eager eyes behold once more the camp of the aged and thrice-valiant
Mackerel Brigade. Far and near, the spectacles of the decrepit veterans
are flashing in the sun; whilst before them is the much-besieged City
of Paris, and behind them (in consequence of recent rains) the storied
waters of Duck Lake. The veterans are clustered around Paris, my boy,
like so many exceedingly thirsty chaps around the tall and well-spiked
fence inclosing a cherished pump, and if ever they get at it, they will
at least drink it dry. Scarcely had I reined-in, near the edge of Duck
Lake, where certain members of Rear Admiral Head's iron-plated mackerel
squadron were discharging cases and barrels by the score,--scarcely had
I dismounted from the Gothic Pegasus and hitched him to the body of a
slumbering Mackerel chap, who had already overdone his Thanksgiving,
when I beheld Captain Villiam Brown approaching, on his geometrical
steed, the angular Euclid. Following him, but on foot, was Captain Bob
Shorty in command of the famous Conic Section of the Mackerel Brigade.
"Ha!" says Villiam, leaping down to meet me in dreadful entanglement
with his sword, and hastily plunging into his bosom a small black
bottle of regulation cough-drops, "have you flown hither like an narrer
from a bow, to view the sublime spectacle of the troops at their feed?
Ah!" says Villiam, quickly clasping his hands to save the bottle from
slipping out of his breast-pocket, "the beautiful pageant of a nation
feasting these martial beings on turkey, is something for besotted
Europe to tremble at. Next to serving up ice-cream to the sailors in a
gale of wind at sea, this"--
Here a venerable Mackerel tottered from the ranks, and says he: "Is
them the birds in them ere cases and barrels, Capting?"
Villiam attempted to rattle his sword threateningly at this
interruption; but observing that the hilt of his weapon had got around
to his spine, he rattled the keys in his pockets instead, and says he:
"How now, Sarah!"
(He meant to say "sirrah," my boy,--he meant to say "sirrah;" having
recently learned, from the perusal of a moral tale in one of our
excellent weekly journals of exciting romance, that said aristocratic
term is of frequent occurrence in all the conversations of the great.)
"Why," says the aged Mackerel, coughing into his hand, "if them's the
turkeys the people have sent us for Thanksgiving, we're ready for 'em."
"You're right, Sarah," says Villiam, magnanimously, "and we'll open
this first case at once. The trade-mark of this case," says Villiam,
learnedly, "is '50 Turkeys with Care.'"
They were prying the lid off, my boy, with bayonets, and the eyes of
the surrounding Mackerels had commenced to glisten fierily through
their spectacles, when I saw Villiam and Captain Bob Shorty exchange
looks of deep meaning, and shake their heads like a couple of
melancholy mandarins.
"Robert S.," says Villiam, with a look of deep perplexity, "this is
indeed a strange oversight."
Captain Bob Shorty shook his head sadly.
"And yet," says Villiam, sternly, "we must tell these beings about it."
"There's no avoiding it, by all that's Federal!" murmured Captain Bob
Shorty.
Captain Villiam Brown sighed deeply, and says he:
"Soldiers, the people of the United States of America meant well in
sending such beautiful birds for our Thanksgiving bankwick; but they've
made a strange mistake. Really," says Villiam, toying with the cork of
the bottle of cough-drops, as it protruded from his ruffles,--"really,
I find, that _not one of these Turkeys is stamped_!"
At this juncture the same old Mackerel again stepped forward, and asked
if the turkeys came by mail?
"No," says Villiam, with much sympathy of manner. "I don't mean
postage-stamps, but the Internal Revenue. Turkeys," says Villiam,
reasoningly, "come under the head of 'Unnecessary Luxuries,' and are
not legal unless stamped. But," says Villiam, with sudden benignity,
"your officers possess the necessary stamps, and will sell them to you
at twenty-five cents apiece."
It was a beautiful proof of the untiring vigilance and energy of our
national regimental officers, my boy, that they happened to have the
stamps on hand just as they did; though, if there happened to be stamps
required on geese, I am afraid that every Mackerel who paid his
twenty-five cents would come in for one of those chaste little pictures
on himself.
And now, the stamps being purchased and the New England eagles
distributed, there commenced such a scene of martial revelry and
good-nature as the world never saw before. In every direction--at the
openings of tents--around open-air fires--everywhere, the jolly
festival went on.
Strolling to the outer picket-line, I saw a Mackerel chap lay aside his
gun, seat himself upon the ground, and commence handling a nice little
turkey which had just been brought to him by a comrade. He smacked his
lips audibly, my boy, and was just in the act of tearing off a
"drumstick" when I saw him suddenly look up to a point ahead of him,
and instantly cease all motion. Curious to know what had thus
fascinated him, as it were, and so abruptly checked his feast, I also
looked in that direction.
Right across the little field in front of us, seated on the last
remaining post of a ruined fence, was a ragged Confederacy, in a
perfect whirlpool of tatters, who had rested his musket upon the
ground, and was alternately gnawing an army biscuit and casting longing
looks toward his happier enemy. He was a dreadfully thin, hollow-eyed
chap, my boy, and shivered in the cold. The Mackerel stared at him
without motion for some minutes, and then commenced to handle his
turkey again. Then he stared again, dropped his turkey, picked it up,
and finally rose to his feet impatiently--looked toward his nearest
comrade--and then seated himself with his back toward the Confederacy.
Still the latter gnawed and looked longingly. The Mackerel said,
"damme!" quite distinctly and stoutly, and vigorously grasped at a
"drumstick" again. He gave it a twist, paused, wavered, and _looked
over his shoulder_.
In another instant, my boy, that Mackerel sprang to his feet, faced
about, shouted:
"I'll do it, by G--d! if I swing for it"--dashed across the field like
a stark madman, and, before the astonished Confederacy could budge an
inch, had hurled the turkey into his arms and was tearing back to his
own post.
There is a chivalry, my boy, that makes a man a hero with the sword of
a patriot, or bears him triumphantly through perils and obstacles to
the arms of the bride he has won. There is a chivalry that inspires a
man to spurn with contempt the fortune not fraught with all honor, and
gives him the graces of a gentleman through all the glooms and burdens
of honest poverty. But in that grander Chivalry native to the soul,
which raises the tenderness of our best humanity far above the highest
point all enmity can reach, and lets it fall, like God's own dew, upon
the other side, none, none more fairly ever won a knighthood, than that
poor Mackerel picket-guard on last Thanksgiving Day.
Yours, gently,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER CII.
SHOWING THE INGENIOUS FINANCIAL ENERGY OF A GREATLY-REDUCED
POLITICIAN; AND DESCRIBING A COMBAT, ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE
PHILOSOPHICAL CONTENTMENT OF THE WELL-KNOWN SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY
UNDER ALL REVERSES.
WASHINGTON, D.C., Dec. 17th, 1864.
It is a sublime thing, my boy,--a high moral and exciting thing,--to
note a wealthy nation's outburst of gratitude to Providence and our
national military organization, for a succession of Mackerel triumphs
without parallel either in history or her story. As I look abroad upon
the exulting hosts of our distracted fellow-countrymen from an upper
front window of Willard's,--having first wafted a fascinating salute to
the pleasing young woman of much back hair at a window across the
avenue,--as I look abroad, my boy, upon this whole remarkable people, I
am deeply impressed with a sense of that beautiful, national
characteristic which makes us all buoyant over Mackerel victories only
as they bring us nearer to virtuous peace and universal brotherhood,
and am convinced that our otherwise inexpressible thankfulness to
Heaven may be divided into two equal parts:
I. An ardent desire to destroy combined Europe.
II. A disposition to set fire to combined Europe, bringing off the
women and children in small boats.
Hah, hah! does combined Europe tremble? Does C. E. offer a certain sum
to be let off?
"Shall I ever forget, my boy, the recent terrible remark of that grim
old sea-dog, Rear Admiral Head, just after that late tremendous capture
of Fort Piano, on Duck Lake, by the Mackerel Chalybeate
squadron,--shall I ever forget it?
"Chip my turret!" says that venerable salt, in his iron-plated
manner,--"Chip my turret if I couldn't take my flag-ship, the
'_Aitch_,' and crush Europe like a perishing insect,--unrivet my plates
if I couldn't!"
But why should I dwell upon the dreadful suggestions of a theme like
this? Europe--crowded Europe--millions of people--bright summer
morning--everybody in the streets--Bang! whiz!--Great combinations of
the Lieutenant General--Victoria and Louis N., do you surrender?--We
DO!
Solemnly do I say to you, my boy, let us mix plenty of this sort of
thing in our devout gratitude to Providence for His mercies to us as a
people, and henceforth we may confidently count upon the support of
Providence--Rhode Island.
Fairly and benignantly shone the blessed sun over valley and hill on
the morning of that recent memorable day when I scaled the
architectural heights of my Gothic Pegasus, and turned his
front-elevation toward the Mackerel camp before the much-banged City of
Paris. Brightly gleamed the fluted roof of my ancient pile of a steed
as he went blithely forward on three legs, keeping one in reserve in
case of accident: joyous was the alacrity with which he waltzed an
imitative earthquake and tossed his child's-coffin of a head. The
exhilaration of the motion, the proud sense of being borne again, might
ultimately have plunged me into a delicious dream of being divided into
two parts, my boy, had I not suddenly discovered, on the road-side,
some twenty yards ahead of me, the figure of a being seated upon a
camp-stool. Hastily dismounting from my architectural animal, and tying
him to an oak in such a manner that he presented somewhat the
perspective of a modest country church with a tree before the door, I
stole carefully upon the being in my front, and found it to be the
Conservative Kentucky chap, engaged in the muscular game of "Bluff"
with himself.
His venerable hat, my boy, sat far down over his ears, like some shabby
bird of night just stooping to carry off two oysters; a curious
antiquity in the shape of a black stock loomed gloomily under his chin,
as a memorial sepulchre in which some departed collar was supposed to
be sacredly entombed; his face was toward Kentucky, and in his hands he
was vivaciously shuffling a number of cards.
"Hum, hem!" soliloquized the Conservative Kentucky chap,
complacently--"ten of spades--king of diamonds--king of hearts--ace of
clubs--ace of hearts--ace of"--
Here the Conservative Kentucky chap uttered an absolutely startling
cough and, at the same instant, passed three of the aces up his left
sleeve!
"Yes," said the Conservative Kentucky chap, still to himself, "the
pasteboards are all right--hem!--it's your deal. Ah! ten is it?--I'll
go twenty better--forty--sixty! Hem! Ace and two Kings is it? Look
here--three aces! Good-night, gents."--and the Conservative Kentucky
chap at once sang, with triumphant and great effect:
"Four years the war have looked upon,
But haven't brought the end meant;
Nor anything except the Constitutional Amendment;
Oh, Kentucky! an't this a go, Kentucky?
Oh, Kentucky! an awful blow, Kentucky!"
As the last note of exquisite melody died away upon the air, I slapped
him on the shoulder, and says I:
"Well done, my son of Hoyle!"
The Conservative Kentucky chap sprang wildly to his feet, my boy,
simultaneously "making a pass" of the cards into his pocket, and
commenced dancing insanely before me with a view of hiding from my
notice the four of clubs, which he had dropped to the ground and was
anxious to conceal in the mud.
"Ha! ha!" observed the Conservative Kentucky chap, somewhat
hysterically, in the midst of his dance; "of course you didn't see what
I was doing?"
Then it was, my boy, that I folded my arms after the manner of Hamlet,
threw forward my right knee, shook my head profoundly thrice, and
murmured, with the poet:
"Were his old mother near him now, how would that mother grieve,
To see two aces in his hand,--another up his sleeve."
"My mother!" exclaimed the Conservative Kentucky chap, suddenly
descending into Cimmerian gloom; "Kentucky is my mother, and from her
maternal fount I drew the old rye of my existence. But now, Kentucky
becomes a indigent pauper under the Constitutional Amendment and the
failure of the Bankrupt Bill, and I find myself compelled to take to
bluff and poker in the prime of life." Here the poor chap made a move
toward tearing his hair, but thought better of it and only scratched a
pimple on his chin.
Arm in arm we walked slowly forward together, each busied with his own
thoughts, until, from a clump of trees by the road-side, there
unexpectedly emerged before us that ornament of our national service
known as Captain Bob Shorty, with his cap at a fierce cock, his hands
in his pockets, and a supernaturally knowing air clothing him as with a
garment.
"By all that's Federal!" said Captain Bob Shorty, starting at sight of
me, "if I didn't take you at first for that ere Confederacy of the name
of Munchausen, which has privately appointed to meet me here in single
combat."
"Why then, really, you know," observed the Conservative Kentucky chap,
suddenly coming forward and pleasantly rubbing his hands, "really it
would be a good plan for me to go forward and meet him with a view to
peace negotiations. Being a Confederacy, he is Kentucky's brother,"
warbled the Conservative chap, with soft enthusiasm, "and I might tell
him that you would pay all his debts, black his boots, run errands for
him, and send the President to tell him a little story, if he would
give up this conflict. Should he refuse, and even proceed to the
extremity of kicking me," said the Conservative Kentucky chap, with
awful sternness, "why, then, I should be in favor of letting the matter
proceed to the bitter end,--as it had already in my own case."
"I am not aweer," observed Captain Bob Shorty, "that you have any
business in the matter at all, my old Trojan; but there's the road open
to you."
It was beautiful, my boy,--touchingly beautiful, and withal unctuous,
to observe with what a benignant smile the peaceful Conservative
Kentucky Chap departed up the road. We saw him reach a turn in the
path, around which the sound of stately approaching footsteps was
already becoming audible. We saw him turn it; heard all the footsteps
cease; heard a confused murmur,--a sharp scratching as of heels upon
gravel; and Kentucky's favorite son was observed to be coming again to
his place, with a slight limp in his walk.
Right behind him came a remarkable being attired in fragments of gray
cloth and a prodigious thicket of whiskers, through the latter of which
his eyes glared yellowly, like the bottles in an apothecary's shop down
the street. As he approached nearer, he hastily put on a pair of
partially-dissected white cotton gloves, and casually rearranged the
strip of carpet-binding which served him as a full-dress cravat.
"Yours, truly," said Captain Bob Shorty.
"Vandal!" hissed Captain Munchausen, removing from his brow an
unexampled conglomeration of rags in the last stages of cap, and
handing it to a faithful contraband who attended him.
"Why, then," said Captain Bob Shorty, doffing his own cap, and tucking
up his sleeves, "in the name of the United States of America, I propose
to move upon your works immediately."
And now, my boy, do I particularly lament my lack of those unspeakable
intellectual gifts, which enable the more refined reporters of all our
excellent moral daily journals to describe the fistic achievements of
the noted Arkansas Mule and celebrated Jersey Bantam in a manner that
delights every well-conducted breakfast-table in the land, and
furnishes exquisite reading for private families.
Forward hopped Captain Bob Shorty, as though on springs,--his elbows
neatly squared, his fists held up like a couple of apples on sticks,
and his head poised as though it had just started to look round a
corner. With fists to match, and eyes shining like the bottoms of glass
bottles, the wary Munchausen scuffles cautiously back from him in a
half circle. Now they make skips toward each other; and now they skip
back. Anon an arm is raised, and is parried; and then they balance to
partners; and then they hop back.
I was gazing at all this, my boy, in speechless admiration, when
suddenly I saw the dexter hand of Captain Bob Shorty pierce the enemy's
lines, and explode with tremendous force on Munchausen's nose. For a
moment there was a sound as of Confederate blasphemy, but in a moment
the chivalric Munchausen was himself again.
"Ah!" said Captain Bob Shorty, agreeably, "did you see the
star-spangled banner that time?"
"Sir," said Munchausen, with tears in his eyes, "I am thankful that my
nose _is_ broken. It is a blessing; for I had nothing to smell with it,
and only wasted my strength in its special defence."
Here Captain Bob Shorty looked jovially at me, my boy, and says he, "By
all that's Federal! an't he jolly?"
"Come on to thy ruin," roared Munchausen from behind his rapidly
increasing nose; and again the battle raged.
Now did Captain Bob Shorty sidle to the left, with a view to flanking;
but two columns of the enemy met him there. Next the agile Munchausen
attempts, by a quick turn, to take him in the rear of his position, but
finds a strong body of five divisions hurled upon his headquarters with
an impetuosity that knocks out half his teeth.
"Art satisfied, Horatio?" said Captain Bob Shorty, with more or less
Bowery Theatre in his manner.
An awful smile appeared upon what were left of the features of Captain
Munchausen. It was so full of scorn, you know.
"Sir," said he, with much chivalry of bearing, and some difficulty of
utterance, "my jaw may be broken, but I thank fate for it. It's a long
time since I had anything to eat with my mouth, and to defend it at all
was useless."
"Ha! ha! ha!" roared Captain Bob Shorty; "I really never did see
anything so jolly."
"Madman!" yelled Munchausen, "your destruction is decided!"
Then were all the skips and hops repeated, my boy; with such ornamental
bits of occasional fine art as the refined reporters of our excellent
moral daily journals love to dwell fondly upon. Were I but such a
reporter, I would describe the scene in a way to make you take it home
to your children. But let me not waste time in lamentation; for, just
then, a something heavy fell upon the right eye of Captain Munchausen,
and effectually closed it for a week.
"Ah!" said Captain Bob Shorty, pleasantly, "did you count the stars
upon our Flag that time, my grayback?"
"Sir," retorted Munchausen, staggering about, and wildly pulling
handfuls of imperceptible hair out of invisible heads in the air,--"I
consider the loss of that eye a blessing in disguise; for I can now
concentrate my WHOLE strength on the other."
"Well, now, really," said Captain Bob Shorty,--"really, you know, I
never see anything half so jolly."
"Extermination is now your doom," howled the Confederacy, reeling
deliberately forward upon the first fist he met, and falling heavily to
the ground with his other eye emphatically darkened.
Instantly was Captain Bob Shorty at his side, exclaiming, "I'm sorry
for this, old chap. I wish you'd only consented to stop before--EH?"
ejaculated Captain Bob Shorty,--"what's that you say?"
As true as I live and breathe, my boy,--as true as I live and
breathe,--when Captain Bob Shorty put his ear to the mouth of the
fallen Confederacy, he heard, slowly spoken, these remarkable words:
"I'm--glad--this--has--happened--because--I--can--now--develop--my--
REAL--resources--of----strength!!!"
Yours, speechlessly,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.
LETTER CIII.
BEING ANOTHER AND FINAL CHRISTMAS REPORT; INCLUDING A SMALL STORY
FROM OUR UNCLE ABE; A CIRCULAR FROM THE SECRETARY OF STATE; A
SUPERNATURAL CAROL FROM SERGEANT O'PAKE; AND A TREMENDOUS GHOST
STORY FROM AN UNAPPRECIATED GENIUS.
WASHINGTON, D.C., Dec. 27th, 1864
Upon these holy anniversary-days of "Peace on Earth, good-will toward
men," the American human mind is naturally prone to regret that the
well-known Southern Confederacy still survives, in a degree, all its
inexpressible spankings, and still compels the noblest of us to pour
out our substitutes like water. You, my boy, have poured out your
substitute; other great and good men have poured out _their_
substitutes, and your devoted pockets bleed at every pour.
O war! thirsty and strategical war! how dost thou pierce the souls of
all our excellent Democratic journals, against whom the increased
war-tax on whiskey is an outrage not to be mentioned without swearing.
On Christmas-day, my boy, there came to this city a profound Democratic
chap of much stomach, who wore a seal-ring about as large as a
breakfast-plate, and existed in a chronic condition of having the bosom
of his shirt unbuttoned to such a degree as to display picturesquely
the red flannel underneath. He ran for Sheriff of Squankum last month,
my boy; and having been defeated with great slaughter, concluded that
all was gall and bitterness, and that he couldn't do better than come
to Washington and improve the President's mind.
At the time of the interview, our Honest Abe was sitting before the
fire, peeling an apple with a jack-knife; and the fact that part of his
coat-collar was turned inside, did not lessen in him that certain
generous dignity which hale good-nature ever wears, as morning wears
the sun.
"Mr. President," says the profound Democratic chap, spitting with
dazzling accuracy into a coal-hod on the opposite side of the room; "I
call upon you to-day, sir, not as a politician, but as a friend. And as
a friend, sir"--here the Democratic chap wore a high-moral look, and
his shirt-bosom yawned as though eager to take all the world into the
red-hot depths of his affectionate flannel heart,--"as a friend, sir, I
feel bound to tell you, that your whole administrative policy is wrong;
and as for your Emancipation Proclamation, it has had no effect at all,
as I can see."
Here the profound Democratic chap stuck a cheap bone eyeglass into his
right eye, and seemed to think that he rather had him there.
The Honest Abe peeled his apple, and says he:
"Neighbor, the sane men of all parties think differently from you in
that matter."
"That proves, I suppose," says the Democratic chap, wrathfully, "that
I'm a lunatic."
The Honest Abe ate a piece of apple, and says he:
"Not at all, neighbor; not all; nothing so serious as that. But talking
about what a difference of opinion 'proves,'" says the Honest Abe,
balancing one boot upon the toe of the other, and smiling peacefully at
his jack-knife; "talking about what it 'proves,' reminds me of a small
tale:
"When I was a law-student out in Illinois, and wore spectacles to
appear middle-aged and respectable, we had in our district-court the
case of a venerable Sucker, who was prosecuting another man for
spreading a report that he was insane, and greatly damaging his
business thereby. The defendant made reply, that he had honestly
supposed the plaintiff to be insane on one point, at least, and that
was the motion of the world around the sun. This motion was denied _in
toto_ by the plaintiff, who had frequently, of late, greatly astonished
everybody and shocked the schoolmaster, by persisting in the assertion
that the world did not spin round at all, inasmuch as _he_ had never
seen it spin round.