HOW NEWS OF AN EXTRAORDINARY CHARACTER WAS RECEIVED AND RESTORED THE
MAJOR TO SOUND HEALTH; ALSO A FEW REMARKS CONCERNING THE MANUFACTURE
OF HEROES.
THE judicious and forgiving reader will, I am sure, join me in
approving the facility with which the major regained his stock of
courage, (lost when entering Tarpaulin Cove,) on hearing that the
politicians of New York had determined on making him a hero of no
mean parts, and were devising a grand programme for our reception.
And this consoling news I read to him from that very enterprising
and extremely reliable journal, the New York Herald, a copy of which
I got of the parson, who was its Tarpaulin Cove correspondent, and
admired it much for its mingling of divine and human things, as well
as the amount of honey the editor always mixed with his brimstone.
The Common Council had, according to this sagacious journal, held a
meeting, and, at the expense of much unintelligible oratory and
disorder, passed a resolution appropriating five thousand dollars
for the purpose of giving us a reception worthy of either Cicero or
Washington. And this was to be entirely in consideration of the
great public services we had rendered the country.
And it was further resolved, and therein set forth, that Aldermen
Pennyworth, of the Sixth Ward, and Brandybottom, of the Second,
together with Councilmen Bluster and Sputter, (the last named
gentleman being clever at a speech,) be a committee of reception,
invested with power to draw up and present a suitable address on
behalf of the citizens of "this great metropolis." It was also
resolved, in a flourish of speech utterly unknown in anything ever
attempted by Choate, that the mayor, who, though he contemplated
himself the greatest of potentates, was famous only for commanding
an unruly police to bludgeon the heads of peaceable citizens, should
publicly receive us at the City Hall.
This news so elated the major, that he commenced running about the
deck, after the manner of a madman. He next tore the bandages from
his head, and swore though his eyes were disfigured, his body
remained in most excellent condition. As to persecutions, all great
men ought to endure them with humility, for they were only the
forerunners of great honors. He therefore resolved to say no more of
the scars, but, in proof of his faith, to for ever esteem Captain
Luke Snider a public benefactor, and to set about commending himself
to the consideration of all good citizens, for therein, as he
conceived, lay the virtue of true eminence. And now that he had a
horse of such excellent parts, and a pig whose rare gifts, (did the
critics do him justice,) must prove invaluable, he flattered himself
he was fairly on the road to fortune, and might safely leave the
rest to the hero makers of New York.
I must inform the honest reader, that great value was set by the
Common Council upon the fact, that the major had transferred his
affections from the whig to the democratic party, which could not
fail to shed a lasting luster upon its principles. Two honest
Hibernian members of the very common board of very uncommon
councilmen, had, with that modesty so characteristic of them, paid
me the high compliment of saying, that I had been justly styled the
great northern political war horse. I could not suppress a blush
at seeing myself cut so strange a figure, inasmuch as the flourish
of speech was such as had never been thought of by Aristotle, and
would have paled even Henry Clay. Let no man, therefore, doubt the
truth of what I here say; for I am not given to writing satires,
preferring to wait until heaven shall send me some nobler mission.
Nor would I have the reader express surprise, that persons so humble
as the major and myself should be thus suddenly subjected to the
process of hero making so much in fashion with the forty thousand
idlers and politicians of New York, who have graciously taken upon
themselves the directing of all public affairs, seeing that good men
are so engaged in the getting of gold as to care not a whit if the
devil get all their liberties. And if the reader have read the
histories of Greece and Rome, wherein it is written that he only was
made a hero who had achieved some great undertaking, and thereby
conferred lasting honors upon his country, his surprise may be
increased at the strange elements of character necessary to a hero
at this day. But I humbly beg him to consider the circumstances of
these forty thousand idlers and other politicians, who, having no
employment for their fingers, let the devil direct their brains, and
have turned hero making into a commerce of so cheap a quality, that
no good christian can be got to engage in it. In fine, (and it is no
vulgar invention of my brain,) the virtues required of an hero at
this day, are that he have been a great marauder, who, having
invaded the country of a poor, down trodden people, driven them from
their quiet homes, plundered them of their property, ravished their
daughters, drenched their fields with the blood of the innocent, and
whitened the highways with the bones of his own dissolute but
deluded followers, and spread desolation over the land, had to leave
it a vanquished miscreant. And upon the principle, that if you give
power to the idle and reckless they will make heroes to suit their
kind and circumstances, he will then be received at the Battery with
a great waste of powder, and such other noisy demonstrations as
shall please the unruly. From thence he shall be conveyed in a
shabby carriage, drawn by four lean horses, escorted by six firemen
in red shirts, and preceded by two Dutch drummers with serious
faces, and long, light beards, and a dyspeptic negro fifer, through
sundry of our most crowded streets. And there shall follow him a
procession of urchins, so abject in raiment that all peaceable
lookers on will wonder where they came from, and how it happened
that in a city so well supplied with water their unclean appearance,
and the evident satisfaction they derived from scratching, was a
sight for the eyes to behold. The hero must be careful to admonish
the two or three ex-aldermen who accompany him, that it will not do
to expose the necks of bottles in their pockets during their passage
through the streets; he must also be sure to deliver his bows with
becoming grace, and to keep his right hand upon his heart, (if he
have one,) giving the mob to understand that therein beats his love
for righting wronged humanity. Nor will he lose anything in
reputation, if he exercise great courtesy in returning those
manifestations of approbation which are become so common with
enthusiastic chambermaids, who flourish napkins from third and
fourth story windows, and are mistaken by the uninitiated for
damsels of quality with delicately perfumed cambrics. And as he let
nothing slip through his fingers while bathing in blood the homes of
the people he had made wretched, so must he now comfort himself with
the assurance, that the uproar of the rabble constituting his train
is all cheers sent up by the honest people in admiration of his
wonderful exploits. And, being free from every restraint or
obligation, he may, with advantage to himself, recur to the deeds of
Cæsar and Alexander, (not forgetting to remember Cicero,) to which
he may compare his own. He can then sneer at your people of quality,
and having sufficient cause, prepare himself for a speech of
extraordinary eloquence, in which he need have no fear of profaning,
for his hearers will stand amazed, and think how mighty a thing it
is to be a hero.
I would also advise him to give his thoughts entirely to himself,
and be careful not to betray them with his words, lest some
ambitious critic set them down and use them at some future day to
his damage. He must likewise sufficiently eulogize the companions in
his exploits; and though they were true to nothing but debauchery
and their own conceits, it will serve him best if he tell
distressing tales of their patriotism. And above all, he will be
wholly deficient in rendering himself justice, if he do not set
forth with the very best of his rhetoric, how much he is
misrepresented by the press, which will persist in calling him a
monster, when in truth he is a servant of heaven, sent upon earth to
raise the fallen. And when he shall have been drawn through a
sufficient number of streets, and the eyes of the curious shall have
been gratified, and the dyspeptic fifer has exhausted his wind, and,
together with the Dutch drummers, can no longer invest the jaded
train with a martial spirit, then, if the lean animals have strength
enough left in their dilapidated frames, the cortége, as it is well
called, may proceed into the Park, where the hero, if it do not
rain, may take off his hat to the multitude of rejected humanity,
(such as ragged politicians and wasted vagrants,) there assembled.
Having paused a few moments, (to the great impatience of his
shattered admirers,) that the aldermen who accompanied him may
quench their thirst, he will alight amidst the huzzas of the throng
and ascend the platform, built for the occasion by an enthusiastic
carpenter. An ex-alderman, of dogged deportment, whom the clamorous
mob greet with the title of judge, will welcome him in an address,
(he will read it by the light of a tallow candle, held in the hand
of a corpulent councilman,) written by a well starved critic on the
Times newspaper, and for which service he (the said starved critic)
was promised five dollars. The hero will undoubtedly take it for
granted, that he is as great a general as he is there set down; nor
must he be amazed if he find it written of him, that the noble deeds
of which he is the champion far outshine all that has heretofore
been set down in history. In fine, he must receive each compliment
with a gracious bow, remembering that they are employed with the
sincerity so characteristic of our gravest politicians. It being
customary, I make no doubt the address will be received with
"deafening applause," though it were impossible those present could
hear one word of it. The reading will then conclude with twenty
thousand voices spontaneously calling for the hero, who must rise
with great gravity, and, having surveyed the dilapidated throng,
proceed to respond in a speech of at least half an hour long. While
delivering himself of this speech, he must be careful not to think
of the gray haired fathers and mourning orphans he has left to
mingle their tears over the devastation he inflicted upon their
country, lest it damage his rhetoric. But he must declare that he is
overwhelmed with the honors thus showered upon him by an assemblage
so respectable. Of course he will not forget to mention, that his
emotions have quite deprived him of the power, even if he had the
capacity, of expressing his gratitude for this very unexpected
manifestation of their approbation. And this peroration he must end,
with complimenting the virtue and discretion, the self sacrificing
devotion, and the high purposes of the motley assemblage, who are
meanwhile getting up numerous fights for their more immediate
amusement.
The drummers and fifer having refreshed themselves, the hero must be
got carefully into the carriage by his generals and adjutant
generals in waiting, when the four lean horses, who were comforted
with oats during the delivery of the speeches, will draw him up
Broadway to the tune of "The dead I left behind me!" It being after
nightfall, when the balconies of heaven are filled with black,
warlike clouds, it will be necessary that the train proceed with
torchlights, which are an essential part of the ovation to all great
heroes. These generally consist of thirteen lighted tallow candles
and two transparencies, in the manufacture of which six shillings
were expended for as many yards of Lowell cotton, sufficient to
supply shirts to the unwashed Hibernians who bear them. The
torchlights, as is customary, must be carried by hatless and
shoeless urchins, who will feel great pride in the service, and have
no scruple at scrambling for the pennies thrown them by the
mischievous who line the sidewalk. The transparencies must also bear
the significant motto, "Welcome to the brave." All this and much
more being done, the hero will have arrived at one of our most
fashionable hotels, where splendid apartments have been prepared for
him; and for which the cunning landlord was careful to get his pay
in advance. As those who follow such trains and such heroes have an
habitual aversion to water, its diminution or increase on arriving
at the hotel will depend very much on the state of the weather. But
no true hero will for a moment think of entering his hotel unless
all the ambitious chambermaids in it are grouped upon its balconies,
and its entrances so lined with pickpockets, that it becomes
absolutely necessary that his generals force a passage. The crowd
outside will then greet his advance up stairs with much shouting,
interspersed with demands for a speech, which, on partaking of a
well compounded punch, in which his generals will not forget to join
him, seeing that he is their only worldly stock in trade left, he
may manifest his willingness to receive friends of distinction. This
being regarded as an oversight by his most famous general, and the
corpulent alderman, he will be reminded that the safety of the
building is really in danger from the enthusiasm of the citizens
outside, who refuse to go peaceably to their homes until he appears
before them on the balcony, where they can offer him their homage,
and hear from his lips at least three speeches. All this being done
to the entire satisfaction of his admirers, then let him snap his
fingers at your unprogressive gentlemen of quality, (who are much
given to sneering,) and comfort himself that "the people" are always
right. The torchbearers having exhausted their pennies as well as
their patriotism, and the peaceable intervention of a shower having
dispersed the mob, the hero, satisfied he has received every honor a
grateful people can bestow, will, as is customary, betake himself
much fatigued to his apartments, where he must remain in
consultation with his generals and a few select friends, (on the
grave question of what is to be done next?) until two o'clock in the
morning, or, perhaps, until Aurora begins to open her windows in the
east or the expert bar tender has wearied of mixing libations not
even the most self-complacent of the generals has a shilling to pay
for. This sad state of affairs being reported to head quarters, the
hero will, unless the aldermen present pledge the city for security,
hasten to his cot, and having snuffed out his candle get quietly to
bed.
Having overstepped the limits of my chapter in these few remarks
upon our present system of hero making, the reader must look for
something better in the next chapter, and accept for apology the
fact that I have written of things I have seen, out of sheer love
for the truth of history. In perusing this subject, I had almost
forgotten to remark, that the hero, though he have gone quietly to
bed, will not be considered at the very apex of his fame until the
men of the newspapers, with their usual love of enterprise in
journalism, shall have written down and published to the world
(they, it must not be overlooked, follow close at the heels of the
torch bearers) all that was said and done, not even forgetting to
mention how delicately the horses raised their tails when occasion
required.