Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, Sit like his
grandsire cut in alabaster?----MERCHANT OF VENICE.
In October, General Fremont's forming army rendezvoused at the capital
of Missouri. From afar, Jefferson City is picturesque; but distance
lends enchantment. Close inspection shows it uninviting and rough. The
Capitol, upon a frowning hill, is a little suggestive of the sober
old State House which overlooks Boston Common. Brick and frame houses
enough for a population of three thousand straggle over an area of a
mile square, as if they had been tossed up like a peck of apples, and
left to come down and locate themselves. Many are half hidden by the
locust, ailantus, and arbor-vitæ trees, and the white blossoms of the
catalpas.
The war correspondents "smelled the battle from afar off." More than
twenty collected two or three weeks before the army started. Some of
them were very grave and decorous at home, but here they were like boys
let out of school.
They styled themselves the Bohemian Brigade, and exhibited that
touch of the vagabond which Irving charitably attributes to all
poetic temperaments. They were quartered in a wretched little tavern
eminently First Class in its prices. It was very southern in style.
A broad balcony in front, over a cool brick pavement; no two rooms
upon the same level; no way of getting up stairs except by going out
of doors; long, low wings, shooting off in all directions; a gallery
in the rear, deeper than the house itself; heavy furniture, from the
last generation, with a single modern link in the shape of a piano in
the ladies' parlor; leisurely negro waiters, including little boys
and girls, standing behind guests at dinner, and waving long wands
over the table to disconcert the omnipresent flies; and corn bread,
hot biscuits, ham, and excellent coffee. The host and hostess were
slaveholders, who said "thar" and "whar," but held that Secessionists
were traitors, and that traitors ought to be hung.
[Sidenote: AN AMUSED AFRICAN.]
The landlord, who was aged, rheumatic, and half blind, labored under
the delusion that he kept the house; but an intelligent and middle-aged
slave, yclept John, was the real brain of the establishment.
"John," asked one of the correspondents, "does your master really think
he is alive?"
"'Live, sir? I reckon so."
"Why, he has been dead these twenty years. He hobbles around,
pretending he exists, just to save funeral expenses."
John's extravagant enjoyment of this sorry jest beggared description.
He threw himself on the floor, rolled over and over, and roared with
laughter for fifteen minutes. He did not recover his usual gravity for
weeks. Again and again, while waiting upon guests, he would see his
master coming, and suddenly explode with merriment, to the infinite
amazement of the _habitués_ of the house, who suspected that the negro
was losing his wits.
[Sidenote: DIVERSIONS OF THE CORRESPONDENTS.]
The Bohemians took their ease in their inn, and held high carnival,
to the astonishment of all its _attachés_, from the aged proprietor
down to the half-fledged negro cherubs. Each seemed to regard as his
personal property the half-dozen rooms which all occupied. The one who
dressed earliest in the morning would appropriate the first hat, coat,
and boots he found, remarking that the owner was probably dead.
One huge, good-natured brother they called "the Elephant." He was
greatly addicted to sleeping in the daytime; and when other resources
failed, some reckless quill-driver would say:
"Now, let's all go and sleep with the Elephant."
Eight or ten would pile themselves upon his bed, beside him and upon
him, until his good-nature became exhausted, when the giant would toss
them out of the room like so many pebbles, and lock his door.
There was little work to be done; so they discussed politics, art,
society, and metaphysics; and would soon kindle into singing, reciting,
"sky-larking," wrestling, flinging saddles, valises, and pillows. In
some recent theatrical spectacle, two had heard a "chorus of fiends,"
which tickled their fancy. As the small hours approached, it was
their unceasing delight to roar imitations of it, declaring, with
each repetition, that it was now to be given positively for the last
time, and by the very special request of the audience. How they sent
that demoniac "Ha! ha! ha!" shrieking through the midnight air! The
following account of their diversions was given by "J. G." in _The
Cincinnati Gazette_. The scenes he witnessed suggested, very naturally,
the nomenclature of the prize-ring:
Happening to drop in the other night, I found the
representatives of _The Missouri Republican_, _The Cincinnati
Commercial_, _The New York World_, and _The Tribune_, engaged
in a hot discussion upon matrimony, which finally ran into
metaphysics. _The Republican_ having plumply disputed an
abstruse proposition of _The Tribune_, the latter seized an
immense bolster, and brought it down with emphasis upon the
glossy pate of his antagonist. This instantly broke up the
debate, and a general _mêlée_ commenced. _The Republican_
grabbed a damp towel and aimed a stunning blow at his
assailant, which missed him and brought up against the nasal
protuberance of _Frank Leslie_. The exasperated _Frank_
dealt back a pillow, followed by a well-packed knapsack.
Then _The Missouri Democrat_ sent a coverlet, which lit
upon and enveloped the knowledge-box of _The Herald_. The
latter disengaged himself after several frantic efforts,
and hurled a ponderous pair of saddle-bags, which passed
so close to _The Gazette's_ head, that in dodging it he
bumped his phrenology against the bed-post, and raised a
respectable organ where none existed before. Simultaneously
_The Commercial_ threw a haversack, which hit _Harper_ in
the bread-basket, and doubled him into a folio--knocking
him against _The World_, who, toppling from his center of
gravity, was poising a plethoric bed-tick with dire intent,
when the upturned legs of a chair caught and tore it open,
scattering the feathers through the surging atmosphere. In
falling, he capsized the table, spilling the ink, wrecking
several literary barks, extinguishing the "brief candle"
that had faintly revealed the sanguinary fray, thus abruptly
terminating hostilities, but leaving the panting heroes
still defiant and undismayed. A light was at last struck;
the combatants adjusted their toilets, and, having lit the
calumets of peace, gently resigned themselves to the soothing
influence of the weed.
[Sidenote: A POLITE ARMY CHAPLAIN.]
They did not learn, for several days, that a meek chaplain, with his
wife and three children, inhabited an adjacent apartment. He was at
once sent for, and a fitting apology tendered. He replied that he had
actually enjoyed the novel entertainment. He must have been the most
polite man in the whole world. He is worthy a niche in biography,
beside the lady who was showered with gravy, by Sidney Smith, and who,
while it was still dripping from her chin, blandly replied to his
apologies, that not a single drop had touched her!
When in-door diversions failed, the correspondents amused themselves by
racing their horses, which were all fresh and excitable. That region,
abounding in hills, ravines, and woods, is peculiarly seductive to
reckless equestrians desiring dislocated limbs or broken necks.
One evening, the "Elephant" was thrown heavily from his horse, and
severely lamed. The next night, nothing daunted, he repeated the
race, and was hurled upon the ground with a force which destroyed his
consciousness for three or four hours. A comrade, in attempting to stop
the riderless horse, was dragged under the heels of his own animal. His
mild, protesting look, as he lay flat upon his back, holding in both
hands the uplifted, threatening foot of his fiery Pegasus, was quite
beyond description. One correspondent dislocated his shoulder, and went
home from the field before he heard a gun.
[Sidenote: SIGHTS IN JEFFERSON CITY.]
JEFFERSON CITY, MO., _October 6, 1861_.
These deep ravines and this fathomless mud offer to obstinate mules
unlimited facilities for shying, and infinite possibilities of miring.
Last night, six animals and an army wagon went over a small precipice,
and, after a series of somersaults, driver, wagon, and mules, reached
the bottom, in a very chaotic condition.
Jefferson is strong on the wet weather question. When Lyon got here
in June, he was welcomed by one man with an umbrella. When Fremont
arrived, a few nights ago, he was taken in charge by the same
gentleman, who was floundering about through the mud with a lantern,
seeking, not an honest man, but quarters for the commanding general.
Most of the troops have gone forward, but some remain. Newly mounted
officers, who sit upon their steeds much as an elephant might walk a
tight rope, dash madly through the streets, fondly dreaming that they
witch the world with noble horsemanship. Subalterns show a weakness for
brass buttons, epaulettes, and gold braid, which leaves feminine vanity
quite in the shade.
In the camps, the long roll is sometimes sounded at midnight, to
accustom officers and men to spring to arms. Upon the first of
these sudden calls from Morpheus to Mars, the negro servant of a
staff-officer was so badly frightened that he brought up his master's
horse with the crupper about the neck instead of the tail. The mistake
was discovered just in season to save the rider from the proverbial
destiny of a beggar on horseback.
[Sidenote: "FIGHTS MIT SIGEL."]
Here is a German private very shaky in the legs; he swears by Fremont
and "fights mit Sigel." Too much "lager" is the trouble with _him_;
and, in serene though harmless inebriety, he is arrested by a file
of soldiers. A capital print in circulation represents a native and
a German volunteer, with uplifted mugs of the nectar of Gambrinus,
striking hands to the motto, "One flag, one country, _zwei lager!_"
Here is a detachment of Home Guards, whose "uniform is multiform." To
a proposition, that the British militia should never be ordered out of
the country, Pitt once moved the satirical proviso, "Except in case
of invasion." So it is alleged that the Missouri Home Guards are very
useful--except in case of a battle; and I hear one merciless critic
style them the "Home Cowards." This is unjust; but they illustrate the
principle, that to attain good drill and discipline, soldiers should be
beyond the reach of home.
Camp Lillie, upon a beautiful grassy slope, is the head-quarters
of the commander. In his tent, directing, by telegraph, operations
throughout this great department, or upon horseback, personally
inspecting the regiments, you meet the peculiarly graceful, slender,
compact, magnetic man whose assignment here awoke so much enthusiasm
in the West. General Fremont is quiet, well-poised, and unassuming.
His friends are very earnest, his enemies very bitter. Those who know
him only by his early exploits, are surprised to find in the hero of
the frontier the graces of the saloon. He impresses one as a man very
modest, very genuine, and very much in earnest.
[Sidenote: A PHYSIOLOGICAL PHENOMENON.]
His hair is tinged with silver. His beard is sprinkled with snow,
though two months ago it was of unmingled brown.
"Nor turned it white
In a single night,
As men's have done from sudden fears;"
but it did blanch under the absorbing labors and anxieties of two
months--a physiological fact which Doctor Holmes will be good enough to
explain to us at his earliest convenience.
Mrs. Fremont is in camp, but will return to Saint Louis when the
army moves. She inherits many traits of her father's character.
She possesses that "excellent thing in woman," a voice, like Annie
Laurie's, low and sweet--more rich, more musical, and better
modulated, than that of any _tragédienne_ upon the stage. To a broad,
comprehensive intellect she adds those quick intuitions which leap to
results, anticipating explanations, and those proclivities for episode,
incident, and bits of personal analyzing, which make a woman's talk so
charming.
How much rarer this grace of familiar speech than any other
accomplishment whatever! In a lifetime one meets not more than four
or five great conversationalists. Jessie Benton Fremont is among the
felicitous few, if not queen of them all.
_October 8._
The army is forty thousand strong. Generals Sigel, Hunter, Pope,
Asboth, and McKinstry command respectively its five divisions.
[Sidenote: SIGEL, HUNTER, POPE, ASBOTH, MCKINSTRY.]
Sigel is slender, pale, wears spectacles, and looks more like a student
than a soldier. He was professor in a university when the war broke out.
Hunter, at sixty, and agile as a boy, is erect and grim, with bald head
and Hungarian mustache.
Pope is heavy, full-faced, brown-haired, and looks like a man of brains.
Asboth is tall, daring-eyed, elastic, a mad rider, and profoundly
polite, bowing so low that his long gray hair almost sweeps the ground.
McKinstry is six feet two, sinewy-framed, deep-chested, firm-faced,
wavy-haired, and black-mustached. He looks like the hero of a
melodrama, and the Bohemians term him "the heavy tragedian."
WARSAW, MO., _October 22_.
An officer of New York mercantile antecedents, recently appointed
to a high position, reached Syracuse a few days since, under orders
to report to Fremont. He would come no farther than the end of the
railroad, but turned abruptly back to St. Louis. Being asked his
reason, he made this reply, peculiarly ingenuous and racy for a
brigadier-general and staff-officer:
"Why, I found that I should have to go on horseback!"
With two fellow-journalists, I left Syracuse four days ago. Asboth's
and Sigel's divisions had preceded us. The post-commandant would not
permit us to come through the distracted, guerrilla-infested country
without an escort, but gave us a sergeant and four men of the regular
army.
On the way we spent the supper hour near Cole Camp. Our Falstaffian
landlord informed us that two brothers, Jim and Sam Cole, encamped
here in early days, to hunt bears, and that the creek was named in
remembrance of them. Being asked with great gravity the extremely
Bohemian question, "_Which_ of them?" he relapsed into a profound
study, from which he did not afterward recover.
We made the trip--forty-seven miles--in ten hours. This is a strong
Secession village. Half its male inhabitants are in the Rebel army.
Our officers quarter in the most comfortable residences. At first
the people were greatly incensed at the "Abolition soldiery," but
they now submit gracefully. One of the most malignant Rebel families
involuntarily entertains a dozen German officers, who drink lager-beer
industriously, smoke meerschaums unceasingly, and at night sing
unintermittently.
We are quartered at the house of a lady who has a son in Price's army,
and a daughter in whom education and breeding maintain constant warfare
with her antipathies toward the Union forces. Being told the other
evening that one of our party was a Black Republican, she regarded him
with a wondering stare, declaring that she never saw an Abolitionist
before in her life, and apparently amazed that he wore the human face
divine!
[Sidenote: SIGEL'S TRANSPORTATION TRAIN.]
Sigel, as usual, is thirty miles ahead. He has more _go_ in him
than any other of our generals. Several division commanders are
still waiting for transportation, but Sigel collected horse-wagons,
ox-wagons, mule-wagons, family-carriages, and stage-coaches, and
pressed animals until he organized a most unique transportation train
three or four miles long. He crossed his division over the swift Osage
River--three hundred yards wide--in twenty-four hours, upon a single
ferry-boat. The Rebels justly name him "The Flying Dutchman."
[Sidenote: A COUNTRYMAN'S ESTIMATE OF TROOPS.]
The Missourians along our line of march have very extravagant ideas
about the Federal army. We stopped at the house of a native, where ten
thousand troops had passed. He placed their number at forty thousand!
"I reckon you have, in all, about seventy thousand men, and three
hundred cannon, haven't you?" he asked.
"We have a hundred and fifty thousand men, and six hundred pieces of
artillery," replied a wag in the party.
"Well," said the countryman, thoughtfully, "I reckon you'll clean out
old Price _this_ time!"
[Sidenote: A "KID-GLOVED" CORPS.]