The Orpheus C. Kerr Papers, Series 2
LETTER LXXIV.
CONCERNING THE SERIOUS MISTAKE OF THE VENERABLE GAMMON, THE CHAPLAIN'S POETICAL DISCOVERY, THE PROMOTION OF COMMODORE HEAD, AND THE RECEPTION OF THE PRESIDENT'S PROCLAMATION BY THE SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY.
WASHINGTON, D. C., October 12th, 1862.
The Southern Confederacy having delayed to sue for peace, my boy, untilthe safety of Washington requires that national strategy shouldcontinue metaphysical hostilities, it may be as well for you and me asa nation to prepare for a speedy commencement of War in earnest. TheNorth, my boy, has not begun to fight yet; and as the stolid centuriesroll on, and the hoary years move one by one into the sunless solitudeof Eternity, it becomes daily more evident that the North's actualputting forth of all its strength is merely a question of time. Thegiant is only just rousing from his slumbers, and nothing but his legsand feet appear to be thoroughly awake yet.
Now, is the time, my boy, for the idiotic Confederacy to save himself,by returning penitently to that beneficent Government which would haverealized the millenium at half-past two o'clock on the Fourth of July,1776, but for the unseemly villainy of the accursed Black Republicans,many of whom are shortly to be hung.
That is to say, such is the opinion of the Venerable Gammon, whosebenignant presence is believed to have proved the salvation of ourdistracted country in the Revolutionary War, though I can find nothing,except his protecting patriarchal deportment toward all the presentuniverse, to justify the idea that he ever benefited anything. Itsoothes the human soul, my boy, to hear this Venerable man discoursingon the most trite subjects in tones, and with an air calculated tobless all created things as with a paternal benediction. Surrounded bya number of his idolatrous national children, and standing in front ofWillard's the other evening, he pointed fatly to a bright staroverhead, and says he:
"That star is like our country. That star," says the Venerable Gammon,with a meaningless smile of angelic purity, "is like any other star onour flag; _though clouds may hide it in its ascending node, it is stillknowed to be ascending_."
Then everybody felt cheered with the peaceful conviction that Columbiawas saved at last; and it's my private belief, my boy--my privatebelief, that the attached populace looked upon this good old man as theone who had made the star.
Yet, strange as it may seem, this venerable Benefactor made a littlemistake on Tuesday. A sportive young chap came to him with a newspaperin his hand, and says he: "Let me see if you can tell, my _PaterPatria_, what paper this article is in"--and proceeded to read thefollowing high-minded editorial:
"TREASON OF THE BLACK REPUBLICANS.
"True to their foul instincts, the Greely, Cheever, and WendellPhillips herd of treasonable fanatics are now accusing their 'HonestOld Abe' of ruining the country. It was their votes that elected therail-splitter, and now they turn tail upon him and howl maledictionsbecause he will not carry out their fiendish intents by erecting arevolutionary guillotine in every Northern town and city. Thatblasphemous mountebank, Beecher, may as well cease his treasonableimpiety at once; for he and his Sharps'-rifle crew are responsible forthe present bankruptcy of the whole country, and the people will yethold them to strict account for every drop of blood that has been andwill be shed in this unnatural strife."
When sportive chap ceased reading, the Venerable Gammon waved his obesehand with the fond, familiar air of a pleased benignity, and says he:
"Of course, I know what paper that is, my son. I know the ring of thosesterling conservative sentiments," says the Venerable Gammon, with calmsatisfaction, "and am blessed in the knowledge that our loyal New YorkHerald is still true to the Constitution and to the principles of myold friend, Georgey Washington--or 'old Wash,' as he permitted me tocall him."
The sportive chap softly picked his teeth with a wisp from a broom, andsays he: "But this ain't the Herald at all, you dear old soul; it's acopy of the Richmond Whig!" It was at this very moment, my boy, thatthe Venerable Gammon was first attacked by that dreadful cough whichput an end to all further conversation, and has since excited the mostfearful apprehensions lest a bereaved country should suddenly be calledto mourn the untimely loss of its benign idol.
On Tuesday afternoon, I had a talk with the Mackerel chaplain, who hadremained here over Sunday to administer consolation to a dyingbrigadier, and was grievously wounded in spirit to find that thetelegraph had committed a trifling breach of spelling, and that thatbrigadier was only dyeing his hair, which had suddenly turned white ina single night on the strength of a rumor that there might be somefighting in the morning.
The Mackerel chaplain, my boy, is of inestimable value to a woundedman, his vivid and spiritual manner of describing the celebrated FireDepartment of the other world being a source of unspeakable comfort andreassurance to the sufferer. "I am afraid you have led a sinful life,my fellow-worm," says he to the sick Mackerel, "and can only advise youto buy one of these hymn-books from me, which I can afford to sell forsix shillings."
But what the chaplain talked to me about, was his discovery, at avillage not far from Winchester, of a new
"PICCIOLA."
It was a Sergeant old and gray, Well singed and bronzed from siege and pillage, Went tramping in an army's wake, Along the turnpike of the village.
For days and nights the winding host Had through the little place been marching, And ever loud the rustics cheered, 'Till ev'ry throat was hoarse and parching.
The Squire and Farmer, maid and dame, All took the sight's electric stirring, And hats were waved and staves were sung, And kerchiefs white were countless whirring.
They only saw a gallant show Of heroes stalwart under banners, And in the fierce heroic glow, 'Twas theirs to yield but wild hosannahs
The Sergeant heard the shrill hurrahs, Where he behind in step was keeping; But glancing down beside the road He saw a little maid sit weeping.
"And how is this?" he gruffly said, A moment pausing to regard her;-- "Why weepest thou, my little chit?"-- And then she only cried the harder.
"And how is this, my little chit?" The sturdy trooper straight repeated, "When all the village cheers us on, That you, in tears, apart are seated?
"We march two hundred thousand strong! And that's a sight, my baby beauty, To quicken silence into song And glorify the soldier's duty."
"It's very, very grand, I know," The little maid gave soft replying; "And Father, Mother, Brother too, All say 'Hurrah' while I am crying;
"But think--O Mr. Soldier, think, How many little sisters' brothers Are going all away to fight And may be _killed_, as well as others!"
"Why bless thee, child," the Sergeant said, His brawny hands her curls caressing, "'Tis left for little ones like you To find that War's not all a blessing."
And "Bless thee!" once again he cried; Then cleared his throat and looked indignant, And marched away with wrinkled brow To stop the struggling tear benignant.
And still the ringing shouts went up From doorway, thatch, and fields of tillage; The pall behind the standard seen By one alone, of all the village.
The oak and cedar bend and writhe When roars the wind through gap and braken; But 'tis the tenderest reed of all That trembles first when Earth is shaken.
It is with infinite satisfaction, my boy, that I record the recognitionof Commodore Head's priceless services on Duck Lake by the Secretary ofthe Navy. Our grim old son of Neptune is created Rear-Admiral, with theprivilege of snubbing gunboat captains, receiving serenades, attendinglaunches, and lavishing untold scorn upon the feeble imitations ofaffrighted Europe.
Hence, there would appear to be an imperative demand in currentliterature for an authoritative
SKETCH OF COMMODORE HEAD.
This venerable ornament of our peerless naval service, to whom the eyesof the whole world are now d
irected, was born of one of his parents atan early period of his existence, and has since incurred the yearstemporarily elapsing between that epoch and the present auspiciousoccasion. The subject of our brief biography entered the navy when hewas only fifty years old, as commander of the Mackerel iron-platedsquadron on Duck Lake, where he became widely noted for success infishing, as well as for his skill in eluding vessels running theblockade. At one time, indeed, he came very near capturing aConfederate ram, being only prevented by failing to find the key of thebox containing his spectacles in time to reconnoiter the wily foe.Commodore Head's conversation concerning the speedy capture ofVicksburg, Charleston, Savannah and Mobile, is instructive to allminds, and his promotion is an event calculated to prove that the waris about to begin in earnest.
* * * * *
Rear-Admirals, my boy, are an aristocratic institution; and theircreation must serve to convince besotted Europe, that in making a navaldistinction between rank and file, our discriminating Government knowshow to compromise matters by bestowing a new rank upon an old file.
It was on Wednesday that my architectural steed, the Gothic Pegasus,renewed his usual weekly journey to desolated Accomac, cheerfullyconveying me thither at a speed that did not keep the same roadsidehouse in view more than half an hour at a time. Having hitched thefunereal stallion to a copy of Senator Sumner's recent Faneuil Hallspeech, believing that document sufficiently heavy to hold him, I gavehim a discarded straw-hat of mine for his dinner, and strolled into theMackerel camp.
To the everlasting disgrace of our rulers be it said, my boy, I foundthe devoted Mackerel Brigade progressing toward deep suffering at arate which made me thank Heaven that I owned no chickens within sightof the harrowing scene. Being thoughtlessly supplied with three days'rations at a time, these neglected martyrs incur all the perils ofsuffocation and cruel nightmare by doing nothing on the first day buteat from morning till night, what is left over at midnight being usedto pelt each other with. Then for two whole days these gallant men whoare fighting our battles find famine staring them in the face, and Iactually heard one emaciated Mackerel chap offering a whole week's payto another Mackerel chap for a Confederate cracker which he had pickedup in a field, wishing to consign that cracker to his friends at homeas a sample of the unnatural food with which an ungrateful Republicfeeds its faithful soldiers. I even found many Mackerels withoutknapsacks and blankets, which they had lost in adventures at "OldSledge"; and there was that in the countenances of others which suredme that their poor faces had not been washed since the commencement ofthe war!
My soul turns sick at these things, my boy, and they even have aneffect upon a beholder's stomach. To think that our noble volunteers,our country's preservers, should be subjected to sufferings in whichthey have not even the poor consolation of knowing that somebody elsethan themselves is responsible therefor.
Reflectively I turned from the scene of agony, and had rambled somefifteen minutes in an adjacent bit of woods, when the sound of voicesnear by made me stop short behind a tree and peer eagerly through anopening in the nearest thicket.
Seated just beyond some evergreen bushes were four dilapidatedConfederacies, solemnly discussing the great Emancipation Proclamationof our Honest Abe; whilst close by them, and astride of a mossy stone,was the accomplished swordsman, Captain Munchausen, frantically, andwith many hiccups, endeavoring at one and the same time to catch aphantom fly and maintain his equestrian position.
One of the Confederacies took a bite from a cold potato which he heldin his hand, and, says he:
"I reckon that it's near time for the unsubjugated South to adoptRetaliatory measures, and proclaim that all prisoners hereafter takenby the Confederacy shall be previously shot and made intobone-ornaments."
Here Captain Munchausen burst into an unseemly peal of laughter as hemade another wild clutch at the phantom-fly, and says he:
"Wher--where's Mary's--ary's--snuff-box?"
Not perceiving that this special remark was relevant to the question inview, a second Confederacy merely tightened the string which held hisinexpressibles in place, and, says he:
"What has been proposed by the Honorable Gentleman from the Alms Houseis not sufficiently severe. No mercy should be shown to the Washingtondemon, and I move that any Federal soldiers found disturbing aConfederacy during the progress of a battle shall be at once executedfor arson."
The impression created by this motion extended even to CaptainMunchausen, who fell flat on his face in a frantic attempt to catch thespectral insect, and exclaimed, in tones of awful solemnity:
"I don't want (hic) to be marri--ry--arried--Hic!"
After a moment's pause, the third Confederacy finished buttoning hiscoat with a bit of corn-cob, and says he:
"I move that the last Resolution be amended, to make it a capital crimefor any person whatever to be guilty of Federal extraction."
Now, it chanced, my boy, that there was a Mackerel picket eating aconfiscated watermelon in a clump of bushes close behind me; and justat this crisis of the debate, he casually tossed a piece of the rind inthe direction of the Confederacies. It happened to fall in their midst,whereupon the enraged statesmen were seized with great tremblings, andimmediately skedaddled in all directions, the last being CaptainMunchausen, who at first endeavored to carry a rock of some hundredpounds' weight away with him, and ultimately retreated in ahighly-circuitous manner, with an expression of abject despair underhis cap.
It is said, my boy, that the celebrated Confederacy will resent theProclamation by raising the Black Flag. It is a common belief, that ifsuch be the case, it will be the duty of our generals to raise theblacks without flagging.
Yours, if it come to that, ORPHEUS C. KERR.