LETTER LXV.
NOTING THE REMARKABLE RETROGRADE ADVANCE OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE UPON WASHINGTON, AND THE UNSEEMLY RAIDS OF THE RECKLESS CONFEDERACY.
WASHINGTON, D. C., August 30th, 1862.
As every thing continues to indicate, my boy, that President Lincoln isan honest man, I am still of the opinion that the restoration of theUnion is only a question of time, and will be accomplished some weeksprevious to the commencement of the Millennium. It is the "Union as itwas" that we want, my boy, and those who have other articles to sellare hereby accused of being accursed Abolitionists. I was talking theother day to a venerable Congressman from Maryland, who had justarrived to protest against the disturbance of mail facilities betweenBaltimore and the capital of the Southern Confederacy, and says he, "Ihave several friends who are Confederacies, and they inform me thatthey are perfectly willing to return to the Union as it Was, in casethey should fail in their present enterprise. If I thought," says theCongressman, hastily placing a lottery-ticket in his vest-pocket, "if Ithought that this war was to be waged for the purpose of injuring theSouthern Confederacy, rather than to restore the Union as it was, Ishould at once demand more mileage of the Government, and repeatedlyinquire what had become of all the 'Wide-Awakes.'"
As he uttered this last horrible threat, my boy, I was impressed with asense of something darkly democratic. Too many of the "Wide-Awakes" ofthe last campaign are indeed fast asleep now, when their country needsthem. I saw one of them slumbering near Culpepper Court House lastweek. He was sleeping with his right arm twisted in the spokes of adisabled cannon wheel, and a small purple mark was on his right temple.But he was not alone in his forgetful sloth, my boy; for near him, andrigidly grasping his disengaged hand, was a Democrat slumbering too!
The sight, I remember, rendered me so honestly indignant, that I couldnot help pointing it out to the Mackerel Chaplain, who was engaged inselling hymn-books to the wounded. The Chaplain looked a moment at theFusion Ticket before us.
"They sleep for the Flag," says he, softly, "and may its Stars shedpleasant dreams upon their loyal souls for ever."
The Chaplain is an enthusiast, my boy, and this is what he has writtenabout
OUR GUIDING STARS.
The planets of our Flag are set In God's eternal blue sublime, Creation's world-wide starry stripe Between the banner'd days of time.
Upon the sky's divining scroll, In burning punctuation borne, They shape the sentence of the night That prophesies a cloudless morn.
The waters free their mirrors are; And fair with equal light they look Upon the royal ocean's breast, And on the humble mountain brook.
Though each distinctive as the soul Of some new world not yet begun, In bright career their courses blend Round Liberty's unchanging Sun.
Thus ever shine, ye Stars, for all! And palsied be the hand that harms Earth's pleading signal to the skies, And Heav'ns immortal Coat of Arms.
You are probably aware, my boy, that the unconquerable Mackerel Brigadeis still advancing upon Washington in a highly respectable andstrategic manner; and that all correspondents are excluded from thelines, lest some of them, in their natural blackness of heart, shouldconstrue the advance upon Washington into a retreat from Richmond.
But I gained admission to the scene by adopting the airy and pleasinguniform of the Southern Confederacy; and am thereby enabled to give yousome further account of the skillful retrograde advance to which Idimly referred in my absorbing last.
The uniform of the Southern Confederacy is much respected by many ofour officers, my boy, and is the only guise in which a fellow-being mayscrutinize the national strategic works with entire safety.
Thus attired, I joined the Mackerel Brigade in its cheerful work ofpushing Richmond away from its martial front, and having penetrated tothe rear where horrible carnage was being wrought in the frantic ranksof the Confederacy, I beheld the idolized General of the MackerelBrigade anxiously searching for something upon the ground. In a moment,he looked up, and says he to the warriors in his neighborhood:
"My children, have you seen anything of a small black bottle that Iplaced upon the grass, just now, when I turned to speak to my aid?"
A Mackerel chap coughed respectfully, and says he: "I guess it wastaken by some equestrian Confederacies, which has just made anotherraid."
"Thunder!" says the General, "that's the third bottle I've lost in thesame way within an hour." And he proceeded slowly and thoughtfully tomount his horse, which stood eyeing him with funereal solemnity andmany inequalities of surface.
Turning to another part of the line, my boy, I beheld Captain VilliamBrown and Captain Bob Shorty in the act of performing a great strategicmovement with the indomitable Conic Section, many of whom wereemploying the moment to take a last look at the canteens presented tothem before leaving home by their devoted mothers. A number of recklessConfederacies had just crossed a bridge spanning a small stream nearby, and the object of this daring movement was to suddenly destroy thebridge before they could retreat and then make prisoners of the whole.
It was a sublime conception, my boy--it was a sublime conception, andrich with strategy.
Like panthers surrounding their unsuspecting prey, the wily Mackerelsswept noiselessly across the bridge, applied their axes with thequickness of thought, and in a moment the doomed structure fellsplashing into the water. It was beautiful to see Villiam's honestexultation at this moment; his eyes brightened like small bottles ofbrandy with the light shining through them, and says he:
"We have circumvented the Confederacy. Ah!" says Villiam, proudly; "theUnited States of America is now prepared to continue in the exchangebusiness, and--"
He paused. He paused, my boy, because he suddenly observed that CaptainBob Shorty had commenced to scratch his head in a dismal manner.
"I'm blessed," says Captain Bob Shorty, in a cholerical manner--"I'mblessed if I don't think there's some mistake here, my military infant!"
"Ha!" says Villiam, with dignity; "do you discover a flaw in the greatchain woven by the United States of America around the doomedConfederacy?"
Captain Bob Shorty again scratched his head, and says he:
"I don't wish to make unpleasant insinuations; but it seems to me thatthis here body of infantry has left itself on the wrong side of thestream!"
And so it had, my boy. By one of those little mistakes which willsometimes occur in the most victorious armies, the Conic Section hadthoughtlessly _crossed the bridge_ before destroying it, thus leavingthemselves on one side of the river, while the riotous Confederacieswere on the other.
How they got across again, at a fordable place higher up, just in timeto see the Confederacies cross again, at a fordable place lower down, Iwill not pause to tell you, as such information might retardenlistments.
Once more stationing myself near the General of the Mackerel Brigade,who sat astride his funereal charger like the equestrian statue of theDuke of Wellington, I was watching his motions attentively, when a bodyof horsemen suddenly dashed by him, and I saw, as they disappeared,that he was left bareheaded.
"Thunder!" says the general, winking very violently in the sunlight,and rattling his sword in a fearless manner, "where's my cap gone to?"
There was a respectful Mackerel chap at hand, and says he:
"I think it was took by the equestrian Confederacy, which has jest madeanother raid."
"Hum!" says the general, thoughtfully, "that's very true. Thunder!"says the general to himself, as it were: "this is all Greeley's work."
Pondering deeply over this last remark, I sauntered to another part ofthe field, where the Orange County Howitzers were being prepared torepel the charge of a regiment of Confederacies, who had just comewithin our lines for the purpose. The artillery was well handled, myboy, and not a piece would have been captured but for the splendiddiscipline of the gunners. They were too well discipline
d to disputeorders, my boy; and as Captain Samyule Sa-mith had accidentallyforgotten to give the order to "load" before he told them to fire, theeffect of our metal upon the hostile force was not as inflammatory asit might have been.
The next I saw of Samyule, he was making his report to the general, whoreceived him with much enthusiasm.
"Where are your guns, my child?" says the general, with paternalaffability.
Samyule blew his nose in a business-like manner, and says he;
"Several of them have just gone South."
I am unable to state what response the general intended to make, myboy; for at this instant a body of horsemen swept between the speakers,one of the riders jerking the veteran's horse violently from under him,and galloping the steed away with him. Up sprang the general, in aviolent perspiration, and says he:
"Where's my horse gone to?"
"I guess," says a Mackerel chap, stepping up--"I guess that it was tookby the equestrian Confederacy, which has just made another raid."
"Thunder!" says the general, "they'll take my coat and vest next." Andhe retired to a spot nearer Washington.
I would gladly continue my narrative of the advance movement, my boy,showing how our forces continued their march in excellent order, safelyreaching a spot within ten miles of the place they gained on thefollowing day; but such revelations would simply tend to confuse yourweak mind with those great doubts concerning military affairs whichtend to render civilization impertinently critical.
It is the simple duty of civilians, my boy, to implicitly trust ourbrass-buttoned generals; of whom there are enough to furnish the wholeworld with war--and never finish it at that.
Yours, weekly, ORPHEUS C. KERR.