
ascended to the zenith in a parabolical curve, and was lost amongst the
other planets. I do not think, my boy, that the Confederacy would have
been offended at this, had not the sudden noise caused him to jump in
such a manner that he dropped his hoe-cake into the dirt. Upon this
occurrence, however, he sprang to his legs on the wall, drew up a long
pole from behind him, disrespectfully cracked our glorious old Rear
Admiral over the head with it, and then commenced shoving at the turret
of the "Shockingbadhat."
Perceiving the great danger of the squadron, and unmindful of his own
wound, the venerable sea-dog hastily grasped at the pole, and says he:
"Ah, now, what do you want to do that for, Mr. Davis? What's the use of
pushing my turret overboard?"
He said this so mildly that the Confederacy burst into a prodigious
horse-laugh, and drew in his pole again.
"As no possible good could be attained by taking Fort Piano, the
indomitable old Rear Admiral at once returned with the squadron to his
original anchorage; having gained all that was required, and proved his
iron-clad monster to be fully qualified for actual service. Everything
is now ready for the anticipated conquest of Duck Lake."
I give you the above in quotation marks, my boy, because it is the
official report as it appears in all the reliable morning journals, and
clearly and satisfactorily explains everything. The first of April is
close at hand.
Yours, fortuitously,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER XC.
GIVING A DEEP INSIGHT OF WOMAN'S NATURE; PRESENTING A POWERFUL POEM
OF THE HEART BY ONE OF THE INTELLECTUAL FEMALES OF AMERICA; AND
REPORTING THE SIGNAL DISCOMFITURE OF MR. P. GREENE.
WASHINGTON, D.C., April 5th, 1863.
Woman's heart, my boy, in its days of youthful immaturity and vegetable
development, may be felicitously likened unto a delicate cabbage, with
an invisible worm feeding upon its sensitive petals. To the eye of the
ordinary and unfeeling observer, the cabbage is in perfect health, and
its intense greenness is thoughtlessly accepted as a sure indication of
an unravaged system. Man, proud man, with all his boasted human wisdom,
would smile incredulously, if told that the tender vegetable--the
magnified and nervous white rose, as it were--had beneath all its
seeming verdancy, an insatiable and remorseless worm gnawing at its
hidden core. Man, I say, would thus wallow in his miserable ignorance,
and persist in his disgusting blindness. But mark that dainty little
figure coming up the garden-walk, my boy. It does not walk erect, like
boastful Man, does not spit tobacco-juice like haughty Man; and as it
approaches nearer, we perceive that it is a hot-house Pig. Ay, my lord:
I say to you, in all your glory of human understanding and trifling
degree of snobbishness, it is a Pig. Yes, madam: I remark to you, in
your jewels, and laces, and absurd new bonnet,--it is only a Pig.
_very_ a Pig! O-O-ONLY a Pig! And why should we say "only" a Pig; as
though a Pig were so _very_ inferior to proud Man? We all accord to the
awful and unfathomable German Mind a preternatural gift of philosophy,
so far above the contemptibly-limited thing we call human understanding
that no man can ever understand a word of it; and how does that German
Mind express itself when it desires to describe the Vast, the
Extensive, and the Somewhat Large? Why, it simply observes "Das is von
'PIG' thing." And is not this unaffected remark sufficient, my boy, to
raise the wrongfully despised Pig to the dignity of an adjective, at
least? But look once more at the hot-house Pig in question, as he
stoops thoughtfully to the cabbage which derisive Man has esteemed
perfectly sound. He pushes it once with his nose; he raises his eyes,
blinking in the glorious sunshine; his tail vibrates a moment; a solemn
wink,--a grunt of deep reflection,--and he _turns to another cabbage_!
Yes! this despised little roasting-pig, this unconsidered Flower, as it
were, has surpassed all the vaunted wisdom of stuck-up Man, and
discovered the worm at the core of the sensitive cabbage!
Woman's heart, my boy, in its days of youthful immaturity and vegetable
development, is a metaphorical Cabbage with a figurative worm at its
palpitating core. That worm is a passionate yearning for TRUE SYMPATHY.
Heartless but wealthy Man comes along, and says: "This Cabbage is in
perfect health, and I will Husband it." He _does_ Husband it my boy,
and what is the consequence? Not knowing anything about the existence
of the worm, he cannot, of course, furnish that TRUE SYMPATHY which is
necessary to end its horrible gnawings; and so the worm keeps feeding
until the Cabbage Heart becomes a mere shell, when the least zephyr
will break it. How different the result had that Heart been--or, that
is to say, how changed would the case have been had she--or, in other
words, what an opposite spectacle might we--or, rather she--if he--if
she--
Really, my boy, I am all in a cold perspiration; for I find that I must
have made some dreadful mistake in my argument. Hem! There really
_must_ be some strange mistake in it, my boy; for I cannot follow it
out without making it scandalously appear, that a man, to really
understand a Woman's Heart, must be something of a Pig. This conclusion
would be very insulting to the women of America, and there certainly
must be some mistake about it.
What led me into this philosophical vein of analytical thought was a
touching poem of the home affections, which was sent to me for perusal
on Monday by one of the intellectual Young Women of America. It is one
of those revelations of Woman's inner-self which move us to tearful
compassion for a sex doomed to be the victim of man's selfishness and
its own too-great sensibilities. The terrible picture of woe is called
"WOMAN'S HEART.[5]
"BY SAIRA NEVERMAIR.
"We went to the world-loved Ball last night,--
Claude and I, in our robes of gold;
He in a coat as black as jet,
And I in the jewels I wore of old.
"Diamonds covered my head in pounds,
Seventy large ones lit my neck,--
Over my skirts they burned in quarts,
Counting in all a goodly peck.
"Hopped the canary 'neath the wires,--
Spoke the canary not a word;
When to my heart the chill has struck,
How can I sing?--can ary bird?
"We were together, Claude and I,
Bonded together as man and wife;
Little I thought, as I uttered my vows,
What was the real Ideal of life.
"He is my Husband to love and obey,--
Those were the words of the priest, I think,--
He is to purchase the clothes I wear,
Order my victuals and order my drink!
"Well, it is well if it must be so:
Woman the slave and man the lord;
She the scissors to cut the threads
After the darning, and he the sword.
"Was it for this I played my cards,
Tuned the piano's tender din,
Cherished a delicate health, and ate
Pickles and pencils to make me thin?
"Better it were to be born a serf,
Holding a soul by a master's lease;
Better than learning Society's law,
Gaining a Husband and forfeiting peace.
"Mortimer sighs as he sees me dance,
Percy is sad as he passes by,
Herbert turns pallid beneath my glance;
All of them married--and so am I.
"Well, if the world must have it so,
Woman can only stand and endure;
Ever the grossness of all that is gross
Rises the tyrant of all that is pure.
"Marriage, they say, is a sacred thing;
So is the fetter that yields a smart.
Give _one_ crumb to the starving wretch,
And give _one_ Object to Woman's Heart.
"Claude, they tell me, should own my love;
Well, I have loved him nearly a week;
Looking at one man longer than that
Grows to be tiresome--so to speak.
"What if he calls me Angel wife;
Angels are not for the One to win;
Yet is my passionate love like theirs,--
Theirs is a love taking all men in.
"Hops the canary 'neath the wires,
Speaks the canary not a word;
When to my heart the chill has struck,
How can I sing?--can ary bird?"
[5] The measure of this striking poem is Owenmeredithyrambic.
Let us mingle our tears, my boy, in a gruel of compassion, as we
conjointly reflect upon this affecting revelation of Woman's Heart.
On Thursday last, my architectural steed, the gothic Pegasus, conveyed
me once more, by easy stages, to the outskirts of Paris, where I found
the aged and respectable Mackerel Brigade cleaning their spectacles and
writing their epitaphs preparatory to that celebrated advance upon the
well-known Southern Confederacy which is frequently mentioned in
ancient history. The Grim Old Fighting Cox, my boy, has rashly
determined, that the unfavorable weather shall not detain our national
troops another single year, and there is at last a prospect that our
grandchildren may read a full and authentic report of the capture of
Richmond in the reliable morning journals of their time. And here let
me say to the grandchild Orpheus: "Be sure, my boy, that you do not
permit your pardonable exultation at the triumph of your country's
arms, to make you too severe upon the conquered foes of the Republic."
I put in this little piece of advice to posterity, my boy, because I
desire to have posterity magnanimous.
I was conversing affably with a few official Mackerels about several
mutual friends of ours, who had been born, were married, and had
expired of decrepitude during the celebrated national sieges of
Vicksburg and Charleston, when a civilian chap named Mr. P. Greene came
into camp from New York, with the intention of proceeding immediately
to the ruins of Richmond. He was a chap of much spreading dignity, my
boy, with a carpet-bag, an umbrella, and a walking-cane.
"Having read," says he, "in all the excellent morning journals, that
Richmond is being hastily evacuated by the starving Confederacy, I have
determined to precede the military in that direction. Possibly," says
he, impressively, "I may be able to find a suitable place in the
deserted city for the residence of my family during the summer."
Captain Villiam Brown listened attentively, and says he:
"Is your intelligence official, or founded on fact?"
The civilian chap drew himself up with much dignity, and says he:
"I find it in all the morning journals."
Certainly this was conclusive, my boy; and yet our supine military men
were willing to let this unadorned civilian chap be the first to enter
the evacuated capital of the stricken Confederacy. Facing toward that
ill-fated place, he moved off, his carpet-bag in his left hand, his
umbrella In his right, and his cane under one arm, a perfect
impersonation of the spirit of American Progress. By slow and dignified
degrees he grew smaller in the distance, until finally he was out of
sight.
It was some six hours after this, my boy, that we were conversing as
before, when there suddenly appeared, coming toward us from the
direction of the capital of the Confederacy, the figure of a man
running. Rapidly it drew nearer, when I discovered it to be Mr. P.
Greene, in a horrible condition of dishevelment, his umbrella, cane,
and carpet-bag gone, his hair standing on end, his coat-tails
projective in the breeze, and his lower limbs making the best time on
record. Onward he came, like the wind, and before we could stop him, he
had gone by us, dashed frantically through the camp, and was tearing
along like mad toward Washington.
"Ah!" says Villiam, philosophically, "he derived his information from
the daily prints of the United States of America, and has seen the
elephant. The moral," says Villiam, placidly, "is very obvious,--put
not your trust in print, sirs."
If it be indeed true, that there is "more pleasure in anticipation than
in reality," the war-news we find in our excellent morning journals
should give us more pleasure than one poor pen can express.
Yours, credulously,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER XCI.
CONTAINING THE VENERABLE GAMMON'S REPORT OF THE MANNER IN WHICH THE
WAR HAS CONDUCTED ITSELF UP TO THIS TIME; AND THE MOST SURPRISING
EPITAPH OF A VICTIM OF STRATEGY.
WASHINGTON, D.C., April 12th, 1863.
Depressed, my boy, by that low-spirited sense of reverence for
shirt-collared Old Age, which is a part of my credulous nature, I
proceed to record that the Venerable Gammon has once more torn himself
from idolatrous Mugville to beam venerably upon all the capital the
nation has left; and as I mark how fatly he waves continual benediction
to the attached populace, I am impressed anew with the conviction of
the serious mental magnitude of large-sized Old Age. It was on Monday
that a delegation of anxious civilian chaps grovelled around this aged
idol of a mournful nation; and as soon as the awe-stricken spokesman of
the party had crawled within speaking distance of the Venerable Gammon,
he sniffed deferentially, and says he:
"Sire, we desire to know how soon we may expect an honorable peace to
end the present war, which it is perpetual bloodshed."
The Venerable Gammon placidly placed his beneficent right hand between
his patriarchal ruffles, and says he:
"My friends, this war is like a great struggle between two hostile
armies; it will continue until it has ceased, and it will cease when it
is no longer continued. Peace," says the Venerable Gammon,--waving
indulgent permission for the sun to go on shining,--"peace is the end
of the War, as war is the end of Peace; therefore, if we had no war,
peace would be without end, and if we had no peace, war would be
endless."
Then all the fond civilian chaps grovelled ecstatically at the
time-honored feet of the benignant parent of his country, and
four-and-twenty reliable morning journals immediately published a
report that Richmond had been taken--for another year.
But what has particularly endeared the Venerable Gammon to the hearts
of his distracted fellow-countrymen is, his able report of the manner
in which the war has conducted itself since the First of April, 1862. I
cannot exactly understand my boy, how this benignant benefactor of his
species comes to know anything at all about military matters; nor am I
prepared to state that he had any call whatever to report upon national
strategy; but he has issued a startling statement, and I give the whole
REPORT.
"On the first of April, 1862, on the day immediately succeeding the
31st of May in the same year, a solitary horseman might have been
seen approaching the camp of the Mackerel Brigade from Washington.
He was a youth in the prime of life, and carried a carpet-bag
containing the daily morning journals of that date. Upon reaching
the tent of the General of the Mackerel Brigade, he sought an
immediate interview with the latter, and at once revealed to him
that it was reported in all the morning journals, that the
celebrated Southern Confederacy had evacuated Manassas just two
weeks previously, thereby rendering an advance upon that stronghold
by our national troops a subject demanding immediate attention.
"Upon discovering that this news was indeed contained in the
morning journals, the General of the Mackerel Brigade at once
ordered a report of our national victory to be conveyed to the
Mackerels who had gained it; and having made several promotions for
bravery, and telegraphed to the excellent Democratic Organization
in New York that he had rather capture Manassas than be President
of the United States in 1865, he ordered an immediate advance upon
Manassas. The advance took place without confusion or dismay, and
on the following morning Captain Villiam Brown electrified the
whole nation with the magical words:
"'We have met the enemy, and they are hours--ahead of us.'
"The backbone of the Rebellion being thus broken, the General of
the Mackerel Brigade wrote to the Honest Abe at Washington, as
follows:
"'DEAR SIR,--I have at length successfully surprised the
stronghold of Manassas, and consider myself strong enough to
continue the war, if you can send me a few more troops. If you
can spare 60,000 under Sergeant O'Pake, and 50,000 under
Colonel Wobert Wobinson, from the defence of Washington, I can
wait for the other hundred thousand until I push forward again.
"'THE GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE.'
"This was on the fourth of April. Owing to the continual storms,
and the difficulty encountered in procuring umbrellas for the
troops, the Mackerel Brigade was enabled to advance but
thirty-three and a half feet during the ensuing four months, during
which time several State elections took place. On the Fourth of
July, the Honest Abe addressed the following: note to the General
of the Mackerel Brigade:
"'GENERAL,--By your plan of drawing troops away from Washington,
the capital would be left with fewer soldiers than it now
possesses; and if the capital is weakened, it follows very
clearly, that it will not be strengthened. My plan is directly
the reverse of your plan, so that your plan is immediately
opposite to my plan. Allow me to ask you the following
questions:
"'I. If your plan is different from my plan, how can my plan be
the same as your plan?
"'II. If my plan does not agree with your plan, wherein does
your plan assimilate with my plan?
"'III. If your plan and my plan are not the same plan, how can
my plan and your plan be one plan?
"'IV. If my plan, by opposing your plan, shows that my plan is
not at all like your plan, how can your plan, by differing from
my plan, save Washington according to my plan, which is not
your plan?
H. ABE.'
"Both plans were adopted, and in the course of the succeeding two
months the Mackerel Brigade shot a couple of Confederacies. Shortly
after this, it was decided that an advance should be made upon the
city of Paris by way of Duck Lake, the iron-plated squadron of Rear
Admirable Head being detailed from the blockade to take the
Mackerels across, as soon as a heavy rain should make the lake too
deep for navigation by personal wading. The troops were at the
landing at the appointed time, and were about to embark in good
order, when it was discovered by the negro servant of one of the
officers, that they had forgotten to bring any ammunition with
them, and that the iron-plated squadron had not arrived. This
unfortunate discovery made it necessary for the Mackerel Brigade to
fall back thirty-three and a half feet, and the General thus wrote
to the Honest Abe at Washington:
"'DEAR SIR,--The safety of this Army depends entirely upon its
immediate reenforcement by all the troops at Washington, as my
plan is entirely different from your plan, and your plan
differs somewhat from my plan. The importance of saving
Washington by your plan, is as nothing when compared with the
opposite tenor of my plan; which might, after all, be the
saving of Washington by my plan, though my plan does not agree
with your plan. I will stay with this army, and die with it, if
need be, by my plan.
"'THE GENERAL OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE.'