LETTER LXXXV.
HOLDING THE GOVERNMENT STRICTLY ACCOUNTABLE FOR THE OCCURRENCE OF A RECENT "MILITARY NECESSITY;" RECOUNTING THE AFFECTING EPISODE OF THE MACKEREL DRUMMER-BOY; AND DEPICTING THE NEW MACKEREL GENERAL'S FIRST GREAT BATTLE.
WASHINGTON, D.C., Feb. 9th, 1863.
I am no longer on speaking terms, my boy, with the Government of ourdistracted country, and beg leave most respectfully to inform it thatthe imbecile cold weather of the past few days may disgust, but cannever discourage me. Being of respectable though Democratic parentage,I scorn to associate with an Executive and Cabinet so lost to all senseof national comfort, that it permits the weather to become a constantoutrage on our Constitutions, frequently freezing loyal Democrats forno other offence than that of protecting defenceless lampposts afternightfall. I am very cold, my boy,--I am very cold, and my hatred ofthe present Cabinet is intense.
But what shall I say about the agency of this same Government inproducing a Military Necessity at the late great battle of Paris? Letme put on my overcoat and express my cold in a passionate cough, as Iremark that its agency in this matter forcibly reminds me of a chap Ionce knew in the sixth ward.
He was an aged chap of much red nose, my boy, and lived with hisyoungest broadcloth son in the same house with his Wayward Sister. TheWayward Sister being an old maid of severe countenance, occupied suchportions of the residence as seemed most safe from the intrusion ofthat sex which seeks to make Woman its broken-hearted slave; and aslong as the patient old chap answered the door-bell and didn't smoke inthe house, she got along with him after the manner of a Methodistangel. Things went on pleasantly through the winter, the high-mindedmaiden using the coal of her aged kindred, and employing all his blacktea without complaining; but in the spring she joined a Woman's RightsConvention, and commenced to hold indignation-meetings ofvirtuously-indignant females in the best room in the house. Thesemeetings having decided, that,
"_Whereas_, Man is a ojus creature which is constantly preying uponthat sex which it is his mother's, and denying to it those inalienableRights without which Woman's sphere cannot exist. Therefore be it
"_Resolved_, That Woman is the Superior Sex.
"_Resolved_, That union with man is incompatible with the good of a sexwhich it is ourselves; and that we will immediately take that householdfurniture of which Woman is the only rightful owner, and only ask to belet alone."
The aged chap received a copy of these resolutions, my boy, and saysthe Wayward Sister: "I can no longer consent to live in the same housewith an inferior being." The chap heard her in silence, and might havelet her have her own way, under ordinary circumstances, but when hecame home next night he found that she had packed up all the furniturein the house to carry off with her, and expected him to give her hiswatch and night-key. He scratched his head, and says he: "I cannotpermit this sort of thing, because I really want some furniture for myown use." The Wayward Sister threw her thimble at him, and says she:"Our male parient bought this furniture only because he got married toone of the Superior Sex; and as it was Woman which solely occasionedits purchase, it clearly belongs to Woman."
But the chap could not see it in this light, my boy; and as soon as hisson came home he told him all about it. The manly youth took a look upthe stairs to where the maiden and four or five other spring bonnetswere intrenched behind the furniture, and says he:
"It's an unnatural thing to have trouble with relations; but I'm justgoing up there to capture that big chair."
By this time some of the neighbors had come in, and commenced to urgethe old chap to take vigorous measures. He looked at his son, and sayshe:
"Can you do it Tommy?"
The child of his bosom winked twice, and immediately prepared toperform the feat, only pausing long enough to look in the glass and seeif his necktie sat well. Then, gaining the head of the stairs, heleaned across a bureau barring the way, and was about to grasp the bigchair, when the Wayward Sister hit him over the head with a broom, andpresently he found himself prostrate at the foot of the stairs, with aviolent pain in his nose.
On witnessing this disaster, all the neighbors shrank with indignationfrom the aged father, and said it was all his doings. The poor old chapscratched his head, and says he:
"I don't see how it's my fault."
"Why," says a neighbor of much fatness, "you're alwaysinterfering,--that's what you are. Now, you'll never get back any ofyour furniture."
"Interfering?" says the paternal chap, innocently. "Why, how _could_ Iinterfere with Tommy, when I only let him do, in his own way, what hegave me to understand he was able to?"
Here all the neighbors sighed grievously, and says one:
"Miserable old man, we believe you mean well enough; but the fact is,you are a species of old idiot. It was your business to have had_another son_, who would have been this one's brother; so that if onemet with a heart-rending failure on the stairs, the other couldsimultaneously have entered that back window by a ladder, and taken thechair by the rear. But you are always interfering. Take our advice now,and either give up drinking altogether, or arrange it so that those whodrink with you may be persons not distinguishable from ourselves."
And they all departed, shaking their heads, my boy--they all departedshaking their heads; leaving the unfortunate old chap to bind up hisoffspring's nose, and to reflect upon the great iniquity of interferingwith one son's success, by not having another.
The Government of our distracted country, my boy, is so very much likethis well-meaning but imbecile old chap, that the failure of any one ofits generals is entirely due to its interference in not having anothergeneral; who, in case that general did not succeed, could take hisplace before he failed to do so.
The Military Necessity produced by this interference took place atParis, very recently, and shortly after the new General of the MackerelBrigade had so nearly won the battle by that revelation of manly Shapeto which I referred in my last letter.
Finding that the terrible bombardment of Paris, my boy, had routed thestraggling Confederacies from that ancient city, the whole MackerelBrigade marched safely across Duck Lake, leaving only the Orange CountyHowitzers on this side. Scarcely had the spectacled host occupied thecity, when there appeared upon the main street the overwhelming Shapeof the new General of the Mackerel Brigade, mounted upon a steed whichwas almost as sagacious as a human being; and holding his hat in onehand, after the manner of Washington entering Trenton. It was as thoughFrank Leslie's illustrated artist had just been commanded to draw awarlike picture, my boy, representing one of those equestrian heroeswho all appear in precisely the same attitude, and seem to have liftedtheir hats for the particular purpose of showing with what mathematicalprecision their hair is parted.
Instantly there arose cheers so loud that they must have been heard bythe cowardly Confederacies on the hills behind Paris, and severalMackerels became so enthusiastic to be led against the enemy, that theyactually started on the war-path by themselves, and only turned backwhen they discovered that they happened to be going in the wrongdirection.
Having received all the cheers, and immediately dispatched them to thereliable morning journals around the country, the General of theMackerel Brigade ordered the Conic Section, under Captain Bob Shorty,and Company 3, Regiment 5, under Captain Villiam Brown, to march out ofParis, and form in line under the guns of the Southern Confederacy; atthe same time directing Captain Samyule Sa-mith, to take Company 2,Regiment 1, and strike through a defile in the hills.
Samyule formed his veterans in the shape of a horse-shoe, and says he:
"Comrades, now is the time to repent of your sins, for you haven't gotmuch time left. As for myself," says Samyule, seriously, "my sins areall those of commission, and those who gave me my commission areresponsible for them. If any of you younger Mackerels have in yourpossession the last things your mothers gave you, now is your chance tolook upon them for the last time."
As Samyule spoke thus, a small blue object, carrying a dru
m, toddledforth from the ranks, and saluted. It was a small Mackerel drummer, myboy, who had enlisted only ten days before, and his small eyes were wetwith tears. The heroic child wiped his little nose on his sleeve, andsays he:
"_My_ mother gave me something."
Samyule was greatly affected, and says he:
"Was it the Family Bible, sweet cherub?"
"No-o-o," sobbed the innocent, as though his little heart would break.
Samyule wiped his tear-dimmed spectacles, and says he:
"Perhaps it was her daguerreotype?"
The infant wept afresh, and says he:
"No-o-o."
"Then," says Samyule, in a broken voice, "it must have been herblessing."
"No! no-o-o," cried the small Mackerel drummer, with quivering lips.
"Then what in thunder was it that your mother gave you?" says Samyule,greatly bewildered.
"It was a spanking!" screamed the affectionate little creature,cramming both his little fists into his little eyes, and blubberingunrestrainedly.
Samyule gazed a moment at the child, and says he:
"Well may affection bid thee weep, thou tender little one! When asweetheart blushingly places a rose upon her lover's breast, the sceneis affecting; but my own memory of childhood tells me that a far deeperfeeling is excited when the tender mother selects a different flower,and places upon the back of her child the modest lady's slipper."
Immediately after this affecting little incident, my boy, Samyule ledhis men to their duty, and they marched into one end of the defile assoldiers, to pass out of the other as spirits.
Along the front, "Forward!" was the word, and the Conic Section sweptto the assault, like a sea of bayonets dashed against a shore ofadamantine rock from the hollow of an Almighty hand. Were it possible,my boy, for bullets to ascend perpendicularly until they just reachedthe top of mountain breastworks, and then slant down at an acute angleto where the foe lay hidden, it is possible that the frequent volleysfrom the Conic Section might have produced some carnage; but as theface of the hill before our troops was straight up and down, with thenoisy Confederacies on the extreme summit, the Mackerel musketry simplyoccasioned a rise in Federal lead, without a fall in Confederateleaders.
Some Confederacies in their lofty intrenchments just tipped over a fewcannon, so that the balls might roll out upon the mackerels, and, saysone of them:
"If you mudsills will stay there a little longer, we'll manage it so asto drop the shells on you from our hands, without using the guns atall."
Captain Bob Shorty heard this jeer, and as he tied his handkerchiefover a wound on his forehead, a sickly smile illustrated his ghastlyface, and says he:
"We might as well all die here together. The grave, after all, is asofter bed than many of these Mackerel beings have been accustomed to."
Sergeant O'Pake who always takes things literally, turned to Bob, and,says he:
"What makes it soft?"
"Because," says Captain Bob Shorty, looking vacantly at the sergeant,"it is a bed of down. Did you never hear the old song of 'Down amongthe Dead Men?'" But let me not linger over the scene, my boy.
That night, the remaining Mackerels silently recrossed Duck Lake, andthe General penned the following
DESPATCH.
"I have withdrawn the Brigade across Duck Lake. The position of the Confederacies is impregnable. It was a Military Necessity to attack the enemy or retire. I have done both.
"WOBERT WOBINSON."
Just as the spectacled veterans gained this side of Duck Lake again, myboy, the Mackerel Chaplain was accosted by a Republican chap fromBoston, and says he: "This really looks like action at last my friend.Our troops are evidently all enthusiasm to be led once more against thefoe."
The Chaplain shaded his eyes with his hand, to look at the speaker, andsays he:
"They are indeed enthusiastic, my friend. So enthusiastic, in fact,that at least half of them would not come back to this side at all."
"Ah!" says the Republican chap; "the noble fellows."
"Yes," says the Chaplain, as softly as though he were speaking in asick-room; "they remain there sleeping upon their arms. And, oh, myfriend, they will never come back again."
He spoke truly, my boy: and may a kind Heaven see naught in the bloodwelling from their loyal hearts but the blush of a soldier's honor; theglow of a patriot fire in which all their human errors went up to Godas the smoke of a glorious sacrifice. They sleep their last sleep uponthe arms of their Country; and whether those arms, with which she foldsthem into her heart, be white with the ermine of winter, or green withthe drapery of summer, the clasp shall be none the less strong with alla Mother's immortality of love.
Yours, gravely,
ORPHEUS C. KERR.