The Orpheus C. Kerr Papers, Series 2

  LETTER LXIII.

  GIVING A FAMILIAR ZOOLOGICAL ILLUSTRATION OF THE "SITUATION," AND CELEBRATING THE BRILLIANT STRATEGICAL EVECUATION OF PARIS BY THE MACKEREL BRIGADE.

  WASHINGTON, D. C., August 22, 1862.

  On Monday morn, my boy, whilst I was pulling on a pair of new boots thathave some music in their soles, there arose near my room door a sound asof one in dire agony, closely followed by a variously-undulated moan, asof some deserted woman in distress. Hastily discontinuing my toilet, anddarting to the threshold, I beheld one of those scenes of civil warwhich impress the sensitive soul with horror and meet the justreprobation of feeling Albion.

  Rampant between two marrow-bones, my boy, was my frescoed dog, Bologna,eyeing, with horrid fury, Sergeant O'Pake's canine friend, known asJacob Barker, and ever and anon uttering sentences of supernaturalwrath. To these the excited Barker responded in deep bass of greatcompass, his nose curling with undisguised disdain, and his eyesassimilating to that insidious and fiery squint which betokensinexpressible malignity. There was something not of earth, my boy, inthe frescoed Bologna's distortion of countenance as he attempted tokeep an eye on each bone, and at the same time look full in the face ofhis foe; and there was that in the sounds of his strain which betokenedSirius indecision.

  As I gazed upon these two infuriated wonders of natural history, myboy, and recognized the fact that the existence of two bones incontention prevented an actual battle, because neither combatant waswilling to lose sight of either of them; whilst the presence of but onebone would have simplified the matter, and precipitated a decisiveconflict, I could not but think that I saw symbolized before me thesituation of our distracted country.

  The United States of America, my boy, and the well-known SouthernConfederacy, are like two irascible terriers practising defiantstrategy between two bones, the one being the festive negro-question,and the other the Union. Now it seems to me, my boy--it seems to me,that if the gay animal with U. S. on his collar would only dispose ofthe bone nearest him without further vocalism, there would be a betterchance for him to secure the other bone in the combat sure to come.

  Dogs, my boy, and men, are very much alike, in their hostile meetings,neither seeming to know just exactly which is truly their _magnumbonum_.

  Ascending the roof of my architectural steed, Pegasus, on Tuesday, Iinduced the gothic animal to adopt a pace sometimes affected by thefleet tortoise, and went down to Accomac in pursuit of knowledgerespecting recruiting. Just before reaching that Arcadian locality, myboy, I met Colonel Wobert Wobinson, of the Western Cavalry, who hadbeen down there to induce volunteering and infuse fresh confidence intothe masses. He offered a bounty of two hundred dollars; three dollarsto be paid immediately, and the rest as soon as the war commences inearnest; and promised to each man a horse physically incapacitated fromrunning away from anything.

  "Well, my bold dragoon," says I, cordially, noticing that Pegasus hadalready fallen into a peaceful doze, "how go enlistments?"

  The colonel waved away an abstracted crow that was hovering in deepreverie over my charger's brow, and says he: "I have enlisted all thepeople of Accomac."

  "I want to know," says I, Bostonianly.

  "Yes," says he, "I called a meeting, and succeeded in enlistingall--their sympathies."

  As I gazed upon the equestrian warrior, my boy, methought I saw theyoungest offspring of a wink trembling in a corner of his right eye,and I felt that the world renowned Snyder was at that moment laboringunder a heavy incubus. Such is life.

  The state of health in Accomac indicates that the demon of disease isabroad in the land, looking chiefly for his victims among those betweenthe tender ages of eighteen and forty-five. Instead of having a slingin his hand, like the young warrior David, each young man I met had hishand in a sling, whilst the dexter leg of more than one able-bodiedpatriot suggested the juvenile prayer of "Now I lame me, down to slip."And there were the women of America fairly crying in terror of thedraft, instead of bearing themselves like the Spartan ribs of old.

  Alas! my boy, why cannot our people realize, that a nation, like acooking-stove, cannot keep up a steady fire without a good draft. Weneed men for the crisis, and we only find cry sisses for the men.

  I could not stay here, so I hastened on to Paris, where a greatstrategic movement was about to supply all the world with freshrecollections of the late Napoleon. I say _late_ Napoleon, my boy,because our Napoleon is apt to be behind time.

  As far back as I can remember, I have been fully aware that thismovement was about to take place, but would not, like too many othercorrespondents, betray the confidence reposed in me. This bosom, myboy, this manly and truthful bosom, is about the right shop forconfidence. Nor is it like the bosoms of those who can truthfully saythat they never _give_ important information to the enemy, though everybody knows that they sell it.

  On arriving in Paris, I saw at once that preparations for outgeneralingthe deceived Confederacy had already commenced; for the down-troddenGeneral of the Mackerel Brigade had assembled the reliable contrabandswhom he had used for some weeks past, and was taking leave of them in aheart-felt manner.

  Mounted on a small keg, from the bung hole of which came the aroma ofpleasant rye fields, the General softly wiped his lips, and says he:

  "Being members of a race which we regard as a speshees of monkeys, myblack children, the fact that this is a white man's war will preventyour taking part in the entirely different race about to come off.After the manner of Andrew Jackson at New Orleans, I have called uponyou to do something for your adopted country; but as my friend Andrewwas particular to make his proclamation read '_free_ negroes,' therecan be no parallel between the two cases further. Therefore, return toyour masters, my children, and tell them that the United States ofAmerica wars not against them rights of which you are a part. Go! Andremember, that as Gradual Emancipation is about to come off, you willsoon know the juicy richness of being free to visit all parts of theworld, except those not included in the pleasing map of Nova Zembla."

  The contrabands departed, my boy, in blissful procession, and many ofthem are undoubtedly happy enough now. Happier, my boy, than they couldhope to be if suffered to remain in this conservative andconstitutional world.

  While the Mackerels were coming out of their holes, and polishing theirshovels for the march, I observed that the general walked thoughtfullyto his tent, in deep silence. I found Captain Villiam Brown expellingtwo reporters from the lines, lest they should prematurely divulge themovement then going on to the Confederacy seated on an adjacent fence,and says I to him:

  "Tell me, my fiery warrior, wherefore is it that the chieftain seekshis solitary tent?"

  "Ah!" says Villiam, reverently, "it is to pray for the cause of libertyand the rights of man, after the manner of George Washington, MountVernon, Virginia. Come with me, my cherub," says Villiam piously, "andyou shall see martial greatness in a touching aspeck."

  We went softly to the tent together, my boy, and there beheld thebeloved general of the Mackerel Brigade, with his face devoutlyupturned. His face was devoutly upturned, my boy; but we could seesomething intervening between his countenance and the sky, anddiscovered, upon closer inspection, that it was a tumbler. Can it be,my boy, that this good man thought that Heaven, like any distantearthly object, could be brought nearer by looking toward it through aglass? Here is food for thought, my boy--here is food for thought.

  And now, Commodore Head having fished his iron-clad fleet from thetempestuous bosom of Duck Lake, and everything being in readiness--themarch of the Mackerel Brigade commenced, with a silence so intense thatwe could distinctly hear all that anybody said.

  First, came a delegation of political chaps from the Sixth Ward,conversing with each other on the state of the country, and consideringeight hundred and forty excellent plans for saving the Union, andgetting up a straight-out ticket.

  Then appeared the well-known promenade band of
the Mackerel Brigade,executing divers pleasant _morceaux_ on his night-key bugle, anoccasional stumble over a stone giving the airs a happy variety ofsudden _obligati_ improvements.

  Next appeared the idolized General of the Mackerel Brigade, modestlyrefusing to receive all the credit for the skillful movement, andassuring his staff that he really would not prefer to be President ofthe United States in 1865.

  Followed by Commodore Head, with his squadron on his shoulders,swearing as usual in his iron-plated manner, and vowing to captureVicksburg before he was twenty years older.

  Then advanced Captain Villiam Brown, Eskevire, Captain Bob Shorty, andCaptain Samyule Sa-mith, each indignantly rejecting the idea that thismovement was a retreat, and expressing the hope that Wendell Phillipswould be immediately hung for it.

  Then came a train of wagons containing all the provisions that couldnot be thrown away.

  Succeeded by the Mackerel Brigade with shovels at a shoulder-arms, andnoses suggestive of strawberry patches in the balmy month of June.

  And was this _all_ the procession? you will ask; did nothing come afterthe Brigade itself?

  I am not a positive man, my boy, and care not to assert a thing unlessI positively know it to be true. It was growing dark when we reachedour destination, and I could not see distinctly toward the rear: yet Ithink I _did_ see something coming after the Mackerel Brigade.

  What was it?

  It was the Southern Confederacy, my boy--the Southern Confederacy.

  Your, excitedly, ORPHEUS C. KERR.