WHICH RELATES HOW THE MAJOR WAS RESTORED TO PERFECT HEALTH; AND ALSO
AN AUTHENTIC DESCRIPTION OF WHAT TOOK PLACE ON HIS ARRIVAL IN NEW
YORK.
IF, reader, you be an honest man, and in any way acquainted with the
pranks of politicians in these our times, you will not pour forth a
lamentation over what I have written; for I take it you will see
that I have broken the filthy clods only, to get at the real truth.
But if you be a politician, thief, or housebreaker-in fine, if you
belong to any of these twin professions, the members of which find
it convenient to extinguish the light of their own history, and take
no delight in truths which concern themselves, then I may expect to
be visited with your eternal enmity. Sweeten, then, your breath; and
if you would send me to that place I have firmly resolved never to
go to, pray call to your aid such papers as the New York Tribune and
Evangelist, for they are both clever at sending all who differ from
them to the devil, without even the aid of clergy. And as those sent
to the devil by this medium have only the Editor of the Herald for
mourner, just imagine that gentleman in tears, and chide me no more,
for I must see to the major.
The critical condition in which I left the major renders it
imperative that I should return to him without further delay. And I
must here say, then, in restoring him to consciousness, that much
ice water was used, a portion of his hair and beard was shaved off,
and sundry aromatic liquids applied to counteract an odor that was
by no means delightful to the senses. And when he had recovered
sufficiently to sit up, his eyes were fixed confusedly upon those
about him; then his hands wandered to his haunches, and he heaved a
deep sigh. "Pray tell me, gentlemen, (for I seem to have just come
out of a trance,) what has befallen me? Pray tell me, gentlemen,
that I may offer you such an apology as becomes my position, for I
am in a condition no man need envy. And to lose a hard earned
reputation so easily is no trifling thing." The commodore was
struggling to suppress his laughter, which had been excited by the
forlornness of the figure before him. He however begged the major to
be composed. As to losing his reputation by so trifling an accident,
he enjoined him not to think of it, since history afforded numerous
instances of great heroes who had met with similar ones. In truth,
it was just such an accident, taking place on the commencement of a
great battle, that saved General Cushing from the bullets of the
enemy, and his life to the country! And this timely accident I
record here for the benefit of that admiring generation which is yet
to come, and which might be deceived by that worthy historian, the
author of "The Mexican War," who recorded with so much faithfulness
all his gallant deeds, and hanged himself when he had finished.
Hearing this, he at once took heart, and declaring that it was all
owing to a derangement of the stomach, said, that although it was
the first time in his life that he had ever met with such an
accident, he had not the slightest doubt of its influence for good,
since a man's virtues lay in his power to bear up under such trials.
They were now nearing the city, and the "Two Marys" having been left
far astern, the squadron put about, preparatory to setting the major
on board his own ship, which was done without the firing of a gun,
and with as much caution as if they had been handling eggs of a
venerable age. It must however be said for the credit of the
military profession, that the major never relaxed one iota of his
gallantry, and left the yacht with many kind remembrances for the
ladies, especially Miss Flora, whose beauty he declared he had never
seen excelled, though he had read all Mrs. Southworth's novels by
candle light. It ought also to be mentioned that one of the
officers, seeing his necessities, and being a man of a philanthropic
turn, gave him a pair of breeches, with a stripe down the side. And
with these the major consoled himself that he had at least parted
friends with the Yacht Club, and that, after all, there was no great
loss without some small gain.
The squadron executed a maneuver, fired two guns, and parted company
with the "Two Marys," as, with seven days' news from Barnstable, she
neared Peck Slip, and made fast to a wharf, on which was assembled a
very dejected looking throng of people. Those fortunate enough to
have hats took them off, and began cheering in the wildest manner,
whilst the more respectable, whose raiment was of an exceedingly
damp description, and had been used at night for beds, took to using
their hands upon the heads of their neighbors. Here and there a
philosophical policeman was seen, with his hands in his pockets.
"Heavens!" said I to myself, "instead of being on the road to fame,
we have fallen among vagabonds, who will plunder us!" But I was
relieved of my fears by being informed that they were all honest
voters, who, though they had not a shirt to their backs, took
righteous good care of the city's affairs.
When it became known that the major and myself were really on board,
there was a great firing of guns, and such other demonstrations of
welcome as made the major glad at heart; for he had changed his
nether garments, and was now sure the news of what had so recently
befallen him had not reached New York. There now came on board four
flabby men, dreamy of countenance, and whose dilapidated garments
bespoke them persons of menial occupations. But as neither St. Paul,
nor Alexander the Great, nor Henry Ward Beecher, (who, I take it, is
as great a man as either of them, and will leave more portraits of
himself than both,) never dressed according to their
"circumstances," so these four flabby men, the major thought, must
not be judged by the condition of their raiment, for it was nothing
new to see great men shabbily dressed.
The shortest of the four flabby men, an oily sort of shabby
gentleman, who was blind of an eye, and had very disordered red
hair, and a bruise on the end of a very red nose, which looked like
a birch knot growing upon a redder face, now came jauntily forward,
and having doffed a much damaged hat, that sat on the side of his
head with a challenging air, and approaching the major, who had
arranged his uniform to the best advantage, spoke as follows: "Long
life t'yer 'onor, for me name's Dinnis Finnigan, born on the banks
of Lough Neagh, near Kerry; but for all that, as I says to myself,
Dinnis yer jist as good an American as iver drew first breath on the
soil. And now, seein' it's yersel, Major Potter"--
"Commonly called Major Roger Potter," interrupted the major, with a
bow. "And since I see you seek me, I may say I'm the person. I make
no doubt you have heard of me. I need not say how glad I am to see
you, for that will be told you by my private secretary." Here the
major turned round and cast a glance at me.
"The same man that wouldn't hear of the likes o' ye, major, would'nt
be much of a politician. Ye'r as wilcom as the flowers of May,
jist," resumed Mr. Dinnis Finnigan, who now disclosed the singular
fact that, (Mr. Finnigan was a reformed member of the "Dead Rabbit
Club,") he now formed one of the Board of Common Council, where no
man could vote better on a question of money. Mr. Finnigan was
evidently not dead to the importance of his office, for he promised
no end of things in honor of the major, to the carrying out of which
he pledged the city, and would with equal sincerity (for his mind
was in a condition to make cities appear very small) have pledged
the whole Union.
The major had for some moments been fixing his eyes upon Mr.
Finnigan with a scrutinizing stare. Suddenly his face became
flushed, his eye quickened its glare, and he stammered out, "I know
what belongs to good manners, and though you may be a councilman,
Mr. Finnigan, my eyes, and they are good ones, tell me I have seen
you before."
"Faith, an' that same's not unlikely," interposed the moist
councilman.
"Aye, and when you went by the name of Greeley Hanniford, and
followed an occupation that cost me all my money."
Here Mr. Finnigan quickly interrupted by saying that as they had
both attained to the position of gentlemen, it were best to adopt
Bishop Hughes' motto, and let bye gones be bye gones. In truth the
major recognized in Councilman Finnigan, the honest Quaker, Greeley
Hanniford, who, with General Fopp, of "Pleasant-side Row," had
managed to relieve him of all his money during his first adventure
in New York.
"But although he neither acted justly nor honorably towards me, our
conditions have changed, and it does not become my high position to
rake this thing up now, so let's hope he is come an honest man, and
a good politician!" thought the major, extending his hand to the
moist councilman, who was not a little troubled at the old
reminiscence.
"And my motto is, major, let them what's dead, stay dead! But since
its not mysel is to spake the addriss, but Dan Dooley, who, by the
Virgin, is an alderman, a gintleman, and the friend of Father
Fogarty-"
Seeing there was an old score to be wiped out between Mr. Councilman
Finnigan and the major, Mr. Alderman Dan Dooley, who was the tallest
of the four flabby men, and a whiskey visaged gentleman of ponderous
parts, now came fussily forward, and after exchanging many bows and
compliments with the major, saying how extremely glad he was to
welcome him to the city, introduced him to his son in law,
Councilman Dennis Blennerhasset, a frisky little man, with a cocked
up nose, and an expression of countenance in which no man with half
an eye could fail to read in what land he drew his first breath, if,
indeed, the rich brogue with which he returned the major's
salutation had not already revealed it. Having, long since, resolved
not to have my veracity as a historian impeached, I must not forget
to state here, (and I warn every pugnacious critic to be careful how
he points his lance at me,) that Alderman Dennis Dooley, although
the firm friend of Father Fogarty, was said to be the ablest editor
on the Evening Express, which for its profundity of logic, and
purity of style, was truly a marvel in journalism. As for Councilman
Blennerhasset, no man could bring aught against his capacity for
mixing compounds of deleterious liquors, which he sold to the
decaying humanity of his district; and, being what was considered a
modest man, the notion came into his head that he was born for the
high office of Councilman the very day he married the daughter of
Alderman Dooley. Mr. Councilman Blennerhasset spoke of himself as we
the common council, we the elected to do you honor on this great
occasion; we the representatives of this great and glorious
metropolis. Having accommodated the we a sufficient number of times
to satisfy us that he had the whole city nicely tucked away in the
pocket of his shabby coat, he turned round to introduce Alderman
Barney O'Toole, who, as a man and a gentleman, could do more off
hand fighting than any other man in the board, and was the fourth of
the flabby men. But that distinguished politician and gentleman, who
had been seven times sentenced for smashing the skulls of his
adversaries, was not at hand, having, while Mr. Blennerhasset was
thickening the compliments, winked me down into the cabin, where he
drew from his pocket a luminous bottle of old Bourbon whiskey, and
in the most friendly manner offered to pledge me in numerous
glasses.
Just at this moment, a dozen or so of wan faced reporters, in
massive beards and black hats, pressed eagerly through the crowd,
and went to work like beavers dotting down all that was said, and a
little more. Then commenced the address by Alderman Dan Dooley,
whose breath was redolent of anything but the balm of a thousand
flowers, and who delivered his speech with an unctuous self
satisfaction, and in a style of rhetoric totally unknown to
Pericles, and never thought of by Demosthenes. The address was
carefully worded, so as to make the major a greater statesman than
had been known in any previous age, which is a fashion at this day;
and if I be not much mistaken, this speech was written by that
witty scribbler of the "Times" newspaper, who gets up speeches for
heroes at five minutes' notice, and then, having pocketed the money,
laughs in his sleeve at the men he has made fools.
As addresses of the nearest possible resemblance to that delivered
on this occasion by Alderman Dan Dooley, may be found almost any day
in the morning papers, I hold it good economy not to occupy my
valuable space in recording it here. Nor, indeed, will it be
necessary to insert the major's reply, since it was very similar to
that made by him to the Commodore of the Yacht Club, and may also be
found in all the newspapers. And now, when these ceremonies were
over, the major bethought him of his horse and pig, the former of
which he found surrounded by a swarm of unruly boys, whom the
strange figure he cut, with the holsters and saddlebags mounted,
afforded much amusement. The latter was quietly lying down in his
cage, but came forward to render homage as soon as he heard the
major's voice. I should mention that the major always aimed to be up
to the fashion of the times, and learning from Councilman
Blennerhasset that demonstrations of a more public character had
recently been declined by one or two very distinguished politicians,
he made up his mind not to be a whit behind any of them, (for the
reason of which the reader may discover by conjecture,) and
therefore positively declined all public demonstrations,
notwithstanding the Splinters' Guard was soon on the spot, ready to
do him escort duty. He, however, retired into the cabin, where, (I
say it without envy, for I love a brave soldier,) he took a quiet
glass of whiskey and a sandwich with the very honorable "committee
of reception." And this being duly noted by the reporters, (one of
whom was seen purloining a sandwich or two,) the major gave
directions about the care of his pig, ordered his saddlebags upon
old Battle, who was weak enough in the extremities, and proceeded to
the wharf amidst the deafening acclamations of a hundred ragged
urchins, who, notwithstanding the distress of the animal, would have
mounted and rode away, but for the kindly interposition of two
policemen.
There was standing on the wharf a somewhat dilapidated carriage, to
which four lean gray horses, such as are used for drawing all great
heroes through the city, were harnessed, and presented so forlorn a
figure that one might easily have imagined them employed by the
devil to convey to his dominions that shabby class of sinners
consigned to him on Sunday evenings by the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher.
Into this the distinguished representatives of the great metropolis
insisted upon getting the major, that he might be conveyed to the
apartments secured for him at the great St. Nicholas Hotel, in a
manner becoming so great a politician. But as the major was not
quite sure whether his reputation would be best preserved by
sticking to the politician, or by dropping the politician, and
sticking to his laurels as a military man, he shook his head and
hesitated for some time. He was half inclined to dub himself the
warrior; and as warriors always appeared best on horseback, he was,
to the great delight of the throng, about to mount his faithful
animal, assign me his seat in the hero-trap, and follow at a
respectful distance. But he bethought himself that both were noble
professions; and, surely, to emulate in both must be a prominent
desire with all great men. After holding a consultation with me, he
said he always remembered the motto: "Great is the man who humbles
himself." Being satisfied then that it would not lessen his dignity,
nor, indeed, in any way detract from the character of a military
politician, who had need enough to look to his laurels, he agreed
that Alderman Dan Dooley should ride old Battle. And with this
resolve he at once repaired to the carriage, in which he took a seat
with the three gentlemen of the committee, leaving me to pick my way
as best I could, and drove away for the hotel, (followed at a
respectful distance by the loquacious alderman, thus comically
mounted,) with this strange string of cattle. And this wonderful
cortége was followed by scores of hooting and ragged urchins, who
switched old Battle's gambrels, and annoyed him in so many ways,
that the alderman at length lost his temper, and was several times
forced to dismount and beat back the harassing enemy with stones and
such other weapons as he could lay his hands on.
And now, gentle reader, fearing I may weary you with this long train
of nonsense, which, however, I have endeavored to make conform to
the follies of the day, I will close this chapter, and for what took
place at the great St. Nicholas Hotel, refer you to the next.