LETTER LXIX.
ILLUSTRATING THE IMPERTURBABLE CALMNESS OF THE NATIONAL CAPITOL, AND NOTING THE MEMORABLE INVASION OF ACCOMAC.
WASHINGTON, D. C., September 12th, 1862.
As I sit looking out of my window, my boy, on the street below, andnotice how tranquilly all things are going on here, despite theexcitement of the time, a deep sense of satisfaction steals over me,and the American Eagle of patriotic pride flaps his breezy pinions onthe oak tree of my heart. Though I have just been laughing myselfalmost sick at the ludicrous manner in which my friend, theConfederacy, has walked right straight into the cunning trap preparedfor his destruction by our own noble and profound generals, actuallyhastening his own annihilation by rushing blindly through our lines,and capturing the twenty or thirty artful villages, towns, andgarrisons left there for the express purpose of tempting him to hisdreadful doom--though I have just been splitting my sides over thisroaring case of ridiculous suicide, my boy, the city of Washingtonstill maintains its calmness! Ever conscious that conquer we must, forour cause it is just, this city remains as placid as a summer dream;nearly all the liquor-shops doing a good business through the day, andthe evening finding a majority of our army officers at their posts.
Lamp-posts, my boy.
There is something touchingly grand in the calmness of Washington undersuch circumstances, and it reminds me of a pleasing little incident inthe Sixth Ward.
There was a female millinery establishment on the third floor of abuilding composed principally of stairs, fed with frequent small rooms,and the expatriated French comtesse, who realized fashionable bonnetsthere, used one of her windows to display her wares. At this window, myboy, she always kept a young woman of much bloom and symmetry, with thelatest Style on her head, and an expression of unutterable smile on herface. A young chap carrying a trumpet in the Fire Department happenedto notice that this angel of fashion was always at the window when hewent by; and as the thought that she particularly admired his personalcharms crept over him, he at once adopted the plan of passing by everyday, attired in the garments best calculated to render fire-goingmanhood most beautiful to the eye. He donned a vest representing indetail the Sydenham flower-show on a yellow ground, wore inexpressiblesrepresenting innumerable black serpents ascending white columns,assumed a neck-tie concentrating all the highest glories of the AuroraBorealis, mounted two breast-pins and three studs torn from someglass-house, and wore a hat that slanted on his head in an engaging andintelligent manner. Day after day he passed before the millineryestablishment, my boy, still beholding the beloved object at thewindow, and occasionally placing his hand upon his heart in such a wayas to show a large and gorgeous seal-ring containing the hair of afellow-fireman who had caught such a cold at a great fire that he diedsome years after. "How cam she is!" says he to himself, "and she's aspretty as ninety's new hose-carriage. It seems to me," says the youngchap to himself, stooping down to roll up the other leg of hispants--"it seems to me that I never see anything so cam. She observesmy daily agoing and yet she don't so much as send somebody down to seeif there's any overcoats in the front entry."
One day, my boy, a venerable Irish gentleman, keeping a boarding-houseand ice-cream saloon in the basement of the establishment, happened togo to sleep on the stairs with a lighted camphene lamp in his hand, andpretty soon the bells were ringing for a conflagration in thatdistrict. Immediately our gallant firemen were on their way to thespot; and having first gone through forty-two streets on the other sideof the city to wake the people up there and apprise them of their greatdanger, reached the dreadful scene, and instantly began to extinguishthe flames by bringing all the furniture out of a house not more thanthree blocks below. In the midst of these self-sacrificing efforts, aform was seen to dart into the burning building like a spectre. It wasthe enamored young chap who carried a trumpet in the department. He hadseen the beloved object sitting at the window, as usual, and was bentupon saving her, even though he missed the exciting fight around thecorner. Reaching the millinery-room door, he could see the objectstanding there in the midst of a sea of fire. "How cam she is," sayshe. "Miss Milliner," says he, "don't you see you're all in a blaze?"But still she stood at the window in all her calmness. The devotedyoung chap turned to a fellow-fireman who was just then selecting twospring bonnets and some ribbon for his wife, in order to save them fromthe flames, and says he: "Jakey, what shall I do?" But Jakey was atthat time picking out some artificial flowers for his youngestdaughter, my boy, and made no answer. Unable to reach the devoted maid,and rendered desperate by the thought that she must be asleep in themidst of her danger, the frantic young chap madly hurled his trumpet ather. It struck her, and actually _knocked her head off_! Horrified atwhat he had done, the excited chap called himself a miserable wretch,and was led out by the collar. It was Jakey who did this deed ofkindness, and says he: "What's the matter with you, my covey?" The pooryoung chap wrung his hands, and says he: "I've killed her, Jakey, I'vekilled her--and she so cam." Jakey took some tobacco, and then says he:"Why, that was only a pasteboard gal, you poor devil." And so it was,my boy--so it was; but the affair had such an effect upon the youngchap that he at once took to drinking, and when delirium tremens markedhim for its own, his last words were: "I've killed her, Jakey, I'vekilled her--and she so cam."
Washington, my boy, is "cam" in the midst of a conflagration. That isto say, the Government is "cam," they say; and it may be doubtedwhether it would be otherwise, even with its head knocked off.
The other day, I paid another visit to the Mackerel camp across theriver, and was present at a meeting of officers called to debate uponthe propriety of presenting a sword to the beloved general, for hisheroism in the late great battle. Captain Samyule Sa-mith was in favorof the presentation, and says he: "Our inimitable leader, which is theadmiration of everybody, richly deserves the blade in question. In thethickest of that deadly fray, his coat-tails were torn entirely off bya parrot shell."
Captain Villiam Brown placed the bottle on the table again, and says he:
"At which joint were the tails amputated, Samyule?"
Samyule took a little more sugar with his, and says he:
"Close to the buttons."
"Ah!" says Villiam, "which way was the conqueror's face turned at thetime?"
"I can't say," says Samyule; "but I don't see what that has to do withit."
"That's because you have a feeble intelleck, Samyule," says Villiam,mildly. "The human form," says Villiam, reasoningly, "has suchvariations of surface, that a projectile hurled at it in a straightline, cannot simply graze it to any extent without making a wound insome place. The coat-tails of the human form," says Villiam, lucidly,"could not without injury to that form be severed at the buttons by aball, unless they were _sticking straight out_ at the instant; and itis important that the United States of America should know whether theface of the wearer was turned toward the Southern Confederacy, or in anopposite direction, at the exact moment of the disaster."
The electrifying wisdom of this thoughtful speech, my boy, had theeffect to produce an immediate adjournment of the general's friends;for when the test of anatomy is applied to a man's bravery, thatbravery becomes a mere matter of form.
The general, my boy, is the idol of his Mackerel children, and as ourarmies slowly advance to deal the death-blow to this impious rebellion,it will be proved that he was not responsible for a single one of themistakes he has made, and could have taken Richmond long ago, but forhis inability to do so. Heaven forgive these Jacobin black-republicanswho object to his being President in 1865! This is the prayer of twentymillions of free white men under the Constitution, as was very justlyobserved to me by a political chap from New Haven last week. OnTuesday, the Mackerel Brigade was on the outskirts of Accomac--Company3, Regiment 1, being sent ahead, under Colonel Wobert Wobinson, towatch the movements of some regiments of Confederacies, who werebelieved to be either there or in South Carolina. The advance-gua
rdstayed there two days, my boy, and then an orderly came riding in tothe general, with the request that he would immediately sendre-enforcements and provisions, as Company 3, Regiment 1, was in dangerof starvation and defeat, at short notice.
The general ceased fanning himself for a moment, and says he to theperspiring orderly:
"I have heard your request, my child; but before I comply with it, Iwish to know what is the present political complexion of ColonelWobinson."
The half-starved orderly clasped his thin hands together, and says he:
"I don't know; but for God's sake, general, send us something to eat,and some help, or not one of us can be saved."
The general waved his hand magisterially, and says he:
"That's very true. But I must first know what are the sentiments ofColonel Wobinson on the negro question."
The orderly might have responded, my boy, had he not fainted just thenfrom weakness. In pity for his comrades, orders were at once given forthe transportation of provisions, and re-enforcements to Company 3before the end of the month; and had the before mentioned Confederaciesdelayed marching into Accomac until that time, I should not be obligednow to chronicle another of those disasters to our arms, which thetraitorous harangues of Wendell Philips have so outrageously produced.
If this war is to be prosecuted with vigor, my boy, we must reposeunlimited confidence in the ability of the Administration and of ourgenerals, resolutely frowning down all Jacobin demonstrations at home,and suffering our leaders to be interfered with by no one but eachother. If we permit civilians to manage matters, the country will beundone; but if, on the contrary, we trust everything to our generals,the country will be "done"--brown.
Luckily for us all, the occupation of Accomac by the celebratedSouthern Confederacy, is a part of the great plan of the General of theMackerel Brigade to end this rebellion in one crushing blow, and assoon as the entire Confederacy shall have entered Accomac in safety,the Mackerel Brigade will proceed to bag it.
You don't see exactly how this is to be done, eh?
There you go again, my boy! always meddling with what you don'tunderstand, and presuming, in your civilian imbecility, to doubt thepracticability--not to say the utility--of a covert invincibility,rendering it a futility on the part of Southern agility to take forweak debility what is really strategic facility, and bound, in itsgreat fertility of warlike inventibility and utter reliability, to turnall the foe's agility to a final accountability, that shall cause him,in future humility, to treat us, at least, with civility.
Such, my boy, is the Mackerel plan, to a T.
This strategy's like some plan for grain depending so much on a fall ofrain, that, in less than a week, should the drought remain, 'twouldruin it altogether. It pondereth blindly whether or no the oppositehosts will do so-and-so: and how it will end at last, you know,dependeth upon the "whether".
Yours, calmly, ORPHEUS C. KERR.