LETTER LXXXIX.
SHOWING HOW THE GREAT CITY OF ROME HAS BEEN RUINED BY THE WAR; CITING A NOTABLE INSTANCE OF CONTEMPT OF COURT; DESCRIBING REAR ADMIRAL HEAD'S WONDERFUL IMPROVEMENT IN SWIVEL GUNS; AND PROVING THAT ALL IS NOW READY FOR THE REDUCTION OF FORT PIANO.
WASHINGTON, D.C., March 29th, 1863.
After due consideration of the different points of the Compass, and afair estimate of the claims of each to superiority, I am inclined togive the preference to the Great North-west. It is to the GreatNorth-west that we are indebted for our best facilities of sunset; someof the greatest hogs of the day come from Cincinnati; the principalsmells of the age belong to Chicago, and the whiskey of Louisville hasalmost entirely superseded the pump of our forefathers. Hence, my boy,it was with a feeling akin to reverence that I witnessed the arrival inAccomac of a delegation of high moral Democratic chaps from the GreatNorth-west, the other day; their mission being, to protest against allfurther continuation of a war which was degenerated into a merebloodshed for the sake of New England; and to suggest that a conventionof all the States be at once held in Kentucky, to arrange a peace thatshall be acceptable to the Great North-west. I was asking thethoughtful chairman of the delegation what were his particulargrievances, and says he:
"This war is ruining much valuable Real Estate in the Great North-west,of which I and my fellow-beings are proprietors; and cannot continuewithout proving the entire destruction of some of our largest cities.Just before this war broke out," says the thoughtful chap,impressively, "I gave a three-years' note of seven hundred and sixteendollars and fifteen cents for the city of Rome, situated on the futureline of the Atlantic and Pacific Canal, and divided into four hundredwater-lots of five fathoms each. As soon as the Atlantic and PacificCanal was built, the water would have been drawn off by means ofeighteen large hydraulic pumps supported by Eastern capital, leavingthe lots all ready for building purposes. The main street would thenhave been graded, and paved with the new patent Connecticutsub-drainage pavement, and would have extended two miles in a perfectlystraight line, with a horse-railroad through the centre. The variousintersecting streets I should have named numerically, commencing with'First Street,' which faces upon the Atlantic and Pacific Canal, and sogoing on to 'One Hundred and Seventy-sixth street,' and so on. Thesestreets would have been occupied exclusively by brown-stone-frontresidences, with a flag-staff bearing our national banner on the roofof each one, and rented to small private families without children. Thefull lots on the main street would have been used for the City Hall,the Lunatic Asylum, the Custom House, the Home for Deranged Persons,the Merchants' Exchange, the Corn Exchange, the Refuge for the Insane,the Grain Elevator, the Institution for Friendless Maniacs, thePrincipal Pork-Packing Establishment, the Hall of Records, the Officeof the Superintendent of Central Parks, the Madman's Snug Harbor, andthe Municipal Bar-Room. The sixty-eight principal banks would havediscounted bills of exchange at sight, for the benefit of the numerousforeign vessels constantly arriving at the principal pier by way of theAtlantic and Pacific Canal, and the Fire Department would have beenlimited to twenty-three hundred hose-carriages and engines, with aneducated Chief Engineer." Here the thoughtful Democratic chap gnashedhis teeth, and says he:
"But the City of Rome has been entirely retarded by this here BlackRepublican New England war upon the sunny South, with which the greatNorth-west has no earthly quarrel whatsoever."
I was pondering a reply to this very reasonable speech, my boy, whenword was suddenly brought that one of the Mackerel pickets had justassassinated a young Confederacy, who had only fired twice upon hisinhuman murderer. No sooner did the thoughtful Proprietor of the Cityof Rome hear this sickening news than he at once formed the otherDemocratic chaps into a coroner's jury, and hastily proceeded to hold ahigh moral inquest upon the body of the lamented deceased.
There being no witnesses to examine, and nothing in the pocket-bookfound upon the body, the proprietor of Rome removed two tears with hisred silk handkerchief, and briefly summoned up the case. Kneelingdesolately beside the cold remains, and taking one of the lifelesshands within his own, he sniffed feelingly, and says he:
"The young man which is here before us is another of them noble soulsthat have fallen gory sacrifices to the Mulock of War."
"You mean 'Moloch of War,'" says a juryman.
Whereupon he was committed to custody for contempt of court.
"This young man," continued the Proprietor of Rome, "may have had goodcause to hate and despise the radical abolition offsprings of NewEngland; but he had no quarrel with the glorious Democratic party ofthe Great North-west, which is now blindly fighting for hiswooden-nutmeg foes. I will venture to say," says the thoughtful Roman,with great emotion, "that he even loved the Great North-west in hisheart. Behold how freely he permits me to clasp his left hand to myfriendly buzzom, even though he is dead."
Just then there was a sudden silence, my boy, for the right hand of thedeceased young Confederacy was observed to be slowly rising in the air!Overcome with awe, the jury gazed upon the strange spectacle, like menunder a wizard's spell. Slowly, slowly, the hand arose, until nearlyabove the face of the slain Confederacy; then it descended until itreached the half-averted countenance of the dead, and convulsivelyseized the nose between the thumb and fore-finger.
The Proprietor of the City of Rome changed color, and says he:"Well--ahem!--it can't be that--" Here he looked more closely at thebody, and says he:
"I am at a loss to explain this remarkable phenomena."
A venerable juryman, of much shirt-collar, coughed to attractattention, and says he: "I should take the present attitude of ourdeparted Confederate brother to be that of a man who smells somethingobnoxious."
Here the Proprietor of Rome suddenly dropped the left hand of thedeceased Confederacy, and says he:
"Why, he must mean to insult the Great North-west."
"Yes," says the venerable juryman, "there can be but one constructionof the present offensive attitude of this dead young being."
The thoughtful Proprietor of the City of Rome deliberately took off hisspectacles, blew his nose, buttoned his coat up to his chin, and sayshe: "I have always advocated a vigorous prosecution of the war, andbelieve that full nine-tenths of our gallant troops are Democrats.What's the werdict?"
The shirt-collared juryman waved his hand impressively, and says he:"We find the deceased guilty of contempt of court in the Last Degree."
Then the Democratic chaps from the Great North-west held anenthusiastic mass meeting on the spot, and unanimously resolved thatneither Kentucky nor Indiana would resist the Conscription Bill, shouldit be found unsafe to do so.
Believe me, my boy, when I say that the great Democratic party isstanchly loyal at heart, however strangely its head may seem to err attimes; and never will it take a side with the enemies of the country,even whilst those enemies make offers to it not only aside but affront.
Upon going down to Paris on Friday, I found the well-disciplined andspectacled Mackerel Brigade greatly excited and demoralized by theinsidious report that their famous new General, the Grim Old FightingCox, had actually washed himself. This injurious rumor, my boy,suggested such humiliating national recollections of those days ofconsummate strategy, when a certain egotistical commander indulged inthe vanities of soap and hair-oil, that the Brigade were naturallyterrified. Finally, however, the absurd story received a decisivequietus, when the Grim Old Fighting Cox was seen riding slowly on hisunostentatious steed, the "Pride of the Canal," dressed in theunassuming republican habiliments of a stern and inflexiblecoal-heaver. It is needless to say that he had not washed himself. Thiswar is at length beginning in earnest.
It is beautiful to see how the Grim Old Fighting Cox is improving themorals of the venerable Mackerels, and winning their affection,confidence, and respect. Coming, unexpectedly, upon a Mackerel, who hadjust laid aside his umbrella, and removed his spectacles, in order thathe might weep the more freely, he fired a pistol over his head, an
dsays he:
"What is the matter, my dear sir?"
"Oh!" says the poor Mackerel, sobbing, "I am in sore need of the paywhich is due me for two years' faithful strategy to the Union, and knownot where to get it."
The Grim Old Fighting Cox was much affected, and says he, softly: "Youmust humbly kneel, and beseech Providence for it."
The afflicted chap toyed with his spectacles, and says he: "But supposeProvidence should refuse?"
"Then come to ME!" thundered the Grim Old Fighting Cox, with the air ofa 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 thereporters of the reliable morning journals, he invariably desires thatthey shall go no further; but other great events demand my immediateattention.
It was very shortly after the victorious but disastrous blowing up ofthe Mackerel iron-plated squadron, the "Secretary Welles," on DuckLake, by the infatuated Confederacies of Pier No. 1,--it was shortlyafter this event, which I duly recounted at the time, that ourunconquerable old sea-dog, Rear Admiral Head, invented an entirely newiron-clad after the model of a Quaker hat, the turret being of solidiron all through, and so arranged that it could be used to cover thegangway amidships. In fact, my boy, the turret was a movable block ofiron, with the swivel-gun mounted on top; so that if the turrethappened to be hit, the artillery would not be disabled, and if theartillery was disabled, the turret would still be as good as ever.(Patent applied for.) There was some discussion as to what name shouldbe given to this formidable monster, nearly the whole six-barrelledIndian language having been almost exhausted by our national navy; butfinally it was resolved to call her the "Shockingbadhat,"--an oldChoctaw title of much simplicity, signifying originally "The Head whaterrs," 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 immediatebursting so common to our heavier ordnance. A select committee ofMackerels having been appointed to examine our national ordnancesystem, and discover the cause of its inefficiency, stated in theirable report that the causes of the frequent bursting of our larger gunsare,--
_First._ The powder used in propelling the appropriate missile againstthe enemy.
_Second._ The addition of an incendiary spark to said powder.
It was further stated in the report, that, although the barrel of a gunwas frequently fractured when it exploded, there was no record of thetouch-hole ever having burst; and the committee believed that thiscurious fact should serve as a valuable suggestion to the manufacturersof future heavy ordnance.
Acting upon this truly valuable suggestion, our stern old Son ofNeptune caused his swivel-gun to be reconstructed upon a novelprinciple; 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 herterrific new armament, the shameless Confederacies on their Pier inDuck Lake had been industriously building Fort Piano and mounting itwith their villanous horse-pistols; so that when the new Mackereliron-plated squadron was ready for carnage and fishing, there was ahostile projection in the way.
"Chip my turret!" says Rear Admiral Head, in his iron-plated manner, "Ithink I shall have to blow a few more Rebels into eternity--smash mycasemate! if I don't."
I stood upon the shore of Duck Lake, with a bit of smoked glass to myeye as usual, when our new monster of the deep came abreast of FortPiano, and Rear Admiral Head commenced to reconnoitre through hispocket-microscope. The venerable commander gazed steadfastly through itfor a moment, and then, says he:
"Crack my plates! if I don't perceive an insect on the wall of thehostile work."
There was indeed a solitary Confederacy seated upon the front wall ofFort 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, tothe intelligent Mackerel crew on top of the turret:
"Depress your weapon four points to windward, grease the ball, and fireat his stomach."
In another instant, the whole landscape shook with a tremendousexplosion, jarring the Admiral so greatly that his spectacles fell off,and causing his blue cotton umbrella to tremble like a leaf. The ballascended to the zenith in a parabolical curve, and was lost amongst theother planets. I do not think, my boy, that the Confederacy would havebeen offended at this, had not the sudden noise caused him to jump insuch a manner that he dropped his hoe-cake into the dirt. Upon thisoccurrence, however, he sprang to his legs on the wall, drew up a longpole from behind him, disrespectfully cracked our glorious old RearAdmiral over the head with it, and then commenced shoving at the turretof the "Shockingbadhat."
Perceiving the great danger of the squadron, and unmindful of his ownwound, 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 ofpushing my turret overboard?"
He said this so mildly that the Confederacy burst into a prodigioushorse-laugh, and drew in his pole again.
"As no possible good could be attained by taking Fort Piano, theindomitable old Rear Admiral at once returned with the squadron to hisoriginal anchorage; having gained all that was required, and proved hisiron-clad monster to be fully qualified for actual service. Everythingis now ready for the anticipated conquest of Duck Lake."
I give you the above in quotation marks, my boy, because it is theofficial report as it appears in all the reliable morning journals, andclearly and satisfactorily explains everything. The first of April isclose at hand.
Yours, fortuitously,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.